Chapter 161

[Marcus's POV]

Adrian dragged his hands across his face, wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop coming. His breathing was ragged, uneven—like someone drowning on dry land. But gradually, the sobs subsided into hiccups, then into shaky exhales. He sat up straighter, shoulders still trembling but no longer hunched in complete defeat.

I waited. Didn't push. Just sat across from him, hands folded on the metal table, and let the silence do its work.

Finally, Adrian cleared his throat. His voice came out hoarse, raw from crying. "I'll tell you everything."

I nodded slowly. "Before we continue, I need to remind you that this conversation is being recorded—both audio and video. Anything you say can and will be used as evidence in court. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The word was barely above a whisper.

I reached for my notepad, pen poised. "Take your time. Start from the beginning."

Adrian drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His eyes were still red-rimmed, but a strange calm had settled over his features—the kind that comes when someone finally stops running from the truth.

"I didn't just wake up one day and decide to kill him," he began, voice flat. "I planned it. Days in advance."

My pen scratched against paper. "Tell me about the planning."

"I went to the secondhand shops in the Silver Creek industrial district. Bought a gray jacket and a black baseball cap—nothing distinctive, nothing that could be traced back to me." He paused, swallowing hard. "For the next few days, I wore that outfit around Benjamin's neighborhood. The Riverside community. I made sure to walk past surveillance cameras. Made sure people would see me."

"You were creating a false suspect," I said quietly.

"Yes." His gaze dropped to the table. "A stranger. Someone who didn't exist."

I jotted down the details, mind already racing ahead to verification—we'd need to pull surveillance footage from the Riverside area, match dates and times. "Is there anything else you did during this... preparation phase?"

Adrian hesitated. The silence stretched for several seconds before he spoke again. "I also had a little girl buy me a hat."

He met my eyes, and for the first time since the interrogation began, I saw something like shame flicker across his face. "I gave a child money to go into a store and buy me a baseball cap. Different from the one I bought myself. I thought... I thought it would create more confusion. Make the investigation scatter in multiple directions."

"What store? When?"

"A small shop near the Riverside Farmers Market. " He trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"Alright," I said after a moment. "Walk me through the night it happened."

Adrian's hands clenched into fists on the table. "Once I'd done all the... the counter-surveillance work, I chose a night. Rainy. Low visibility." His voice grew quieter. "I had a key to Benjamin's house. He trusted me completely, so it was easy to get one made months ago. Just in case."

The casual way he said it made my stomach turn. Premeditated didn't even begin to cover this.

"I let myself in through the front door. The house was quiet—he was working in the basement, like always. I went straight down the stairs." His breathing quickened slightly. "I had the gun in my hand. Gloves on. I walked into his study, and he looked up at me. Just... looked up."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing." Adrian's voice cracked. "He didn't say anything. He just stared at me, and I..." He stopped, chest heaving. "I raised the gun. My right hand. And I pulled the trigger."

The words hung in the air between us.

"He died instantly?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

"I think so. I didn't check. I just..." Adrian's hands were shaking now, trembling against the table surface. "I left. Went out the way I came in, locked the door behind me. Drove to Swan Lake Forest Park and disposed of everything—the gun, the clothes, the gloves. Buried them deep."

I flipped to a new page in my notepad. "So when we saw mud on your shoes the next day—"

"Yes." His voice was barely audible. "I'd gone back. To make sure everything was hidden properly."

I nodded slowly, pieces clicking into place.

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Why kill the one person who actually gave a damn about you?"

Adrian's face crumpled. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, but he didn't sob this time. Just let them fall, silent and steady.

"Looking back now," he whispered, "I think he knew. Benjamin knew what I was planning. He could have stopped me—called the police, confronted me, locked his doors. But he didn't."

I leaned forward slightly. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because his wife and son were gone." Adrian's voice broke on the last word. "They'd disappeared, and Benjamin had lost his reason to keep living. So when I showed up with a gun..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "He let me do it."

The statement hit harder than I expected. I'd read the case files, knew about Benjamin's missing family. But hearing Adrian frame the murder as some twisted act of... what? Mercy? Complicity? It made my chest tight.

"Adrian," I said carefully, "that doesn't absolve you of what you did."

"I know." His eyes opened, red and raw. "I know. I hate myself for it. I betrayed the only real friend I ever had. The only person who saw me as something more than a means to an end."

I sat back in my chair, studying him. The tears, the trembling, the self-loathing—it was all genuine. But it didn't change the facts. Benjamin Davis was dead, and Adrian Johnson had pulled the trigger.

"I need to ask you something else," I said after a long pause.

Adrian nodded, resigned.

"Do you know where Benjamin's wife and son went? What happened to them?"

He shook his head slowly. "Benjamin didn't even know. How could I? He searched for years, hired private investigators, checked every lead. Nothing."

I tapped my pen against the notepad, frustration building. Another dead end.

"But," Adrian continued, voice hesitant, "I do remember his son's name. Benjamin talked about him sometimes, late at night when the nightmares got bad."

I looked up sharply. "What was it?"

"James." Adrian's gaze met mine, steady despite the tears. "His son's name was James."

The name hung in the air between us like a ghost.

James.