Fic - Shadows of You (part 4 of 8)
Title: Shadows of You
Author: prehistoriccat
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Connor/Abby, Matt, Lester, Dr Tom Reardon (OC)
Genre: angst, gen, romance
Disclaimer: Canon characters are not mine, no copyright intended. Dr Tom Reardon is the creation of tay_21 and I'm using him with her kind permission
“Can't you tell them that I still need time? I found out that I lost my wife and baby barely three days ago! I can't do this yet.”
The three pieces of paper had laid on Connor's bed for two days; untouched and still neatly folded, just as they'd been when Lester had given them to him. A birth certificate and two death certificates. He didn't need to open them to know what they said, and acknowledging them wouldn't change any of the facts.
There was a small chest of drawers at the side of the bed, and perched on top was a folder; also untouched. However, Connor knew he couldn't ignore it forever. Lester had put together a file containing newspaper clippings and screen prints from the internet documenting the crime that Connor was accused of. Tom and Lester had been able to stall the legal teams on both sides for a few more days, but they wouldn't wait much longer and Connor needed to be prepared - 'Armed with all the facts' as Lester had put it. He made it sound like he was getting ready for a battle.
Connor sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the folder. Then he glanced around the room. He hadn't recognised it when Tom had first brought him here, but now he realised it was where Emily had stayed 'for her own protection' whilst Ethan was at large. He'd been made comfortable enough; the bed was soft, the blankets warm and no-one disturbed him. It should have felt like home, but it was effectively his prison cell.
He did have free run of the ARC if he wanted it, just as Emily had done, but he really didn't feel up to running into anyone and having to see their pitiful looks. He'd only left the room to use the bathroom or pay sneaky visits to the kitchen when he thought no-one else was around. Tom made a point of bringing him breakfast, and when Connor raided the kitchen cupboard in the evening there was always something there for him, even if it was just a packet of biscuits. He suspected Tom was responsible for that, and he was grateful even though he only really ate a few mouthfuls.
There was a knock on the door and Tom poked his head around, smiling. “OK to come in?” he asked, already pushing the door open. Connor simply nodded. Tom held up a large bag and Connor looked at him questioningly; this was not their usual coffee and bagel. “It's the first day back to school,” Tom said, placing the bag on Connor's bed and opening it up. A delicious, familiar smell hit Connor's nostrils.
“Bacon?”
“Yep. Molly likes to treat the kids with a cooked breakfast when they go back after the long summer holiday. I managed to persuade her to stick a few extra rashers in for us. You should find some home made crusty bread in there too. Tuck in!”
Connor suddenly realised that he was incredibly hungry, and his stomach was growling as the smell of bacon drifted and filled the room. He grabbed a rasher and a slice of bread, folded it into a sandwich and then took a huge bite. After a few moments, he noticed Tom was watching him and he stopped. “Look at me, being rude. You must thank Molly and the kids for sharing their breakfast with me.”
Tom waved a dismissive hand, “It's good to see you eating, that's all. You're going to need all of your strength to get through this.”
Connor's mood changed. He couldn't swallow the sandwich and he felt sick. Tom placed a comforting arm on his shoulder, but he shrugged it away. “Can't you tell them that I still need time? I found out that I lost my wife and baby barely three days ago! I can't do this yet.”
“Believe me, Lester and I have tried, Connor. They've waited two years to speak to you and they're not prepared to wait any longer.” Tom stood up and picked up the folder, holding it out to Connor. “You really should start getting your head around all of this. There's some legal expert coming to see you this afternoon to go through the case.”
Connor took the folder from Tom and placed it on the bed beside the certificates. “I'm not sure I even care what happens to me,” he said, not looking Tom in the eyes. “Without Abby and our baby, I may as well be locked up in prison for the rest of my life anyway.”
“You don't mean that, Connor.”
“Don't I?”
“Abby would've wanted you to move on with your life. You still have so much work to do. All you have to do is get through the next few weeks and...”
“Just leave me alone!” Connor yelled and angrily threw the folder onto the floor. The metal rings binding the documents together snapped open and papers scattered everywhere. Breathing hard, Connor blinked back the tears stinging his eyes.
