Neil Donovan is (incharge) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2014-01-22 15:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | phantom |
Who: Neil
What: Narrative: new evidence = more questioning.
Where: Police station.
When: Nowish?
Warnings/Rating: Swearing.
Neil was at the hospital when the cops showed up.
It was where he'd been since Sam had been shot, and when he wasn't in the room with her, by her side, he was out roaming the halls or taking naps in the extremely uncomfortable waiting room chairs. He pretty much ignored everyone else, too lost in his own head to care. Ash was off with Chloe's brother, which he viewed as a betrayal, and even fucking Dair was sleeping with one of them. It was incomprehensible. Chloe and her family were tearing his life apart, brick by brick, and corrupting his family like weeds wrapping themselves around flowers or some shit. He still couldn't understand how it had come to this. Murder? Framing an innocent woman? Chloe had left him for some cult leader and now she was the one making his life hell. He hated her, any fondness he might have clung to gone like a candle flame being blown out. There was no coming back from this, not anymore.
He hadn't thought it could get any worse. He was wrong. The cops came and asked him to come with them, said they needed to ask him some questions like they had before, and Neil was tempted to tell them to go fuck themselves. They hadn't listened when he'd told them about the Murphys, about their money and resources and how they had to dig deeper. But, whatever. So he shrugged, and he complied, and he laughed when they asked if he wanted a lawyer present. He couldn't afford a fucking lawyer, not a decent one, and besides, he had nothing to hide. Right?
Not so, according to the detective who was questioning him. His relationship with 'Miss Alexander' was rehashed, in detail, as was his financial situation. And then the cop asked him about the life insurance policy, and Neil stared like he'd lost his fucking mind. What life insurance policy? He didn't have one, he said. The detective told him that they'd found evidence that he did. He was asked about his bank accounts, about Iris, and Neil could tell the cop was angling for a confession.
Fuck that.
"This is bullshit," he'd snapped, rising from the table and not even bothering to watch his tone. "I didn't take out a goddamn life insurance policy on Sam. I don't have life insurance, and I don't have any money. My parents cut me off, like I told you before. I don't have an overseas bank account anymore."
The detective asked him to please lower his voice. To sit down. Ha.
"And I know what you're thinking, that I took out a life insurance policy because I'm broke. Wrong. I could've kept my money if I'd cut things off with my girlfriend, but I didn't. I made that fucking choice. Why don't you go do your goddamn job and find out who took out that policy, because it sure as hell wasn't me," he'd said, and then he'd demanded that they either arrest him or let him go, because this was a huge waste of time.
Though he could tell the detective didn't like it, Neil was free to go.
He didn't go back to the hospital. He went to a bar, one open during the day, and he drank. Screw sobriety. His girlfriend was in the hospital, and might never wake up. He had no money, the cops thought he and Iris had conspired to kill Sam, and the Murphys were getting away with murder. The more he drank, the angrier he became, and he decided with drunken certainty that if the police wouldn't get justice then he'd just have to do it himself.
One way or another, he vowed, they'd pay. All of them. And within his mind, a familiar voice agreed.