Chapter 2: First Impressions

Chapter 2: First Impressions

The interrogation room was small and cold, its walls painted in a bland shade of gray that made it feel like time itself had stopped. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the metal table where Julian Bishop sat, handcuffed and slouched back in his chair. He seemed to belong there, like he’d been in rooms like this more times than he could count. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and his dark hair fell casually over his eyes, which were locked on Detective Emma Hartley as if he were the one interrogating her.

Emma sat across from him, her posture straight and professional. She had a folder in front of her—Julian’s file. She’d gone over it a dozen times already, memorizing every detail, every petty crime he’d been linked to, every arrest that hadn’t stuck. But there was something about him that didn’t quite fit.

“So, Julian,” she began, her voice steady, “why don’t you start by telling me what you were doing at Victoria Cross’s apartment last night?”

Julian rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “We’ve been over this already, Detective. I was there because she asked me to come. She needed help. We argued. I left. End of story.”

Emma leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Help with what? And why do you think she called you instead of the police?”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost mocking. “Victoria wasn’t the type to go to the police. She liked to keep her secrets close. And maybe she trusted me more than she trusted you guys.”

“Funny how you’re trying to play the knight in shining armor here when all the evidence points to you,” Emma said, her tone sharp. “Your fingerprints are on the broken glass, the neighbors heard you yelling, and you’re telling me this is all just some big misunderstanding?”

Julian’s smirk grew, and he leaned back further, balancing on the back legs of his chair like he was lounging in his living room, not sitting in an interrogation room. “You ever think maybe you’re looking for the easy answer, Detective? I mean, I get it. It’s your job to wrap this up with a nice little bow. But maybe you should be asking yourself why it’s all so neat and tidy.”

Emma watched him carefully. His words were confident, even cocky, but there was something about the way he spoke, something in his eyes that made her hesitate. He was too calm, too composed for someone who was supposed to be panicking. Most suspects cracked under pressure, but Julian seemed almost entertained.

“You’re awfully calm for someone facing murder charges,” she pointed out.

Julian shrugged. “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Like what?” Emma challenged.

He just smiled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Emma leaned back in her chair, trying to read him. Julian Bishop was a puzzle, that much was clear. He wore his bravado like armor, every smirk and smart remark designed to keep people at a distance. But there was a flicker of something else beneath the surface—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Fear? No, not fear. Something more like… regret.

“Why are you really here, Julian?” she asked, softening her tone. “What aren’t you telling me?”

His smile faltered for just a second, and there it was again—that flash of something real. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual cocky grin.

“Maybe I just like the view,” he said, glancing around the drab room with obvious sarcasm.

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You’re making this harder on yourself. If you didn’t kill Victoria, you need to start talking.”

“Why, so you can twist my words and use them against me?” Julian shot back. “No thanks, Detective. I’m not that stupid.”

“Then help me understand!” Emma pressed. “Why were you there last night? What did Victoria need help with?”

Julian hesitated, and for a moment, Emma thought he might actually open up. But then he shook his head, his expression hardening again. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? She’s dead, and you think I did it. Case closed.”

“Not if you’re telling the truth,” Emma said quietly. “If you’re innocent, you need to give me something to work with. Who else could have wanted Victoria dead?”

Julian stared at her for a long moment, his blue eyes searching hers. Then he leaned forward, his expression serious for the first time since they’d started. “You really want to know, Detective? Fine. But be careful what you wish for. This goes deeper than you think.”

Emma felt a chill run down her spine. There was something in his voice—something dark and real that cut through all the bravado. For the first time, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, Julian Bishop wasn’t the villain he pretended to be.

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