spent fighting off haunting nightmares. A daily dose of heartache and anger, washed down by a regular supply of alcohol to numb the pain. He looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly on his lap. He heard Mason talking again. The detective sounded miles away.
'Sam, have you spent the time dwelling on what happened?'
The voice, gentle and persuasive.
'Getting more bitter about what you lost? Getting angrier at the injustice of it all?'
The words, probing him, pulling him apart.
'Wishing somebody could take the pain away?'
Tearing him apart, little by little.
'Drinking yourself into a stupor while plotting some sort of revenge?'
The last comment jolted Sam. He looked up and stared at Mason and Hoskins. Both were studying him keenly. Their expressions gave nothing away, but he knew they were trying to work out if Sam Carlisle had turned into a loose cannon.
'Revenge?' said Sam, shaking his head. 'You're way off with that one, Detective.'
'Ah, but am I, Sam?' said Mason, tapping on the folder still in front of him. 'Am I really? This document here clearly describes your state of mind when you left for Bursleigh. An angry man, out of his mind with grief. Aggressive and drunkenly lashing out at the world. Then you arrived here, hoping the quiet life would ease your pain. But it didn't, did it, Sam?'
Mason paused a moment, letting his words sink in.
'The pain wouldn't go away, would it, Sam? The loss became unbearable. The drinking and loneliness only made it worse. And then you came across Carl Renshaw...'
'What are you implying?' asked Sam, knowing exactly what Mason was getting at. He wanted to hear the detective say it out loud.
'I'm suggesting, Sam, that when Mr Renshaw came onto your radar, you saw someone who was everything you're not. Happy, wealthy, a content family man. And in your drunken, bitter state of mind, the unfairness of it all...the jealousy...it drove you to do what you did tonight.'
'Which was what?' asked Sam, intrigued. 'What is it exactly you think I've done?'
'Well, you tell me,' replied Mason, stony-faced. 'Did you stun Mr Renshaw? Kill him? Burn the factory down hoping to hide the evidence?'
Sam shook his head in disbelief. He would have laughed had circumstances been different. Mason really believed he was behind the fire. That he had succumbed to some form of mental breakdown and gone crazy. The detective might have guessed accurately at Sam's recent turmoil, but he was spectacularly wrong about the conclusion.
'Look, I don't blame you,' said Mason, giving Sam a sorrowful look. 'To a point. You haven't been thinking straight. People will understand. You've been through a lot. But it's important you tell us the truth. Then we can help you.'
Mason sat back in his chair, exchanged glances with Hoskins and gazed at Sam expectantly. He looked a man satisfied with his work. However, when Sam continued to remain silent, Mason began to get concerned.
'Well?' he urged. 'Are you going to tell us what really happened tonight? Come on, Sam, you can talk to us.'
In that single moment, Sam realised just how far he had fallen.
How pathetic his life had become.
He had sunk to a point where experienced police detectives genuinely suspected him of a desperate, horrific crime. Actually believed him capable of descending to such depths.
'I've told you what happened, Detective.'
They continued to question him.
Sam saw the disappointment written all over Mason's face when the detective realised he wasn't changing his story. Mason had clearly been convinced he had seduced Sam into opening up and confessing. With a disenchanted sigh, Detective Inspector Mason put the setback to one side and carried on with the interview.
Both Mason and Hoskins raised their eyebrows when Sam explained just how recently he had met Carl, the circumstances in which Carl had approached him, and their informal working relationship in the short time since. Sam answered a constant stream of questions, every one of
'Sam, have you spent the time dwelling on what happened?'
The voice, gentle and persuasive.
'Getting more bitter about what you lost? Getting angrier at the injustice of it all?'
The words, probing him, pulling him apart.
'Wishing somebody could take the pain away?'
Tearing him apart, little by little.
'Drinking yourself into a stupor while plotting some sort of revenge?'
The last comment jolted Sam. He looked up and stared at Mason and Hoskins. Both were studying him keenly. Their expressions gave nothing away, but he knew they were trying to work out if Sam Carlisle had turned into a loose cannon.
'Revenge?' said Sam, shaking his head. 'You're way off with that one, Detective.'
'Ah, but am I, Sam?' said Mason, tapping on the folder still in front of him. 'Am I really? This document here clearly describes your state of mind when you left for Bursleigh. An angry man, out of his mind with grief. Aggressive and drunkenly lashing out at the world. Then you arrived here, hoping the quiet life would ease your pain. But it didn't, did it, Sam?'
Mason paused a moment, letting his words sink in.
'The pain wouldn't go away, would it, Sam? The loss became unbearable. The drinking and loneliness only made it worse. And then you came across Carl Renshaw...'
'What are you implying?' asked Sam, knowing exactly what Mason was getting at. He wanted to hear the detective say it out loud.
'I'm suggesting, Sam, that when Mr Renshaw came onto your radar, you saw someone who was everything you're not. Happy, wealthy, a content family man. And in your drunken, bitter state of mind, the unfairness of it all...the jealousy...it drove you to do what you did tonight.'
'Which was what?' asked Sam, intrigued. 'What is it exactly you think I've done?'
'Well, you tell me,' replied Mason, stony-faced. 'Did you stun Mr Renshaw? Kill him? Burn the factory down hoping to hide the evidence?'
Sam shook his head in disbelief. He would have laughed had circumstances been different. Mason really believed he was behind the fire. That he had succumbed to some form of mental breakdown and gone crazy. The detective might have guessed accurately at Sam's recent turmoil, but he was spectacularly wrong about the conclusion.
'Look, I don't blame you,' said Mason, giving Sam a sorrowful look. 'To a point. You haven't been thinking straight. People will understand. You've been through a lot. But it's important you tell us the truth. Then we can help you.'
Mason sat back in his chair, exchanged glances with Hoskins and gazed at Sam expectantly. He looked a man satisfied with his work. However, when Sam continued to remain silent, Mason began to get concerned.
'Well?' he urged. 'Are you going to tell us what really happened tonight? Come on, Sam, you can talk to us.'
In that single moment, Sam realised just how far he had fallen.
How pathetic his life had become.
He had sunk to a point where experienced police detectives genuinely suspected him of a desperate, horrific crime. Actually believed him capable of descending to such depths.
'I've told you what happened, Detective.'
They continued to question him.
Sam saw the disappointment written all over Mason's face when the detective realised he wasn't changing his story. Mason had clearly been convinced he had seduced Sam into opening up and confessing. With a disenchanted sigh, Detective Inspector Mason put the setback to one side and carried on with the interview.
Both Mason and Hoskins raised their eyebrows when Sam explained just how recently he had met Carl, the circumstances in which Carl had approached him, and their informal working relationship in the short time since. Sam answered a constant stream of questions, every one of
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