CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

By the time Ella got back to the precinct, she had a text from Sheriff Redmond telling her that the newest victim was Amanda Krafton, forty-six. Now, outside the interview room, Luca was filling her in on the rest of the details.

‘No connection to haunted houses that I can find in my quick searches. The woman was a nursery assistant. Nothing in her bank statements that showed she ever visited haunts.'

Amanda's killer had made no attempt to hide her identity, which all but confirmed to Ella that the victims were inconsequential. They could search for years and never find a connection between them. This killer craved bodies, not individuals.

‘Thanks, Hawkins. I'm going in.'

‘Want me in there?'

‘No. Stay out here and watch him closely. If you see any signs that this guy is lying, note them down.'

'Got it. He's been well looked after since he got here, and from what I've seen, he seems genuine.'

‘Let's find out.' Ella slipped into the interview room and eyed Gary Krafton over the rim of a Styrofoam cup. He was gripping onto it like it was the last life raft on the Titanic. Someone had even a blanket draped over his shoulders. She guessed a dead spouse earned you a bit of sympathy, even in a backwater like Yamhill.

‘Mr. Krafton,' Ella said as she slid into the seat opposite him. ‘Apologies for the wait.'

His head jerked. Ella gentled her tone, channeling every ounce of compassion she could muster at whatever-the-hell o'clock at night it was.

‘I know this is difficult, but I need you to walk me through what happened tonight. Every detail you can remember.'

Gary flinched, then took a fortifying gulp of the tar masquerading as coffee. ‘We... we had a fight. About some messages she found. From another woman.'

Her heart suddenly ached for Amanda with renewed fervour. The poor woman found her husband cheating and then ended up dead on the same night. It didn't get a whole lot worse.

‘Okay, and then?'

‘I hit her.' The words tumbled out of him in a guilty rush. ‘I didn't mean to, I swear. It was an accident.'

Accident, my ass. Ella had seen ‘accidents' like that before. The kind that left black eyes and broken bones. The fact that Krafton copped to it so quickly set off alarm bells in her head. This guy was used to using his fists to make a point.

But she kept her trap shut. In her experience, guilty men had a hard time keeping quiet. The more rope you gave them, the faster they'd hang themselves. She swallowed back the reflexive disgust and nodded for him to continue.

‘She left after that,' Krafton continued, right on cue. ‘I figured she'd cool off, come back. But she didn't.'

‘And then?'

Krafton's eyes darted away. ‘Amanda's got a habit of... wandering. I was worried.'

I'll bet you were , Ella thought acidly. Worried she'd wised up and bailed on your sorry ass.

‘I tracked her through this app she's got. I asked her to install it when we got hitched. Just as a precaution, ya know?'

Ella did know. She'd seen it a million times, control freaks branding it as concern. But that was a battle for another day.

‘What did you find?'

‘The app said her phone was on Mercer Street. She'd been there for ten minutes before I got in my car and started driving. When I got there… well, you saw the rest.'

‘So let me get this straight,' Ella said, ‘you two have a knock-down drag-out, you give her a black eye, and then you show up to find her dead?'

A shudder rippled through him, and this time, Ella didn't think it was for show. She'd seen her share of crocodile tears, the artful performances of the wretched trying to squirm out of guilt's noose. But this raw, messy anguish? Tough to fake, even for the most seasoned sociopath.

And Gary, with his soft middle and his clammy hands and his shirt buttoned up wrong, was no sociopath. An asshole, maybe. A control freak, sure. But the kind of cold-blooded psycho who could cut out his wife's heart and then play the grieving widower? Unlikely.

He didn't fit the psychological or the physical profile. Her killer was all brains, way too smart to kill his own wife as part of his spree.

Gary caught her eye and asked, ‘Christ, you don't think I had anything to do with this?'

‘Look, Gary,' she sighed, ‘I'm not saying you carved up your wife. But you gotta give me more to work with. Any idea where Amanda might have run to? Friends, family, a battered women's shelter maybe?'

Gary blinked at her slowly, like her words were taking the scenic route to his brain. He shook his head. ‘No, I... Amanda didn't have many friends. Not in town, anyway. Her folks are out in Pittsburgh, been there for years now.'

‘No one? No sympathetic ear she might have ran to after your altercation?' Ella kept her tone mild, but she watched Gary flinch all the same.

‘No. No, Amanda... she wasn't close with many people. Kept to herself mostly.'

Ella had heard this tale before. Controlling husbands ensuring their wives didn't get too pally with other women in case they found out that installing a tracker app on their phone wasn't a normal request from a stable partner.

‘What about workmates?'

‘Amanda was a nursery nurse. Only worked with a few other people. Never mentioned anyone as far as I can remember. I mean, there's that writing group, I guess.'

Ella's ears perked up. ‘Writing group?'

‘Yeah, some artsy circle jerk thing. Said it helped her 'process' or whatever.' Krafton sketched sarcastic air quotes, his grief briefly eclipsed by masculine disdain.

A tingle shot down Ella's spine. Cassius Auctor. Auctor, author. Could it be a link? She tamped down on the surge of adrenaline and kept her expression schooled.

‘This group got a name?'

‘Nah, it was all hush-hush. Invitation only, real snooty shit.'

‘Anything else you can tell me about this group? Where they met, who ran it?'

Gary's mouth opened, but no words came. He squinted, head tilting like a dog hearing a far-off whistle. 'Nah, never got a name. Like I said, real hush hush. Amanda was cagey about it, didn't want me knowing too much.' A shadow crossed his face, there and gone. Regret or recrimination, Ella couldn't tell.

‘Think harder, Gary. What else do you know about this class? How often did Amanda go? Did she mention any names or where it was?'

Gary gripped his skull with both hands. 'It was in the back of some shop in the town square. But I can't remember the name of it. I didn't want to get involved.'

But Gary was already retreating into the shell of his grief. Ella knew she wouldn't get anything else out of him, not tonight.

Dead end. But not a total wash. She had something now, more than she'd walked in with. The shape of this thing was forming, piece by bloody piece.

Ella scraped her chair back and stood. Gary startled at the suddenness of it, shrinking into his seat like he thought she might take a swing. She swallowed back the reflexive flare of pity and jerked her chin towards the door.

‘The good news, Mr. Krafton, is that you're no killer, and I don't have it in my heart to slap a DV charge on a man who just lost his wife.'

Gary pushed his palms against his eyes. The display of emotion must be killing him, Ella thought. ‘Thank you.'

‘An officer will come along to take your statement, and I need you to mention everything , okay?'

Gary nodded.

‘And if you think of anything relating to this writing group, I want you to call me immediately.' Ella threw her card on the table. ‘I'm sorry this happened to Amanda, and if you need anything, we'll look out for you.'

Then she was out the door, leaving Gary Krafton to steep in his misery. Luca straightened up from the wall as Ella emerged.

Luca asked, ‘What's the verdict?'

‘What do you think?'

‘Well, nine times out of ten, the husband did it.'

‘Unless this guy was married to the other victims too, then he's in the clear. Did you notice anything off about him?'

‘I noticed he was a scumbag, but I felt sorry for him too. It's hard to express both emotions at once.'

‘No kidding. What do you make of this writing group he mentioned?'

Luca jerked his head. ‘The killer talked like he was a wannabe poet, so maybe there's something to it. And we know he didn't find this victim in a haunted house, so maybe he already knew her.'

‘That means it's an all-nighter for us. Any luck on Carter's footage?'

‘I'm forty videos deep. Halfway through.'

‘Then let's put the coffee on, because we need to burn the midnight oil.'