“And?”
“And then I remembered the part where we agreed to do this together. Even when every instinct I have says going alone is safer.” His voice went quieter. “For both of us.”
We didn't speak again until we were in my car, navigating London streets that had gone quiet with the lateness of the hour. Cal sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring out the window like he was cataloguing every shadow, every possible threat.
“How long have you known about this witness?” I asked.
“Three weeks. I've been cultivating the contact slowly. Carefully. One wrong move and they'd have disappeared completely.”
“Three weeks.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You've been sitting on this for three weeks.”
“I've been building trust for three weeks.” Cal finally looked at me. “This person is terrified, Dom. They've watched what happens to people who cross Harrow. They needed time to believe I could protect them. That meeting me wouldn't be the last mistake they ever made.”
“And now they're ready to talk.”
“Now they're desperate enough that fear of staying silent outweighs fear of speaking.” His mouth tightened. “Which means Harrow's tightening the noose. Which means we're running out of time.”
The courthouseafter hours was a different beast. Empty corridors that echoed footsteps. Security lights that left more shadows than illumination.
Cal moved through it like he'd been there a hundred times. No hesitation. No checking signs or consulting maps. Just smooth, certain navigation that spoke of intimate knowledge.
“You've been here before,” I said quietly.
“Many times.” He led me down stairs that hadn't seen maintenance in decades. “I've spent years mapping this building's secrets.”
“Mapping how? You just walk around memorising layouts?”
Cal glanced back at me. Something shifted in his expression. “I have a photographic memory. Eidetic recall, technically. I see something once, it stays forever. It's useful for investigations. Less useful for everything else.”
“What do you mean less useful?”
“I mean I remember everything, Dom. Every case file I've ever read. Every witness statement. Every photograph of every crime scene. Every face of every victim whose justice got buried.” His voice stayed flat. Clinical. But I heard the weight underneath. “I remember the expression on my partner's face when he died. I remember the exact words Harrow used when he destroyed my career. I remember every threat, every failure, every person I couldn't save.”
We reached a door marked “Staff Only.” Cal pulled out a thin piece of metal, worked the lock with practiced ease.
“That sounds like hell,” I said quietly.
“It's both blessing and curse.” The lock clicked and Cal pushed the door open onto a passage that smelled like old paper and older stone. “The blessing is I never need notes. Never forget details. Can reconstruct entire conversations from months ago with perfect accuracy. Makes me very good at my job.”
“And the curse?”
“The curse is I can't forget anything. Can't let things go. Can't move past trauma because it lives in my head with the same clarity as the day it happened.” He started down the passage. “I don't have the luxury of memory fading. Of pain dulling with time. It's all right there. Always. Every moment I've ever wanted to forget preserved in perfect detail.”
I followed him deeper. The passage narrowed. Got colder. “Is that one of the reasons why you work alone? Because remembering people clearly makes it harder when you lose them?”
“Partly.” His voice echoed weird in the narrow space. “But mostly because working alone means fewer people to remember if things go wrong. Fewer faces to carry. Fewer ghosts.”
“I'm sorry.” The words felt inadequate. But I meant them.
“Don't be. It's kept me alive. Kept me useful. Kept me hunting.” He stopped at an intersection. Considered two identical passages. Chose the left without hesitation.
“How far?” I asked.
“Two more turns. Then down.” Cal's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “The witness is meeting us in the sub-basement. Old filing room that officially doesn't exist anymore.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Found it during my first reconnaissance of this building. Eighteen months ago. Photographed the layout, memorised the access points, marked it as potentially useful.” He glanced back at me. “I've probably spent two hundred hours in this courthouse over three years. I know spaces most people forgot existed. Can walk most of it blind if necessary.”
