CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Ella stood in the precinct hallway beside Luca, both eyeballing the creep behind the one-way glass. Aleister Morgan, trussed up in chains, twitching like a bug under a magnifying glass. She”d seen some real prizes in her day, but this joker took the cake. Greasy hair hanging in his eyes, skin like a slab of spoiled cheese. A real looker.

Chief Harland sidled up beside her, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. ‘So how”d you bag this freak, anyway?’

Ella smirked. ‘Aleister might”ve wanted kids one day, but Hawkins here disagreed.’

Luca ducked his head, but there was no hiding the grin tugging at his pretty boy mouth. Harland”s bushy brows shot up to his nonexistent hairline. ”The hell you talkin” about?”

But Ella waved him off. A little inside joke never hurt anyone. Luca shuffled his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets. ‘Still think this is our guy?’ he asked.

Ella rolled her shoulders, vertebrae popping. It was impossible to say at this point. On paper, Aleister was a shoo-in. The basement chock-full of torture porn props, the meth lab straight out of

a tweaker”s wet dream.

‘Could be,’ Ella mused. ‘Between the kinky decor and the Breaking Bad routine, he”s not exactly squeaky clean.’

‘Plus he went straight for your neck,’ Luca added. ‘Same way he killed the victims.’

Harland grunted. ‘Sounds open and shut to me. We got means, motive, and a helluva opportunity, seeing as he”s already made our vic”s snuff props. Lock this creep up and call it a day, as far as I”m concerned.”

But Ella couldn”t quite shake the niggling feeling in her gut. That little voice whispering in the back of her head, telling her to look closer, dig deeper. She narrowed her eyes at Aleister, studying the expressionless mask that passed as a face. A real cool customer, this one. Too cool. Like he was putting on a show, waiting for the curtain to drop on the big reveal.

And that”s when it hit her. The ghost of Ripley”s voice, echoing in her skull like a bad hangover. You”re seeing what you want to see, Dark, it scolded. Gotta peel back the crap and stare reality right in its ugly mug.

Damn that woman and her albeit-hallucinatory wisdom. But as much as Ella hated to admit it, Ripley had a point. She couldn”t just check the boxes and call it a day. Not when they still had a body count to rack up if they screwed the pooch on this.

She turned to Luca, sizing him up out of the corner of her eye. The kid looked jittery as hell, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid who needed to pee but couldn’t peel himself away from the park. She couldn”t really blame him. Interrogations always turned your guts to ice, especially when it was your first time.

‘Alright, Hawkins.’ Ella jerked her chin at the door. ‘We”re gonna go in there and squeeze this guy ‘til he pops. You ready?’

Luca blanched, the blood draining from his pretty mug faster than booze from a wino”s bottle. ”Me? I was thinking I”d just observe. Get a feel for it.”

Ella snorted. Like hell, that would happen. ”No chance. You”re up to bat on this one. Aleister”s seen you in action. Felt it, too, judging by the way he was cradling his balls. He”ll smell the fear on you, try to make you his prison bitch. You gotta establish dominance. And nothing says bad cop like reminding a guy you rang his bell.”

Harland grunted his agreement, craggy face split by a grin as ugly and wide as a pothole. ”Girl”s got a point, son. Ain”t no better way to get a perp singin” than flipping the script.’

Luca swallowed audibly. He looked from Ella to Harland and back again, resignation settling over his face like a shroud. Alright, you win. Let”s do this.”

Damn straight. Ella cuffed him on the shoulder, just enough oomph to smart a little. Better to give him something else to focus on than the churning in his own guts. She strode over to the interrogation room door and pushed it open. Playtime was over. Now, it was time to see what dear old Aleister was really made of.

***

The wiry-haired suspect was hunched over the single metal table bolted to the floor, hands manacled in front of him, leg irons clinking with every twitch. His head snapped up at their entrance, scrutinizing the new arrivals, probably looking for the crack in the armor he could slip a blade between.

She sauntered over to the table, pulling out the chair with a screech of metal on concrete. Plopped herself down, crossed her legs and waited. She let him stew a minute. Aleister stared at her, unblinking. A cobra just waiting for the mongoose to blink. Luca hovered behind her, radiating enough nervous energy to light up the Vegas strip. She let him squirm for a ten-count before jerking her chin at the empty seat.

Luca sat down ramrod straight and planted his hands on the table. His knuckles were as white as Aleister”s pasty face, but Ella gave him points for putting up a strong front.

Ella leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced like she was settling in for a friendly little tête-à-tête. Let her eyes rake over Aleister from greasy head to jittery toe, taking in every twitch, every flinch.

‘Mr. Morgan, you know why you’re here.’

Aleister twitched like someone goosed him with a cattle prod. He leaned forward, chains rattling, drowning Ella in a tsunami of stale breath. ‘I’m not saying anything without a lawyer.’

The lawyer response. Classic.

‘That’s cute,’ Ella said, ‘but cast your mind back an hour and you’ll remember we found a meth lab in your basement. There isn’t a lawyer on the planet that can talk a judge around that one.’

