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“You spoke with Mark?” Damien asked.

“Once,” Tobin said. “He only gets to make one call a month, so I communicated with him through letters or through his friend, Plank.”

“Matthew Plank?”

“I don’t know his first name, but Plank gave me a code to use when I communicated with Mark so the prison authorities wouldn’t know what we were talking about. When I first told Mark about my idea of making my dad a hero, he didn’t believe me. He thought I was just trying to pin the Taylor Lawson murder on him. But, I kept writing him, sharing with him my ideas and plans. I knew where he had killed Taylor, just not the exact location of her body. That still wasn’t enough for him, though. He wouldn’t believe me until I could show him.”

“By killing Mandy Templeton?” Damien asked.

“Exactly. After that, he was more than happy to help. He’d told me, through Plank, to buy a burner phone, which I did. I gave that number to Plank, who shared it with Mark. A few minutes after you left Mark at the prison, he made his one phone call for the month. He told me what happened to Taylor Lawson and the precise location of her body.”

“Why would he admit to killing Taylor?” Sanders asked. ”He’s denied it since our first interrogation.”

“He said it was his gift to you.” Tobin then turned to Damien. “That’s when he told me it was the same location where your parent’s had their first date.”

“I don’t believe this has anything to do with me or my family,” Damien said. “I think he’s just playing me. Playing all of us.”

“He’s not,” Tobin said. “At least, not about Taylor. Charity’s in the same chamber with Taylor’s body. Mark said he wasn’t sure he could kill Taylor when he kidnapped her. First time jitters. So, he put her where he didn’t have to do anything. If he left her alone, she’d die on her own.”

“How?” Sanders’ asked. “Tobin, how does she die?

Suffocation? Does she run out of oxygen?”

“Something like that,” Tobin said. He looked at his watch. “We can’t talk about this anymore, Dad. You have to hurry and save her. She’s running out of time.”

“Dammit, I’m tired of your games, son. You tell me where Charity is or else I’m gonna let all hell fall on you.”

Tobin smiled with an innocent mischievousness, like a boy hiding a cookie behind his back. “I can’t tell you, Dad. That’s not how I set it up. I did this for you. If I tell you where she is, then everything I’ve done is wasted.”

“Everything you’ve done is wasted! Son, you’ve killed two innocent girls.”

“I wouldn’t say Darlene was exactly innocent,” he jabbed.

“This isn’t a joke,” Sanders said. The old detective put his gun in his holster and approached his son with hesitant steps. “Tobin… my boy… don’t you see what you’ve done is wrong? Don’t you see that?”

“Dad,” he scoffed. “I know right from wrong. Everyone knows that. But, you’ve taught me there are degrees of right and wrong. Some wrongs can be right and some rights can be wrong. There aren’t hard and fast rules. That’s what you used to say. There is what people claim is right and what needs to be done. Remember? You used to do what needed to be done, when no one else would do it and, in the end, you were right, no matter what you did to get there.”

“That’s not… I didn’t mean…”

“I just did what you did, Dad. Some people will think what I did was wrong, but not you. You, of all people, would understand that some things are more important than petty lives. That’s what you called them. Petty lives.”

“No… son… please.”

“And your importance to Hayeston needs to be remembered. You deserve more than a plaque on a jail cell. You deserve a bronze statue outside the police station. A symbol for all the old cops and new ones, like Mr. Hill. Immortalized as the greatest detective this town has ever known.”

“Sanders,” Damien said. “You know what needs to be done.”

“He does,” Tobin said. “He needs to save the girl. He needs to find Taylor’s body. He needs to be a hero one last time.”

Damien turned to face Tobin, his hands in plain sight, and moved slowly toward him, making sure not to make any sudden moves.

“Tobin, why don’t you give me my gun back,” Damien said. “I can’t be a police officer, I can’t help your dad be a hero, if I don’t have all my tools. So, please, can I have my gun back?”

Tobin’s hand reached for Damien’s pistol and pulled it from behind his belt.

“No,” Sanders yelled.

Damien jolted, finding his partner pointing his pistol at him.

“I can’t let you do it, Hill. I can’t let you arrest my boy.”

“Sanders-”

“No. I can’t… this can’t be the way this ends. There has to be another way.”

Damien stepped back from both Tobin and Sanders, the pain from his head hiding beneath the adrenaline of fear.

“Your son is a murderer,” Damien said. “You’re a cop. Be a cop.”

“I can’t arrest my boy.”

“See?” Tobin said. “My Dad loves me.”

Tears pooled at the base of Sanders’ eyes, helpless in the face of the unthinkable.

“What am I supposed to do?” Sanders mumbled.

“You know what to do,” Damien whispered. “Be a cop.”

Damien knew he was asking the impossible, for a former officer to cuff his own son, to admit he was somehow responsible for creating a serial killer. It was a choice between hell and damnation. All Sanders’ options pointed toward the same horrific destination.

After a moment of looking back and forth between Damien and Tobin, Sanders finally nodded and lowered his gun.

“Tobin, give Cadet Hill his pistol,” Sanders said. “You’re not a thief.”

“No, I’m not,” Tobin agreed.

“I’m going to take out my cuffs and place them around your wrists.”

“Dad, that’s not how it’s supposed to end. I had it all planned out. It’s gonna be awesome. I can’t let you ruin it. Not after all I’ve done for you. I can’t.”

“Son, please. I’m begging you. Put the gun down.”

“Oh!” Tobin said, giddy with excitement. “I figured it out! I know how I can fix it. I know how you can still be a hero.”

“How?”

Tobin smiled, placed the gun against his temple, and fired.