“Mr. Browne, I need to ask you some questions. Do you think you can tell me a little about what happened to Evan?”
“I heard what happened to Evan, and I know what you think. But I didn't kill him.”
Emma sighed and told the truth. “I know.”
Gregory looked up in surprise at her calm, steady eyes. He shifted on the seat and coughed.
“I was going to visit him. Just a chinwag. It was so awful, drinking with only the flies for company, after Ned... just sitting and thinking. It’s good to have other people around. Takes you out of your own thoughts and lets you focus on what you ought to be doing. Well, we used to all get together sometimes, and Evan would come along if he could be bothered to shift his arse. I figured, why should I suffer by myself? Evan knew Ned, but he didn’t show much reaction. He ought to feel something.”
“Please, Mr. Browne, this next part is very important. What did you say to Mr. Finch the last time you saw him?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
“What do you mean nothing? Was he alive when you got to the station?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you take a coat home with you when you left, an orange one?”
Greg’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Emma leaned back a little and slowed her breathing.
“OK. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened when you got there.”
“That's just it. I don't remember.” Greg wiped his nose with his hand. His face twisted when he sniffed. “I know I told Lily I was going up the hill, but I don't remember ever going. I don't remember anything until this morning.” He looked up at her again, and saw the calm look on her face crumble. “You think I did it to him. You do!”
“I don't, Gregory.” She almost said “I wish I did. It would be so much easier.”
“Maybe you should. I was there.”
“You're sure of that?”
“I... Yes, I'm sure I was at the station. I must have been.”
“Did Evan ever talk about killing himself? Any indication that he was depressed?”
“No, I don't think so. Why would he tell me anything like that?”
Jesus. Seriously?
“Please think carefully, Mr. Browne. Anything at all you can remember is important. Can you picture the two of you at the station last night? What you were doing, what you talked about...”
“Not the two of us.”
“What?”
“Wasn't there someone else there?”
Emma leaned in. “Was there someone else at the station?”
“I don't... No. Come to think of it, I don't recall anyone else being there. Oh, but I can't remember. Lock me up, Constable. I've not been in my right mind since Ned.”
“I'm not locking anyone up, Gregory. Something is going on around here, but there is no indication of foul play in Evan's death. Do you really feel like you're a danger to yourself or anyone else right now?” She tried to present some semblance of control in her voice. It always helped when people were losing their minds to give them an idea of what sanity looked like. She wasn't sure how convincing a display it was.
Greg looked down at the pew, ran his hand back and forth across the stained wood a few times, and shook his head. It looked like a gesture of defeat.
“Can I ask you another question, Constable?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you believe in the Devil?”
“No.”
In the ensuing pause, Emma was not sure if he believed her. She was not sure she believed herself. Greg looked at the altar and whispered.
“I wish I felt that way. It's hard not to believe in him when you see him every day. I think the Devil might be in me. It feels like there's a warm hand on my shoulder, pushing me so gently I forget it's there.”
Emma attempted a pained expression and found that it came without effort. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shout at him to pull himself together, to do what must be done without going to pieces. When it became clear that he would offer no more explanation, she tried a new approach.
“My parents used to tell me that when they were young, their parents threatened them with a visitation from child-eating monsters if they didn't eat their vegetables.”
She heard Greg chuckle under his breath.
“Yeah, frankly I think they were full of shit. Nobody's actually said that to a kid since the middle ages. But their point was that they didn't think it was right to lie to children. They believed in the truth. They taught me about healthy portions and vitamins. There was a pyramid at one point, then it was gone. I always wondered what happened to that pyramid. They told me that kids who live on sugar and junk food get diabetes. They told me that you could always spot someone who was raised right because they had healthy eating habits all on their own. They told me there was something called gut flora that told you what was good for you. If you had the right stuff inside you, a piece of broccoli would taste better than ice cream. That last part probably didn't fit with their claim of not lying to children, but I got the gist.”
“Did it work?”
“Well, it didn’t make me like vegetables any better. But I did start pretending that I liked mustard greens, because my mother made them all the time and she never stopped reminding us how good they were for us. I would eat it as fast as I could and ask for seconds, because I didn't want anyone to think I had the wrong kind of gut flora or that I had diabetes. I was still a little fuzzy on what exactly that was. But
