Hearing Clarence Dobby's name, Clyde immediately grew agitated and snarled, "Clarence Dobby deserved to rot in hell long ago. Yes, I wanted him dead—he murdered my wife and daughter."
Seeing Clyde's emotional state, Nick seized the opportunity. "So, you also killed Rupert Meek, didn't you?"
"Rupert Meek deserved it just as much," Clyde said, nodding. "Yes, they both deserved to die."
"So, you're admitting responsibility for both murders?" Nick straightened up, locking his gaze on Clyde.
Clyde nodded again. "In my mind, I've thought about killing them countless times. Yes, many, many times."
"Well then, I think our conversation is over." Nick jotted down Clyde's apparent confession in his notebook, stood up, and adjusted his suit. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Shelton."
"You haven't changed one bit, Nick." Clyde raised his head, a smirk creeping onto his face as he watched Nick prepare to leave. "Ten years, and you're still the same. Everything you do is just to close a case."
Nick turned back, puzzled by Clyde's words.
"I'm sorry to tell you, but you won't be meeting with Judge Roberts anytime soon. In fact, you'll likely be too busy this week to even go home."
"What?" Nick frowned.
Clyde remained calm. "Have a seat, Nick. We still have plenty to talk about."
"What more is there to discuss?" Nick tapped his notebook with a smile of disbelief. "We've asked all the questions we need. You just admitted to the murders of Clarence Dobby and Rupert Meek."
"Did I?" Clyde chuckled, baring his teeth.
"Of course." Nick gestured to the cameras and microphones around the room. "This interrogation room has twelve cameras, and there are two microphones under the table in front of you. Everything we've said has been recorded, so I don't see what more there is to talk about."
Clyde laughed derisively. "Apologies, but I've spent the last ten years studying every law in this country. If I recall correctly, nodding isn't considered an admission of guilt under the law.
And that record in your hands? I didn't sign it. Think about how I phrased my responses earlier."
Clyde's previously timid demeanor shifted into one of smug satisfaction. "I said I wanted Dobby dead. Of course, as a father, I'd want the man who murdered my wife and daughter to die. But wanting and doing are two different things. American law doesn't criminalize fantasizing about killing someone, does it, Nick?"
Nick realized he'd been played.
Despite his decades of experience as a prosecutor, Clyde's calm surrender and apparent willingness to confess had led Nick to assume Clyde was ready to accept the consequences of his actions.
Being outmaneuvered infuriated Nick, but he knew anger wouldn't help. "We both know you killed Dobby and Meek. You're the only one with the motive."
Clyde let out a sharp laugh. "So what if you know? Huh? Are you hoping the jury will just believe your gut feeling and convict me? Nick, Nick, Nick." Clyde repeated Nick's name mockingly, a sneer forming on his face.
Pointing his shackled hands at Nick, he continued, "Don't forget what you said to me ten years ago in your office.
Back then, I was helpless, lost, and heartbroken, pleading with you to bring my wife and daughter's killers to justice. And what did you say to me? What did you say?" Clyde's voice rose to a roar. "You stood before a grieving husband and father with no compassion and told me you had signed a deal with Clarence Dobby, that murderer, making him a star witness in exchange for his testimony."
Clyde's sneer deepened. "God, Nick, how could someone like you exist? You didn't even hesitate. You didn't care about my pain, my loss—you just made a deal with the man who butchered my family."
"And what happened in the end, Nick? Dobby, that bastard, served only three years before being released. Meanwhile, another fool who should've served just ten years ended up on death row—because of you."
"Well done, Nick Reese. You're a real champion of justice." Clyde began clapping slowly, his mocking applause echoing through the room. "I hope you don't have nightmares about poor Rupert Meek."
Nick's face turned red with anger as veins bulged on his temples. The guards in the room exchanged awkward glances, some looking at Nick with subtle disapproval.
Legally, Clyde deserved punishment—he had killed. But sympathy for the loss of his wife and daughter complicated things. Even so, sympathy didn't mean anyone condoned murder. Justice demanded accountability for killing.
However, Nick's lack of evidence meant the jury wouldn't convict Clyde unless he provided solid proof.
Forcing himself to remain calm, Nick returned to his chair and stared Clyde in the eye. "You know, Clyde, many criminals I've sent to prison believed they were smarter than me. I'll be watching you until you end up in a cell like the rest of them."
"Unless you find irrefutable evidence, you're in for disappointment, Nick," Clyde said confidently. "You'll have to watch me walk out of here, just like Clarence Dobby did seven years ago."
"What do you want?" Nick asked, realizing that without evidence, he was wasting his time.
"Ah, finally, we're getting to the point." Clyde grinned, leaning forward. "What I want is simple. Let's make a deal—just like the one you made with Dobby ten years ago. A deal where I confess to the murders in exchange for something."
"Not interested," Nick said, standing abruptly and grabbing his notebook. "Fk you, you bastard."
Clyde's grin only widened as Nick stormed out.
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American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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