It took a little over a half an hour after Gray left his apartment to give up everything that was ever important to him. In that time, he had left his apartment after killing Gauge and Moody, dropped Angie off for what may very well have been the last time, and drove to the St. Marks’ where he had picked Angie up in the first place. He had taken the keys to her room before he’d dropped her off, and she wouldn’t be expected to check out until the coming morning. Gray would go there to hole up, to think about what he’d done, and where to go from there.
And what had he done? Killed two men who were threatening his lover and himself. Righteous self-defense. That’s what he told himself to get him through the drive, to get him up the stairs to the little room, to collapse onto the bed and lay gasping as he stared at the ceiling. What he’d really done was kill two men who weren’t threatening him at all - just Angie, which he wasn’t altogether certain counted as self-defense or anything other than straight up second-degree murder. Nothing that went on in his apartment was outside of the standard menu of interrogation; strong-arming a suspect into talking was hardly uncommon, and it wasn’t as if ethics were the strong suit of Civil Protection in the first place. No, what he’d really done - if he were honest with himself - was protect the woman who he loved so fiercely, whose scent still hung in the air from when they’d made love on the bed in which he lay.