Tom stood silently by the doorway, torn between his duty as a doctor and ARC employee to get Connor to face up to the charges against him, and his duty as a friend who should be offering a shoulder to cry on and telling him it would all be OK. “Look, give this legal expert a fair go this afternoon. See what he has to say. If, after the meeting, you still think you're not ready to deal with this, I'll try and stall things another couple of days.”
Connor sniffed and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his face buried in his hands. Tom's heart ached for him and wished he could do something to take away his pain, but he knew it was hopeless. Connor had to heal in his own time and in his own way. He turned and left the room without a word, clicking the door shut behind him.
-o-
He had no idea how long it had been since Tom had left, but Connor's head felt like it had become detached from his body and was being kicked around like a football. The folder and its contents were still scattered across the floor and he frowned at them. Abby would hate this mess, he thought, then set about tidying them up. He caught a glimpse of a photo of Evan Cross on one of the documents, and before he realised it, he was soon flicking through all of them and starting to take in some of the details.
It seemed that the initial line of enquiry after the bomb blast had suggested that one of Evan's rivals had planted it. There was another company just over the US border that was in a similar line of work, and Evan had had issues with them a couple of years prior to the attack. They'd been attempting to bribe some of Evan's employees into revealing company secrets, but their loyalty to Evan made them go to the authorities and it had been dealt with.
Connor's involvement came into question a few days later. The wreckage had been combed for the tiniest shred of evidence, and the detonator was found. After analysing the sophisticated electronics, its origin was traced to London and then to the remote computer that had activated it on an automatic timer program - Connor's.
Presented with the evidence, Connor began to question his innocence himself. These guys had been incredibly thorough and they would be certain of the facts. It didn't look good and he began to wonder just how much this legal expert was going to be paid because he'd certainly have his work cut out for him.
Slipping the last of the documents into the folder, he clicked the rings shut and was about the close the folder when he noticed that the sheet he'd put on the very top was a photocopy of a newspaper clipping. A huge lump stuck in his throat when he saw the photo; it was Abby's ID photo from her personal file, from the same set of passport photos as the ones he'd kept in his wallet. The article was just a brief mention of her death - 'the wife of suspected terrorist, Connor Temple...' His stomach lurched as his eyes scanned the words over and over again. If that was the sort of thing Abby was being subjected to, then no wonder she took ill. If he hadn't been so stupid, none of this would have happened. Her death was his fault.
His tears fell hard like rivers down his cheeks, and his entire body shook. For a few minutes, he lost himself completely in his grief and his guilt, sobbing and almost choking as he struggled to breathe evenly. Then, his mind began to clear and he became aware of someone else in the room. He looked up, expecting to see Tom again, but the room was empty. A shiver ran down his spine, but it wasn't unpleasant, far from it. Paying more attention to his surroundings, Connor tried to focus on where he thought the person was and noticed a shadow cast over the end of the bed. It seemed familiar, but he didn't dare even think about what it meant. Clearly he was going insane; that's what Tom would tell him no doubt.
The shadow seemed to linger for a moment then moved towards the bag that Tom had left behind. Connor moved slowly towards it, blinking. It reminded him of the shadow he'd seen in the Devonian that had led him to the anomaly. He'd followed it, believing it was Abby telling him what to do. Was she doing it again?
“Abby?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. He wasn't sure if he believed in spirits and ghosts, but a few times he'd been convinced his father had paid him a visit when he'd been at his lowest ebb, and he'd even seen Cutter once or twice. Were they just figments of his imagination and the product of wishful thinking or were they some kind of visitation from beyond the grave looking out for him?
He placed his hand on the bag and the shadow disappeared, leaving Connor with an almost overwhelming sense of loss. Disappointed, he slumped back onto the bed making the bag topple over. A small piece of paper fell out and Connor picked it up. It had been folded into a card, and on the front was a child's drawing of a smiling face inside a sun. Connor guessed that one of Tom's children must've put it in the bag without him knowing. Wiping his tear stained cheeks, Connor opened the 'card'. Written in blue crayon were the words “Please don't be sad, Connor. XX Love Becky.”
Connor felt like a weight had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Becky had been almost three years old the last time he'd seen her. She was the youngest of Tom Reardon's children, and she had taken a bit of a shine to Connor, insisting that she sat on his knee whilst he told her a story. He had loved every moment of it, his grin had been as wide as his face the entire evening according to Abby. The day had been etched in his mind. That night, Abby had commented on how good he was with Tom's children and what a great father he'd be. Connor had blushed and said “You think so?” Abby's response had been, “You'd better be. You're going to be one in about seven and a half months!”