Aleister”s eyes bugged out of his head so far Ella thought they might pop clean out. His gaze swung wildly between them, color high in his cheeks.

‘But that’s not why we’re here,’ Ella continued. ‘Truth be told, we couldn’t care less about your side hustle. We’re more interested in those medieval stocks you have stashed away.’

‘My stocks? They were for my museum.’

‘Okay, let’s start at the beginning,’ Ella said. ‘Your museum. What was the deal with it?’

‘I was a craftsman once upon a time,’ Aleister said proudly. ‘I liked medieval props, so I made my own. I thought I could get some money out of it, so I opened my house up to the public.’

Ella followed. ‘And?’

‘Nobody cared. So I rented some real medieval props. Cost me a fortune. But nobody cared about those either. Tumbleweeds on opening day.’

‘Right, so your business went to hell. How did you go from medieval devices to cooking methamphetamines?’

Aleister hung his head, greasy locks curtaining his face. ‘You don”t understand. I was drowning in debt. Collectors calling day and night, threatening to break my legs, take my kidneys. I didn”t have a choice. I need money.’

‘There”s always a choice,’ Ella said flatly. ‘And it looks like you made the wrong one. Because now, your little arts and crafts project has got you linked to two homicides.’

‘Homicides?’ Aleister asked. ‘What homicides?’

‘Maybe you ought to tell us,’ Luca said.

Aleister looked between his two accusers, deer in the headlights. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know about any homicides.’

‘Hawkins, show him,’ Ella said.

Her partner obliged. He pulled out his phone, scrolled to a photo and placed the phone down on the table.

‘This is Georgia Bolton. Local girl, found strung up in wooden stocks this morning.’

Aleister”s eyes went wide as saucers as he stared at the picture. His mouth worked like a fish on a hook, opening and closing but no sound coming out.

Luca moved to the next photograph. ‘And this is Archie Newman. Not only had he been strangled to death, but he was found in a set of metal stocks – stocks with your signature on them.’

At last, a sound escaped Aleister’s lips. ‘This is… my stocks?’

‘Yes,’ Ella said. She tapped Luca’s screen. ‘Tell us. Did you make these?’

Aleister nodded.

‘You recognize them,’ said Ella. It wasn”t a question.

Aleister nodded jerkily, his gaze still glued to the screen. ‘Y-yeah. I made both of those. But I swear, I never used them on anyone. I”m not a killer, I”m just a craftsman! I didn’t know about any murders.’

Ella leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. She”d seen plenty of perps try to play the shocked and appalled card, but something about Aleister”s reaction rang true. The guy looked like he”d just seen a ghost, and not the Casper kind.

Luca scoffed. ‘Why should we believe you? Two people are found in your stocks. Strangled, the same way you attacked my partner here. And you run when the feds show up on your doorstep?’

‘I thought you arresting me for cooking crystal,’ Aleister cried. ‘I’m telling you, I didn’t kill anyone.’

‘Seems real convenient,’ Luca began, but then Ella held up a hand, silencing her partner. Aleister was sweating bullets and he looked about two seconds away from passing out or puking his guts up all over the interrogation room floor. This wasn”t the reaction of a guilty man. This was sheer, pant-wetting terror. A mission-oriented offender like this wouldn’t shy away from his handiwork when presented with the truth. He would embrace it.

Ella leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Alright, Aleister. Let”s say I believe you. You didn”t kill anyone. But those are your stocks, your handiwork. So how did they end up at our crime scenes?’

Aleister licked his lips, his eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Ella kept a watch on Aleister’s microsignals. The purse of his lips, his quick-draw knees, the subconscious gazes to the top-left of his vision. All dead giveaways of a liar.

‘Looks to me like you’re holding something back,’ Ella said. She rose to her feet and leaned across the table. ‘We’ve already got you on cooking methamphetamine, so we can hold you here for as long as we like. But, you know…’

Aleister bit his lip and asked, ‘I know?’

‘If you give us the whole truth, maybe I can get you out of a prison sentence.’

Aleister’s eyes expanded to the size of casino chips. Dangling the carrot of potential freedom in the face of a looming jail sentence never failed to get suspects to open up.

”Okay, goddamnit. I”ll tell you what I know. But I want it on record I”m cooperating.’

The sudden awareness of police procedure came as a shock. Maybe this guy was sharper than Ella thought.

‘Done. This is all being recorded. Whenever you’re ready.’

Aleister slumped forward, chains rattling, head hanging low. His shoulders were shaking but Ella couldn”t tell if it was from relief, fear or barely-contained rage. Maybe all three.

‘About three months ago, I had two… commissions.’

‘Commissions? For what?’ asked Luca.

‘Stocks.’ Aleister tapped Luca’s phone screen. ‘These exact stocks.’

Ella’s pulse rate tripled in speed. ‘What did this person ask for?’

”Stocks, pillory. One made of steel, another of wood. The person was very precise with their instructions regarding the measurements.”

”And who was this commissioner?”

