The questions tore at him, one after another, relentless. But the worst one, the one he didn’t want to touch and still couldn’t shake, circled back like a blade against bone:
Would he ever see him again?
The door clicked open.
“Mr Ellison, thank you for coming in.” DI Havers sat across from him, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened. “For the record, I’m DI Havers, and also in the room is your Victim Liaison Officer, Ms Clarence, who you’ve already met.”
Havers slid a notepad onto the desk but didn’t open it, he folded his hands instead.
“Before we start, I need to remind you, you’re here as a witness and as a victim. You’re not under investigation. The purpose of this interview is to record your account. The interview is being audio recorded. Do you understand?”
Jude nodded. The words landed, but hollow. He understood procedure. What he didn’t understand was Warren.
Havers gave a short nod to the recording device. “For the record, can you confirm your full name?”
“Jude Ellison.”
“Thank you.” Havers leaned forward. “Alright. I’d like you to talk me through what happened this morning. Start from the beginning, in your own words.”
Jude stared past him, at the grey wall behind. Where did he want him to start? With the shower? With a man he’d thought was a colleague, someone he was stupidly falling for, stepped in behind him, whispering how good he felt in his hand and asking him to fall apart for him? Did he want him to say how he’d sank to his knees, taken DS Beckford into his mouth, swallowed him down, believing—wanting—Warren Bailey?
Only Warren Bailey didn’t exist.
So he omitted that part. For sanity.
“I left…” His tongue stuck on the name. He couldn’t force it out. “…the house. I went to my car to head to work, and that’s when Callum came out of nowhere. He held a knife to—” His stomach clenched. He had to say it. “—to Warren’s throat.”
Havers nodded, pen scratching. “Do you have any idea how Callum Reid knew where you were?”
“No.” Jude shook his head. “I’d never been there before myself. I’d been… sleeping in my car.” He let out a bitter laugh that died in his throat. “And I was offered… an alternative.”
Havers looked at him under his lashes, almost as if waiting for more. But Jude glanced away, shame scorching under his skin. He couldn’t explain. Didn’t have the words for whatalternativemeant. And who it had been offering that. Had it been protocol or…something else?
“Can you continue, in your own words, what happened next?” Havers prompted.
Jude folded his arms, gripping tight. “Callum threatened Warren. Threatened me. So Warren…” he exhaled, sharp and bitter, “…identified himself as police. Disarmed Callum. Put the cuffs on him. Called it in. And now I’m here.”
Havers nodded, scratching his pen across the page. “Do you believe there was anything unprofessional about the way DS Beckford handled the situation?”
Jude barked a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. “I’ve got no fucking idea who DS Beckford even is. All I know is I thought I was staying at the house of a fellow teacher. So don’t ask me to measure professionalism, because I wouldn’t know what it looks like anymore.”
“I understand.” Havers made another note. “For the record, did you observe DS Beckford use brute or unnecessary force while disarming Mr Reid?”
Jude hesitated, chewing his lip. He could still hear the sickening crunch of bone when Warren slammed Reid’s face into the bonnet. He remembered the swift, clinical brutality of the takedown. Remembered how Callum had been cuffed and Warren had still punched him in the face without Callum having the ability to defend himself. It was certainly unnecessary force, an explosion of rage. But he also remembered Reid's eyes, feraland promising to kill. Warren didn't use force againstJude; he used it for him.
Sohe said, “No.”
“And for the record,” Havers continued, gaze fixed on Jude, “do you have any complaint regarding DS Beckford’s handling of you?”
Jude inhaled hard, chest tight. He focused on the small red light on the recorder. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, or maybe didn’t want to, he said, “No.”
“Can you tell us who Callum Reid is to you?”
Jude shifted in his chair. To them it was probably a simple question. To him it was anything but. “He’s… someone I used to live with.”
Havers glanced down, pen moving. “And when was that?”
Jude frowned, counting back through years he’d rather forget. “From when I was seventeen. Until about twenty-two. Before he was arrested and sent to prison.”