He put Becky's card on top of the chest of drawers and smiled. Tom had been right; Abby would want him to carry on with the work they'd started together. She'd died trying to prove his innocence; she was another victim of whoever it was that had placed that bomb at Cross Photonics. If her death was to mean anything, then he had to carry on, find out who the terrorist really was and then move forward and continue with the research. Children like Becky shouldn't have to grow up in fear of the anomalies, and there was a chance he could do something about it.
Grabbing the folder with a greater sense of purpose, Connor decided he was ready to face the accusations made about him and start fighting against them.
-o-
The meeting was scheduled for 2pm in Lester's office. It hadn't changed one bit and it still gave Connor the feeling that he'd been summoned into the Headmaster's office at school for a telling off. Matt and Lester were already there when Connor arrived. Lester simply nodded a greeting, but Matt stood up and held out his hand to shake Connor's. He realised that, although he'd been back for four days now, he hadn't been to see any of his friends. Sheepishly, he shook Matt's hand.
“It's good to have you back with us, Connor.”
“Thanks. And I'm sorry I haven't been out to speak to you, I ...”
“It's OK, mate. Must've been a bit of shock coming back to all of this and finding that... well, you know.” Matt dropped his eyes, finding it hard to look at Connor.
“Doctor Reardon told me that you were holding her hand when she died. Thank you. It means a lot to me that she wasn't alone.”
“It was the least I could do.”
Lester's phone rang, breaking the sombre mood and whilst Lester spoke to whoever it was, Connor poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the table next to Matt. He felt sick, but he knew this was something he had to do. At least he had the support of Lester and Matt for this meeting, friends and colleagues he knew he could trust and rely on.
“Our legal advisor is here,” Lester said. “He's being escorted through the building now, should be with us shortly.”
“What do you know about this guy, Lester? Is he good?” Matt asked.
“He'd better be! Prospero have paid an absolute fortune for him.”
Connor looked at Lester with a puzzled expression. The ARC was taking money from Prospero again? He knew that all of Burton's assets had been frozen after New Dawn and that a buyer was being sought for what remained of the empire Burton had built. Perhaps whoever had bought it had decided to continue investing in the research?
The top of a man's head passed the window of Lester's office and Lester cleared his throat nervously, straightening his tie. “Matt, could you open the door so the wheelchair can get through?” he said. Matt leapt to his feet and opened the door, standing to one side.
The first person to come in was very obviously a lawyer. Tall, intimidating and professional looking - exactly what Connor needed. Yet he barely noticed him. It was the person behind him in the wheelchair that took Connor's attention. His legs may have been twisted and his face badly scarred from being burnt, but there was no mistaking who he was. Connor couldn't speak. Now he knew he really was going insane.
“Connor! It's good to have you back at the ARC where you belong,” the silky voice said. “I was sorry to hear about Abby and the baby. I trust you've been looked after adequately?”
No words would leave his mouth. It couldn't be him. He was a dead man; he'd seen the body and he went to the funeral.
“Are you OK, Connor? You look like you've seen a ghost? James, pass Connor some water.”
“I can't do this!” Connor sobbed, looking first at Lester and then Matt before running from the room in a blind haze. Matt went to go after him, but the man in the wheelchair stopped him.
“Perhaps Doctor Reardon was right and it is too soon for him.”
“I fear you're right, Philip,” Lester replied, shaking his head. “But the prosecution wants to meet tomorrow. If we don't do this today, he'll be completely unprepared.”
“Give him a few minutes to gather himself back together, and then Matt can go and find him and try to get him to rejoin us,” Burton said. They all nodded in agreement and Lester set about making a pot of coffee.
-o-
Alone in his room, Connor tried to breathe. His chest hurt and his heart was racing. Beads of sweat had formed across his forehead.
How could Philip Burton be alive? He'd been there when they pulled his body from the ruins of New Dawn - he'd been the one that had identified him so he couldn't be more certain that he was dead. Yet, it was him, sitting in the wheelchair and offering his condolences, and no-one else seemed to be battering an eyelid.