”I...I don”t know his name. It was all done through anonymous emails, proxies, that whole deal. Dude was cagey as hell.’

Ella thought Aleister had some serious gall, calling someone else cagey. ‘No name? No address? Nothing?’

‘Nothing,’ Aleister repeated.

”Alright,” Luca jumped in, ”So Mr. X contacts you out of the blue, asks for these custom torture pieces. What then?”

”I made ”em to his exact specifications. Serious craftsmanship, y”know? Takes time, skill. He paid up front, full cost, plus a little extra for my discretion.”

‘And how’d you meet? How’d you exchange the goods?’

”We met up in the park. After dark. He inspected my work, I collected the cash. Simple as that.’

‘So, you saw this man in the flesh? You saw his face?’

Aleister shrunk in on himself like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell. ‘Not quite. Y’see… he had this mask on.’

‘A mask?’ The comment set Ella’s nerves on edge. ‘What kind of mask?’

Aleister waved a chain-rattling hand in front of his face. ‘Plain white, but the mouth was frowning. That’s all I remember.’

She shot a glance at Luca, who seemed to recoil at the comment. Maybe it was the imagery. Maybe the guy just had an overactive imagination.

‘What about hair? Clothes? Tattoos? Height? Weight?’ she asked.

‘Hair was completely scalped. Skinhead. No tattoos that I could see. Normal height, on the smaller side. Not skinny, but wide. Clothes were… I don’t know. How often do you pay attention to someone’s clothes?’

Frustration began to rear its head. ‘Usually when that guy is wearing a mask and asking you to build him ancient torture devices.’

Aleister placed his palms on the table. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember.’

Ella and Luca shared a glance. They had the stocks linked to Aleister, but something still wasn”t sitting right. Call it a cop”s instinct, call it woman”s intuition. But Ella couldn”t shake the feeling that Aleister was just the tip of a very ugly iceberg.

‘Alright, Aleister. You”ve given us the who and the how. But I want to know about the why. What was this commissioner”s endgame? He must have mentioned a reason for needing these props.’

Aleister squirmed in his seat. He was sweating now, greasy rivulets running down his pasty face. ‘I don”t know, I swear! Dude never said anything about why he wanted the pieces. I didn”t ask questions, just took the money and ran.’

Luca”s lip curled. ‘C”mon, man. You really expect us to buy that? You”re telling me this whackjob commissioned custom torture devices from you, and not once did you think to ask what he wanted them for? What he was planning?’

‘Hell no!’ Aleister yelped, eyes wide and rolling like a spooked horse. ‘In my line of work, you learn real quick not to poke your nose where it don”t belong. Guys like that, with the masks and the cloak-and-dagger routine? You don”t ask questions. You just do what you”re told and count your blessings you walked away with all your bits still attached.”

Ella sat back, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Much as she hated to admit it, Aleister had a point. Sickos with a murder hard-on weren”t exactly known for their sparkling conversation skills. Chances were, this commissioner – if he existed at all – was just using Aleister as a means to an end.

But that didn”t mean they were at a dead end. Not by a long shot.

‘Alright, Walter White, let’s say we buy your whole mysterious client schtick. You still got those emails he sent?’

Aleister couldn’t nod quick enough. Y-yeah. They”re on my computer. I can show you.’

”We”ll need to see all of your communication and the bills he gave you if you still have them.”

‘I got the emails, but not the money.’

No surprise there, Ella thought. ‘Two stocks. That”s what he ordered, right? Just the pair?’

‘That”s right,’ Aleister said, the cuffs rattling as he spread his hands. ‘One metal, one wood.’

Small mercies, Ella mused. If this sick sonovabitch was working with such a limited toolkit, chances were the body count would stay in the single digits. Cold comfort to the families of Archie Newman and Georgia Bolton, but better than the alternative.

She drummed her fingers on the table, gaze boring into Aleister like a laser cutting steel. ‘Where were you the past two nights between 11 PM and 3 AM? And before you start hemming and hawing, remember what happened the last time you tried to sell me a line of bullcrap.’

‘Wednesday night I was at the cinema. Caught the midnight showing of some film. I still have the stub.’

‘And last night?’

‘At home, streaming something on TV until I passed out on the couch.’

Ella said, ”Well, you better remember exactly what it was. We can check your streaming logs.”

‘Okay,’ Aleister said.

Ella pushed to her feet. ‘Sit tight, Aleister. We”re gonna check those alibis, see if they hold water. In the meantime, I suggest you get real familiar with the idea of being here a while.’

She jerked her head at Luca and strode towards the door, not bothering to look back as it banged shut behind them.

Then came the familiar itch that said the pieces were there, just waiting for her to slot them into place. The picture was taking shape, the outline of her unsub starting to emerge from the shadows.

But they weren”t there yet. They needed more. More evidence, more intel, more ammunition to take this psycho down before he added any more names to his list.

Ella cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders. Time to get to work. Sleep was for the weak and the dead, and she was neither. She had a promise to keep, to the victims, to their families.