Embers & Ice

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The chair was the worst thing. Every time Joshua moved, it squeaked like a plastic chew toy in the mouth of a Rottweiler. So he kept his hands – in cuffs – between his legs and literally sat as still as possible. After all, the squeaky chair gave away his every lie, and he wanted nothing given away. Not to the man who leant on the steel desk and glared at him.

“So why don’t you tell me,” Barry said in that casual, overly-confident tone all agents have when the criminal is safely behind bars, or – in his case – locked in the Livingston police department, interrogation room two. “What have you been up to lately? And don’t flake out on me like you always do. We’re not in Tappy’s bar, old friend. You’re in some deep shit here, and only the truth is gonna dig you out again.”

Joshua rolled his eyes. Okay, so Barry had caught him off guard. In fact, off guard was a bigger understatement than if he’d started off with “Nice weather we’re having” and pointed outside to the raging storm that pounded on the window. But did he really think that the whole threatening routine would work on him? Not today Barry.

“You’ve got all your wires crossed,” he said. “There’s no need for the FBI to get involved in whatever hoodoo you think is going on here. Those two, back at the hospital, are alive. Always have been, and murder or no murder, you can’t prove I was involved at all.”

Barry smiled down at the table and stood, loosening his tie. Joshua couldn’t help but notice how nicely Barry scrubbed up in a uniform, having been so used to seeing him in tattered jeans, biker boots and bulky jumpers with a case of beer under his arm. He’d shaved, slicked back his thinning hair and actually brushed his teeth.

“You think I’m pulling you in here because you’re on a happy little road trip with two supposedly dead missing persons? Jeez, I’ve underestimated just how stupid you really are Joshua.”

“Uh, ouch,” he said sarcastically. “So if it’s not about them, what’s it about? Did I forget to pay a parking ticket?”

Barry nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Very funny, wise ass. You know you’re a slippery little sucker. I’ve been on your tail since the day you started at Colombia. I searched your apartment. I followed you to work and from work. I bugged your house, and all I could come up with is some silly banter between you and Hunter about a fire and some other ridiculous crap.”

“And here I thought we were pals,” Joshua smiled.

“You think I’m friends with you coz I like you?” Barry huffed a laugh and looped his fingers into his gun holster. “Sorry pal, I just tailed your ass to get info from ya.”

Joshua grit his teeth, but didn’t retort.

“You see, there’s this case I’ve been working on for… near twenty years now. Missing children have been taken from their families all over the world, mostly in America. A couple from Paris reported their daughter missing a few years ago, saying something about a rehabilitation facility. Two foster boys – who were quite the juvenile delinquents – disappeared from their care center, and all the warden could tell us was that one was bailed out of jail, and the other was adopted that same day. Some families simply… give them up. They won’t tell us why. No one can explain it, not until something very interesting came up a couple of years ago.” Barry’s eyes were glowing, giving Joshua the uneasy feeling that he knew more than he let on. “New evidence arose on a case they re-opened in Sweden. You remember the laboratory explosion, don’t you? It would have been just after Hunter was born and you became her guardian. See, those clever Swedish bastards found something: Your prints.”

Joshua’s chair squeaked. It was almost as if he’d shouted “yes! I did it! I’m Iceman!” Barry chuckled under his breath and sat down opposite him. For a long time he remained motionless, letting it all sink in and hoping Joshua would crack under the pressure. But all Joshua thought about was sticking a thick, round icicle through Barry’s heart.