There was only one possible explanation. He needed to speak to Matt. Alone.
Author: prehistoriccat
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Connor/Abby, Matt, Lester, Dr Tom Reardon (OC)
Genre: angst, gen, romance
Disclaimer: Canon characters are not mine, no copyright intended. Dr Tom Reardon is the creation of tay_21 and I'm using him with her kind permission
“Can't you tell them that I still need time? I found out that I lost my wife and baby barely three days ago! I can't do this yet.”
The three pieces of paper had laid on Connor's bed for two days; untouched and still neatly folded, just as they'd been when Lester had given them to him. A birth certificate and two death certificates. He didn't need to open them to know what they said, and acknowledging them wouldn't change any of the facts.
There was a small chest of drawers at the side of the bed, and perched on top was a folder; also untouched. However, Connor knew he couldn't ignore it forever. Lester had put together a file containing newspaper clippings and screen prints from the internet documenting the crime that Connor was accused of. Tom and Lester had been able to stall the legal teams on both sides for a few more days, but they wouldn't wait much longer and Connor needed to be prepared - 'Armed with all the facts' as Lester had put it. He made it sound like he was getting ready for a battle.
Connor sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the folder. Then he glanced around the room. He hadn't recognised it when Tom had first brought him here, but now he realised it was where Emily had stayed 'for her own protection' whilst Ethan was at large. He'd been made comfortable enough; the bed was soft, the blankets warm and no-one disturbed him. It should have felt like home, but it was effectively his prison cell.
He did have free run of the ARC if he wanted it, just as Emily had done, but he really didn't feel up to running into anyone and having to see their pitiful looks. He'd only left the room to use the bathroom or pay sneaky visits to the kitchen when he thought no-one else was around. Tom made a point of bringing him breakfast, and when Connor raided the kitchen cupboard in the evening there was always something there for him, even if it was just a packet of biscuits. He suspected Tom was responsible for that, and he was grateful even though he only really ate a few mouthfuls.
There was a knock on the door and Tom poked his head around, smiling. “OK to come in?” he asked, already pushing the door open. Connor simply nodded. Tom held up a large bag and Connor looked at him questioningly; this was not their usual coffee and bagel. “It's the first day back to school,” Tom said, placing the bag on Connor's bed and opening it up. A delicious, familiar smell hit Connor's nostrils.
“Bacon?”
“Yep. Molly likes to treat the kids with a cooked breakfast when they go back after the long summer holiday. I managed to persuade her to stick a few extra rashers in for us. You should find some home made crusty bread in there too. Tuck in!”
Connor suddenly realised that he was incredibly hungry, and his stomach was growling as the smell of bacon drifted and filled the room. He grabbed a rasher and a slice of bread, folded it into a sandwich and then took a huge bite. After a few moments, he noticed Tom was watching him and he stopped. “Look at me, being rude. You must thank Molly and the kids for sharing their breakfast with me.”
Tom waved a dismissive hand, “It's good to see you eating, that's all. You're going to need all of your strength to get through this.”
Connor's mood changed. He couldn't swallow the sandwich and he felt sick. Tom placed a comforting arm on his shoulder, but he shrugged it away. “Can't you tell them that I still need time? I found out that I lost my wife and baby barely three days ago! I can't do this yet.”
“Believe me, Lester and I have tried, Connor. They've waited two years to speak to you and they're not prepared to wait any longer.” Tom stood up and picked up the folder, holding it out to Connor. “You really should start getting your head around all of this. There's some legal expert coming to see you this afternoon to go through the case.”
Connor took the folder from Tom and placed it on the bed beside the certificates. “I'm not sure I even care what happens to me,” he said, not looking Tom in the eyes. “Without Abby and our baby, I may as well be locked up in prison for the rest of my life anyway.”
“You don't mean that, Connor.”
“Don't I?”
“Abby would've wanted you to move on with your life. You still have so much work to do. All you have to do is get through the next few weeks and...”
“Just leave me alone!” Connor yelled and angrily threw the folder onto the floor. The metal rings binding the documents together snapped open and papers scattered everywhere. Breathing hard, Connor blinked back the tears stinging his eyes.
