Page 38 of Trained In Sin

Saphy

James Carmichael is nothing like what I expected from a lawyer. He's younger than I imagined, probably early forties, with sharp blue eyes and an expensive suit that probably costs more than I make in a month. Everything about him screams competence and confidence.

"Ms. Jenkins," he says as we settle into the small conference room, "I want to assure you that you're not under suspicion for any crime. The police simply need to ask you some questions about your relationship with Mr. Phillips."

"How do you know that?" I ask, still reeling from his sudden appearance. "And who hired you? I can't afford…."

"The consultation is pro bono," he interrupts smoothly. "As for how I know you're not a suspect, it's my business to know these things. You're here as a witness, nothing more."

Relief floods through me so suddenly I feel dizzy. "You're sure?"

"Completely sure. However, I do recommend you answer their questions honestly but stick to what you know for certain. Don't speculate, don't volunteer information they haven't asked for."

"What if they ask about the last time I saw him?"

Carmichael's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Phillips? "

"The night we broke up. About three weeks ago." It's not technically a lie; I did see him that night. I just don't mention what happened afterward.

"Then that's what you tell them. Nothing more, nothing less."

"What if they ask about his behaviour? About whether he was... threatening?"

"Was he threatening?"

"Toward the end, yes. He was having trouble accepting that our relationship was over."

"Then say that. But again, stick to facts. Don't elaborate beyond what they specifically ask."

We spend another few minutes going over potential questions and responses. Carmichael is thorough, professional, and somehow reassuring despite the circumstances. By the time we're finished, some of my panic has subsided.

"One more thing," he says as we prepare to leave the conference room. "If at any point during the interview you feel uncomfortable or unsure about a question, you have the right to pause and consult with me. Don't hesitate to use that right."

"Thank you. I still don't understand who…."

"Someone who cares about your welfare wanted to ensure you had proper representation. That's all you need to know."

That says it all. Sebastian.

We exit the conference room, and I'm immediately aware of Sebastian's presence in the waiting area. He's sitting in the same chair, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. He looks terrible, exhausted, dishevelled, nothing like the controlled man I thought I knew.

"Ready?" Detective Inspector Chen approaches us with a professional smile. "We can use interview room three."

As we walk toward the interview room, I catch sight of another man entering the waiting area. Tall, broad shouldered, wearing a dark suit. It takes me a moment to recognize him, Matthew, Sebastian's bodyguard. He spots Sebastian immediately and heads in that direction.

But then Beth stands up.

They're standing close enough that I can see the tension between them, not hostile, exactly, but charged with something I can't identify.

Beth's chin is raised in that defiant way she gets when she's protecting someone, and Matthew's expression has shifted from professional neutrality to something more. .. interested.

"How can you work for him." Beth says, nodding toward Sebastian. It's not a question.

"I just do."

"Then you know what he's capable of."

"I know exactly what he's capable of." Matthew's voice is calm, measured. "The question is whether you understand why he does what he does."

"To get what he wants, regardless of the consequences to anyone else. "

"To protect the people he cares about, regardless of the consequences to himself."

They stare at each other for a moment, and I'm struck by how similar they are, both protective, both loyal, both willing to put themselves between their friends and perceived threats.

"Ms. Jenkins?" Chen's voice pulls my attention back to the task at hand. "Shall we?"

I follow her into the interview room, Carmichael beside me. The room is smaller than I expected, with a metal table and uncomfortable chairs. There's recording equipment set up, and Chen goes through the formal process of starting the interview.

"For the record, this is Detective Inspector Sarah Chen interviewing Sapphire Jenkins regarding the death of Damon Phillips. Also present is Mr. James Carmichael, representing Ms. Jenkins."

She turns to me, her expression kind but professional. "First, I want to thank you for coming in today. I know this must be difficult."

"Thank you."

"Let's start with the basics. How long did you know Mr. Phillips?"

"About three and a half years. We met through a mutual friend and dated for three years."

"And when did the relationship end?"

