He’s cuffed, wrists held low, shoulders neither slumped nor squared. He looks…tired. Not defiant. Not cornered. Worn down in a way that suggests this has been building for years.
That alone forces me to recalibrate. I came here thinking I’d be staring down my nemesis, but have found a broken man in his stead.
Callum seats him across from me, then steps back to lean against the wall, arms crossed.
I let the silence stretch with a confidence I never felt before. Something about being part of catching Mike, surviving that cliff, and growing a strong-as-hell baby has infused me with newfound strength.
But as Ingram said, opposite me isn’t some cartoon villain twirling his moustache. It’s a man who is ready for this to end.
“Well, Ingram,” I say calmly, “I bet this didn’t go the way you expected.”
He exhales through his nose. “You could say that again.”
His posture is open. Arms loose and hands relaxed on his lap. No crossed limbs. He isn’t fighting me.
“You covered your brother’s murders?”
He corrects me. “Mariana Reyes. She is the only one I knew about. My brother told me. And yes, I covered it up.”
It should send a chill through my bones, knowing that this cop across from me could do such a thing, but there’s remorse in his confession. He didn’t want to.
I can’t imagine a moment like that where a family member has done something unspeakable, something that will take them away from you for years, ruin their life, possibly forever. Prison is a hard thing to survive, both mentally and physically.
I know the bonds of family. They run deep, and though I wouldn’t ever do what Ingram has done, there’s a very small part of me that understands it.
But that mistake led to more.
I note what he said and ask my next question. “Are you aware that your brother Mike Ingram confessed to twelve murders?”
His eyes fly open. For a split second, shock strips everything else away. Then his gaze drops, disbelief heavy in his words.
“God…no…”
“He did,” I say evenly. “Your brother is a serial killer, Justin. And you enabled him.”
His head snaps back up. “I didn’t know he’d end up like that. I thought Mariana was a mistake. That something broke in him temporarily.” His mouth turns downward. “I helped him. Yes. But I never thought he’d do it again. I covered it up, told him to leave, and I cut ties. I didn’t know what he was doing after that.”
I glance briefly at Callum. Then back to Ingram.
“So why obstruct justice in the Zoe Marshall case if you didn’t know it was him?”
For the first time, he looks down at the table.
“It felt familiar,” he says slowly. “Too familiar. I didn’t know he was back, but if he was, that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have tried to make it disappear. I didn’t know for sure it was murder.” He looks up again, eyes raw. “I swear on my children’s lives.”
The desperation in his voice lands harder than the words.
I think of my own baby. I would never swear on her life unless I meant it. Then again, I would never cover up a murder either. Both things can be true.
“So you didn’t know he killed her?”
“No,” he says. “I suspected. I worried. But I didn’t know.”
I hold his gaze. Let him feel the weight of being measured.
“You obstructed the investigation,” I say. “Why should I believe you didn’t know?”
“The first time I covered to save him.” No hesitation. “The second time, I covered to save myself. If it had Mike’s name on it, it could have led back to Mariana. And then?—”