Tom stood silently by the doorway, torn between his duty as a doctor and ARC employee to get Connor to face up to the charges against him, and his duty as a friend who should be offering a shoulder to cry on and telling him it would all be OK. “Look, give this legal expert a fair go this afternoon. See what he has to say. If, after the meeting, you still think you're not ready to deal with this, I'll try and stall things another couple of days.”
Connor sniffed and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his face buried in his hands. Tom's heart ached for him and wished he could do something to take away his pain, but he knew it was hopeless. Connor had to heal in his own time and in his own way. He turned and left the room without a word, clicking the door shut behind him.
-o-
He had no idea how long it had been since Tom had left, but Connor's head felt like it had become detached from his body and was being kicked around like a football. The folder and its contents were still scattered across the floor and he frowned at them. Abby would hate this mess, he thought, then set about tidying them up. He caught a glimpse of a photo of Evan Cross on one of the documents, and before he realised it, he was soon flicking through all of them and starting to take in some of the details.
It seemed that the initial line of enquiry after the bomb blast had suggested that one of Evan's rivals had planted it. There was another company just over the US border that was in a similar line of work, and Evan had had issues with them a couple of years prior to the attack. They'd been attempting to bribe some of Evan's employees into revealing company secrets, but their loyalty to Evan made them go to the authorities and it had been dealt with.
Connor's involvement came into question a few days later. The wreckage had been combed for the tiniest shred of evidence, and the detonator was found. After analysing the sophisticated electronics, its origin was traced to London and then to the remote computer that had activated it on an automatic timer program - Connor's.
Presented with the evidence, Connor began to question his innocence himself. These guys had been incredibly thorough and they would be certain of the facts. It didn't look good and he began to wonder just how much this legal expert was going to be paid because he'd certainly have his work cut out for him.
Slipping the last of the documents into the folder, he clicked the rings shut and was about the close the folder when he noticed that the sheet he'd put on the very top was a photocopy of a newspaper clipping. A huge lump stuck in his throat when he saw the photo; it was Abby's ID photo from her personal file, from the same set of passport photos as the ones he'd kept in his wallet. The article was just a brief mention of her death - 'the wife of suspected terrorist, Connor Temple...' His stomach lurched as his eyes scanned the words over and over again. If that was the sort of thing Abby was being subjected to, then no wonder she took ill. If he hadn't been so stupid, none of this would have happened. Her death was his fault.
His tears fell hard like rivers down his cheeks, and his entire body shook. For a few minutes, he lost himself completely in his grief and his guilt, sobbing and almost choking as he struggled to breathe evenly. Then, his mind began to clear and he became aware of someone else in the room. He looked up, expecting to see Tom again, but the room was empty. A shiver ran down his spine, but it wasn't unpleasant, far from it. Paying more attention to his surroundings, Connor tried to focus on where he thought the person was and noticed a shadow cast over the end of the bed. It seemed familiar, but he didn't dare even think about what it meant. Clearly he was going insane; that's what Tom would tell him no doubt.
The shadow seemed to linger for a moment then moved towards the bag that Tom had left behind. Connor moved slowly towards it, blinking. It reminded him of the shadow he'd seen in the Devonian that had led him to the anomaly. He'd followed it, believing it was Abby telling him what to do. Was she doing it again?
“Abby?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. He wasn't sure if he believed in spirits and ghosts, but a few times he'd been convinced his father had paid him a visit when he'd been at his lowest ebb, and he'd even seen Cutter once or twice. Were they just figments of his imagination and the product of wishful thinking or were they some kind of visitation from beyond the grave looking out for him?
He placed his hand on the bag and the shadow disappeared, leaving Connor with an almost overwhelming sense of loss. Disappointed, he slumped back onto the bed making the bag topple over. A small piece of paper fell out and Connor picked it up. It had been folded into a card, and on the front was a child's drawing of a smiling face inside a sun. Connor guessed that one of Tom's children must've put it in the bag without him knowing. Wiping his tear stained cheeks, Connor opened the 'card'. Written in blue crayon were the words “Please don't be sad, Connor. XX Love Becky.”
Connor felt like a weight had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Becky had been almost three years old the last time he'd seen her. She was the youngest of Tom Reardon's children, and she had taken a bit of a shine to Connor, insisting that she sat on his knee whilst he told her a story. He had loved every moment of it, his grin had been as wide as his face the entire evening according to Abby. The day had been etched in his mind. That night, Abby had commented on how good he was with Tom's children and what a great father he'd be. Connor had blushed and said “You think so?” Abby's response had been, “You'd better be. You're going to be one in about seven and a half months!”