"About a month ago. Early October."

"Can you tell me about the circumstances of the breakup? "

I take a breath, sticking to the script Carmichael and I discussed. "I wasn't happy in the relationship anymore. I felt like we wanted different things, were growing in different directions. I told Damon it was over."

"How did he respond to that?"

"He was upset. Angry. He didn't want to accept that it was finished."

Chen makes notes as I speak. "Did he contact you after the breakup?"

"Yes. Phone calls, text messages. He wanted to talk, to try to work things out."

"Did you feel threatened by this contact?"

I pause, considering my words carefully. "Toward the end, yes. He was becoming more persistent, more... intense. He had trouble accepting no for an answer."

"Did you consider reporting this behaviour to us?"

"I thought about it. But I hoped he would calm down and move on."

Chen nods sympathetically. "That's very common. Many people try to handle these situations privately first."

She asks several more questions about the timeline of our relationship, about Damon's work, about his friends and associates. I answer as best I can, staying truthful but careful not to volunteer information beyond what she's asking .

"Now, Ms. Jenkins, I need to ask you about something else we discovered during our investigation."

Something in her tone changes, becomes more serious. I feel Carmichael tense slightly beside me.

"During our examination of Mr. Phillips' digital devices, we found some very disturbing material."

My stomach drops. "What kind of material?"

"Images and videos of children. Thousands of files, some dating back several years."

The words hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I can't breathe, can't process what she's saying.

"I'm sorry," I manage. "Did you say... children?"

"Yes. Mr. Phillips appears to have been involved in a network that collected and distributed child sexual abuse material. We're working with international partners to identify victims and other members of this network."

Child sexual abuse material. The words echo in my head, refusing to make sense. Damon. The man I lived with, slept besides, planned a future with.

"I... that's not possible. He would never..." But even as I say it, I know it's useless. The police wouldn't make this up.

"I know this is shocking. Unfortunately, people involved in these activities are often very skilled at hiding their true nature from family and friends."

"How long?" The question comes out as a whisper .

"Our preliminary analysis suggests the activity began approximately two and a half years ago, possibly longer."

Two and a half years. While we were together. While I was sharing his bed, his life, completely oblivious to the monster sleeping beside me.

"Ms. Jenkins, are you all right? Would you like some water?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Chen pours water from a pitcher on the table, and I drink it mechanically, trying to process what I've learned.

"I need to ask, during your relationship with Mr. Phillips, did you ever notice anything unusual about his computer use? Locked files, encrypted drives, secretive behaviour online?"

I try to think back, but my mind feels like it's moving through molasses. "His computer was always password protected. He said it was for work security. And he did freelance consulting, so there were always projects he said he couldn't discuss because of confidentiality agreements."

"Did he ever show inappropriate interest in children? Volunteer with youth organizations, seek out contact with minors?"

"No. Not that I noticed." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. Were there signs I missed? Situations I dismissed as innocent that weren't?

"Did he ever show you images or videos that seemed inappropriate but that he claimed were harmless?"

"No. Never. "

But my mind is racing now, going through three years of memories with new, horrifying context.

The locked computer. The secretive phone calls.

The way he sometimes seemed distracted after being online for long periods.

The freelance jobs that took him away for days at a time with minimal explanation.

"Ms. Jenkins, I want to be very clear about something. You are not responsible for Mr. Phillips' criminal activities. People like him are experts at compartmentalising their behaviour and maintaining normal relationships as cover."

Cover. That's what I was. For two and a half years, I was unknowingly providing cover for a predator who was collecting images of children being abused.

"I lived with him," I whisper. "How could I not know?"

"It's more common than you might think. These individuals often lead seemingly normal lives while engaging in criminal behaviour in secret. The fact that you didn't suspect anything doesn't make you na?ve, it makes you normal."

But I don't feel normal. I feel sick, violated, like everything I thought I knew about my life has been revealed as a lie. This is what Sebastian was talking about. He knew. He knew but he didn’t tell me.