He knew he needed to call their lawyer first, but he also wanted to talk to his fiancée, Vanessa Bender, as soon as possible. He did not want anyone else trying to explain to her what had just happened. Leaning his head back against the seat, Joe felt tears sting his eyes. He thought back to the night Vanessa’s Jeep broke down.

‘Why did I wait so long to ask her what happened? If only I had asked her right then…we could have gotten his fingerprints. It would have been over. She never would have been…’ A few tears slid down his cheeks. ‘None of this ever would have happened. This is all my fault.’

He opened his eyes and stared at the wire screen separating the front and back seats. He could not believe that three short weeks ago his biggest worry had been where to go on his honeymoon.

Frank Hardy had watched in disbelief as his younger brother was handcuffed and placed in the back of a police cruiser.

‘Murder? Joe?!’ Three weeks ago he would have thought it impossible. Even now he had trouble believing it, despite what he had seen with his own eyes. Had Joe’s hell-bent need for revenge really driven him to murder Vanessa’s rapist?

‘I didn’t kill him, Frank! I didn’t!’ Frank kept hearing Joe’s anguished voice in his head. Could it have happened the way Joe said it did?

He could still see the look on Joe’s face as he was being handcuffed and read his rights. He had been devastated by what he considered yet another betrayal by Frank.

‘He’s always counted on me. I’ve always been there for him.’ Tears stung his eyes. ‘What’s happening to us? How could we have grown so far apart in such a short time?’

"Frank," he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "We need to get down to the station."

Frank looked at his father. His brown eyes were red from the brief period he had allowed himself to cry.

"Dad, did he really do it?"

"I don’t want to believe it either, but I know what I saw."

Frank had been hoping his father had come up with something – anything – to explain what they had both witnessed. He did not want to believe his younger brother had killed someone in cold blood, no matter what the circumstances.

"Could it have happened the way Joe said it did?"

Con Riley and Police Chief Ezra Collig approached the father and son.

‘Fenton looks like he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes.’ Con thought sadly.

"I’m sorry," he addressed them both. "I had no choice." He held his hands out apologetically and shrugged his shoulders.

Fenton simply nodded. His eyes followed the Medical Examiner who had arrived a few moments earlier and was slowly circling the body. Every so often she would bend down to get a closer look at the body or something on the ground that caught her eye.

"Where’s the murder weapon?" she called out, causing Frank to wince. An officer dutifully produced the plastic bag containing Joe’s gun. With gloved hands she held it up giving it a cursory glance. "And the suspect?"

‘He’s not a suspect!’ Frank wanted to scream. ‘He’s my brother!’

"He’s already been read his rights and taken to the station." the officer who had supplied Joe’s gun replied

"I see," she looked around at everyone who was milling about, her eyes stopping on Con. "Detective, would you like to tell me exactly what happened here?"

Fenton took Frank by the arm and steered him towards the car. "They can take care of this without us. I want to get down to the station before they start questioning Joe. I don’t want him to say anything without a lawyer present." He thought about Joe’s hair trigger temper and shuddered at what he might say if provoked.

They drove in silence for a while before Frank spoke. "Should we call Mom? Or Vanessa?"

"No. We don’t really know what to tell them yet."

Frank turned to look at his father. "Joe’s been arrested for murder. We both saw him do it."

"I know but I want to talk to him first. Maybe there was something else. Something we didn’t see that could prove his innocence."

Frank nodded, suddenly hopeful. ‘Maybe there was something else. Something we couldn’t see…’ Every last trace of hope disappeared when he realized what that really meant.

"Dad," his voice shook. "Do you understand what that means?"

Fenton looked questioningly at his son.

"His word isn’t enough for us anymore," he whispered. "Now we need proof to believe him." This time the tears stung his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks.

After arriving at the police station, Joe was led into the booking room. His pockets were emptied, the contents recorded and placed in a plain, manila envelope. He was then fingerprinted and had mug shots taken. His blood-stained shirt and jacket were confiscated as evidence. After being searched, he was allowed to change into a Bayport Police Department T-shirt and led to an interrogation room.

"You can make one call." The young officer pointed to the phone on the wall and took a seat at the table.

Joe picked up the phone and punched in a number. It rang three times before someone answered.

"Sam Radley."

"Sam, it’s Joe. I need help…"