He put Becky's card on top of the chest of drawers and smiled. Tom had been right; Abby would want him to carry on with the work they'd started together. She'd died trying to prove his innocence; she was another victim of whoever it was that had placed that bomb at Cross Photonics. If her death was to mean anything, then he had to carry on, find out who the terrorist really was and then move forward and continue with the research. Children like Becky shouldn't have to grow up in fear of the anomalies, and there was a chance he could do something about it.
Grabbing the folder with a greater sense of purpose, Connor decided he was ready to face the accusations made about him and start fighting against them.
-o-
The meeting was scheduled for 2pm in Lester's office. It hadn't changed one bit and it still gave Connor the feeling that he'd been summoned into the Headmaster's office at school for a telling off. Matt and Lester were already there when Connor arrived. Lester simply nodded a greeting, but Matt stood up and held out his hand to shake Connor's. He realised that, although he'd been back for four days now, he hadn't been to see any of his friends. Sheepishly, he shook Matt's hand.
“It's good to have you back with us, Connor.”
“Thanks. And I'm sorry I haven't been out to speak to you, I ...”
“It's OK, mate. Must've been a bit of shock coming back to all of this and finding that... well, you know.” Matt dropped his eyes, finding it hard to look at Connor.
“Doctor Reardon told me that you were holding her hand when she died. Thank you. It means a lot to me that she wasn't alone.”
“It was the least I could do.”
Lester's phone rang, breaking the sombre mood and whilst Lester spoke to whoever it was, Connor poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the table next to Matt. He felt sick, but he knew this was something he had to do. At least he had the support of Lester and Matt for this meeting, friends and colleagues he knew he could trust and rely on.
“Our legal advisor is here,” Lester said. “He's being escorted through the building now, should be with us shortly.”
“What do you know about this guy, Lester? Is he good?” Matt asked.
“He'd better be! Prospero have paid an absolute fortune for him.”
Connor looked at Lester with a puzzled expression. The ARC was taking money from Prospero again? He knew that all of Burton's assets had been frozen after New Dawn and that a buyer was being sought for what remained of the empire Burton had built. Perhaps whoever had bought it had decided to continue investing in the research?
The top of a man's head passed the window of Lester's office and Lester cleared his throat nervously, straightening his tie. “Matt, could you open the door so the wheelchair can get through?” he said. Matt leapt to his feet and opened the door, standing to one side.
The first person to come in was very obviously a lawyer. Tall, intimidating and professional looking - exactly what Connor needed. Yet he barely noticed him. It was the person behind him in the wheelchair that took Connor's attention. His legs may have been twisted and his face badly scarred from being burnt, but there was no mistaking who he was. Connor couldn't speak. Now he knew he really was going insane.
“Connor! It's good to have you back at the ARC where you belong,” the silky voice said. “I was sorry to hear about Abby and the baby. I trust you've been looked after adequately?”
No words would leave his mouth. It couldn't be him. He was a dead man; he'd seen the body and he went to the funeral.
“Are you OK, Connor? You look like you've seen a ghost? James, pass Connor some water.”
“I can't do this!” Connor sobbed, looking first at Lester and then Matt before running from the room in a blind haze. Matt went to go after him, but the man in the wheelchair stopped him.
“Perhaps Doctor Reardon was right and it is too soon for him.”
“I fear you're right, Philip,” Lester replied, shaking his head. “But the prosecution wants to meet tomorrow. If we don't do this today, he'll be completely unprepared.”
“Give him a few minutes to gather himself back together, and then Matt can go and find him and try to get him to rejoin us,” Burton said. They all nodded in agreement and Lester set about making a pot of coffee.
-o-
Alone in his room, Connor tried to breathe. His chest hurt and his heart was racing. Beads of sweat had formed across his forehead.
How could Philip Burton be alive? He'd been there when they pulled his body from the ruins of New Dawn - he'd been the one that had identified him so he couldn't be more certain that he was dead. Yet, it was him, sitting in the wheelchair and offering his condolences, and no-one else seemed to be battering an eyelid.
There was only one possible explanation. He needed to speak to Matt. Alone.