Detective Dean Daly walked into the interrogation room and lifted his arms in the air.
“Jack… I don't know what to say."
"How did Donna die, Dean? Nobody will tell me anything. I can’t believe you all think I had something to do with this. You know me. I could never hurt Donna. How did she die, Dean?"
Jack and Dean met at the gym nearly two years ago. Jack was already a member at the gym when Dean was promoted to detective and relocated to Bluffington. The two hit it off immediately and soon began scheduling their gym time so that they could work out together. The workouts were soon followed by the occasional beer and golf game. They became close friends who got together every other day of the week. Dean knew all about Jack's life. Dean often shared details of his work in the field.
From what he knew of Dean’s interrogation process, Jack could tell Dean was gearing up to start in on him. He accepted the fact that he might be at the station for hours still, but then where would he go when the interrogation was over?
Jack’s thoughts suddenly wandered to some very odd questions considering his situation. His house was obviously off limits, so where was he to go when he was let out? He didn’t even have a change of clothes. What was he to do? What would he say to his friends and his parents? For a moment, he almost forgot that his wife was dead.
"Jack, I need to ask you some questions. You know the drill. It could be a long night. Unless you killed her of course." Dean let a small grin cross his face, put his hands on the back of the empty chair, and leaned in towards Jack. The grin quickly vanished as Dean waited for a response.
"Of course not. You know I was in BC since Sunday. I'll tell you everything I can. How did she die?"
"I'll give you the details later. The point is, she didn't die from natural causes, and right now, I need to ask you some questions. Let's start with the last time you saw Donna. When and where?"
"Sure. We had dinner Sunday night about six. I left at seven thirty..."
Jack told Dean exactly when he left Bluffington and arrived in Abbottsford. He recapped his day in Abbottsford, who he saw, who he called, where he went, and when he went there. He told him everything. Dean asked for more details, and they danced from one day to the next, and repeated everything from Friday, then Monday, back to Saturday, then today, back to Sunday, and then all over again. Dean asked what they ate for dinner on Saturday night and Sunday night. Dean repeated some of the details back to Jack but left out or changed some fact, but Jack corrected him each time. He was getting annoyed at the game Dean was playing.
Dean was relentless; he made Jack go through the finer points over and over again until Jack was almost losing his patience. Their friendship was fading, but Jack stood firm under the repeated scrutiny. He never wavered. He offered the same details every single time. Jack finally reached his breaking point. He screamed and jumped out of his chair, threatening to throw himself across at Dean. Dean backed off and appeared compassionate and sympathetic. Jack relaxed at Dean's words and broke down in tears as Dean continued to talk about Jack's loss instead of Jack's possible involvement in the case.
Hours passed as the process was repeated. At times, Dean would leave saying he would be back in a minute, but Jack would be left alone for half an hour. He knew they were watching for a sign of some kind. Was wiping away the sweat from his forehead or breathing heavy signs of guilt? Was rubbing his hands together a sign of more than just the stress of the situation? Maybe he was not supposed to look relaxed. Jack was tired. He was angry and confused. Paranoia was beginning to set in and he was close to his breaking point. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to behave and felt that he was making himself look guilty with every movement. He felt like screaming. He felt like throwing the bloody chair at the mirror and ripping the damn camera from its mount high up in the corner. He just wanted to get the hell out of this place. He wanted to wake up next to Donna and find this was all just a bad dream.
Dean returned and asked who knew he was gone on business. Jack offered a list of names. His workmates knew he was away. The Anderson's next door knew. The cashier at Best Buy knew—he told the cashier he wanted the audio books for his trip. He wasn’t sure if Donna had told anyone else, or if his office co-workers spoke of it. Many people knew he was away.
"Jack, I hate to do this to you right now, but I have to do my job, and that means asking tough questions."
"Like what?
"Was Donna having an affair?"
"Donna? No way. She loved me, and I loved her! I told you, we even made love on Sunday just before I left. An affair? Why would you even suggest that?"
Dean let out a long sigh, shook his head, and left Jack to contemplate the question.
Another hour passed before the door opened and a different detective entered. He carried on with the questions like Dean had. Jack stayed the course and repeated the same set of events again.
Jack was finally released around five in the morning. Detectives ushered him to the Holiday Inn at the edge of town in a non-descript car, steering clear of the waiting press. He had no car or cell phone; he had only his wallet and the clothes on his back. An officer would escort him back to the house in the afternoon to pick up some personal things. He would not be allowed to live in the house for a while.