CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The air was bitter, with the phantom smell of someone burning leaves earlier in the day—one of the telltale scents of autumn as you started to wander a bit further outside of the city. As for Vincent Hale, his apartment building in Brandermill was rather forgettable and generic. Red bricks, weathered and chipped, formed a stark contrast against the dark sky.

Rachel's gaze lingered on the peeling paint of the apartment door as Jack's knuckles rapped against the wood. Faint music could be heard inside, an ‘80s rock ballad. After a few moments, the door swung open wide. The man who greeted them was smiling widely, though his eyes looked curious and confused over his unknown visitors. Rachel guessed him to be in his late thirties. His disheveled appearance made it hard to tell for certain. His long hair was in a weird jumble on his head and his glasses made his blue eyes shine almost like marbles.

"Uh…hey. What's up? Who're you?"

When he spoke, Rachel could pick up on the smell of alcohol on his breath. His gaze flitted between Rachel and Jack, a hint of panic flickering behind his bloodshot eyes.

Jack, perhaps sensing some unpredictable behavior from the clearly inebriated man, stepped forward and showed his badge and ID.

"Agents Rivers and Gift, with the FBI," he said. "Are you Vincent Hale?"

"Yup. That's me. And…FBI? What for?" he slurred, attempting to steady himself against the doorframe. His posture was skewed, tilted as if bracing for an impact that only he could anticipate.

"Mr. Hale, we need to talk," Rachel said, her tone measured but cutting through the haze that seemed to envelop Hale. "Could we please come inside?"

"Of course," he murmured, stepping back to let them enter. As they passed through the doorway, Rachel couldn't help but notice the disarray of the apartment—magazines strewn across the coffee table, a half-empty whiskey bottle its centerpiece, a discarded bag of chips on the couch.

"What do you uh…what can I do for you?" Hale asked. He frowned, sighed, and then plopped down on his couch. "Sorry. I…I, uh, I've had a bit to drink."

His voice was raised so he could be heard over the music. Rachel now recognized the song as a Journey tune. "Do you mind turning the music down?"

"Oh, yeah…hold on." He used his phone to turn down the wireless speaker that was hidden somewhere. "There we go. Sorry."

Rachel studied him for a moment and thought he seemed slightly nervous. His being drunk made it difficult to get a read on him, though.

"We're investigating the murder of two women," Jack stated bluntly, his voice echoing slightly in the cluttered space. "They were both actresses."

"Yeah, Emily and Sarah, right?" He swiped at his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had started to bead along his hairline.

"That's right," Rachel said. "Were you close to them?"

"Nah. I mean, I knew who they were and I think might have spoken to Sarah once or twice."

"Did they ever perform at your theater?"

"Oh, I'm confident they did. But I can't very well get to know every actor that comes through those doors, now can I?"

"Do you recall the last time you saw either of them?"

He thought about this for a moment, looking at the liquor bottle on the coffee table with longing. "I guess it would have been about three months ago when I last saw Sarah. As for Emily, I honestly have no idea. Maybe as much as a year."

"Can you tell us what you were doing on the nights of their murders?" Rachel asked, her sharp gaze fixed on Hale. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees as she studied his reaction. "That would be this past Wednesday and the Saturday before that."

The question seemed to confuse him at first but as it sank in, his eyes widened and he straightened up. "Wait, you think I—no, I wouldn't." His words stumbled over each other, his denial as weak as his current state. He then sneered and sighed, sitting back in his seat.

"Something wrong?" Jack asked.

"I see where this is headed," he said, spitting the comment out as if it were venom on his tongue.

"Your financial troubles have been quite the topic, haven't they? Your theater isn't doing so well," Rachel pressed on, the weight of their suspicions hanging heavily in the air. "Do you see any connection between your money problems and the deaths of these two women?"

"Connection? No, no connection at all," Hale insisted, but his tone lacked conviction.

"I've heard some rumors...about young actresses and your...preferences," she added, leaving the accusation to simmer between them. "And if there's any truth to them, then maybe murder isn't so much further out of the realm of possibilities."

"You're joking, right?" he said, again sitting rigidly.

"Can you deny the rumors circulating around you, then?" Jack asked.

"This is stupid!" Hale complained. "I didn't kill anyone! And why in God's name would the money issues at the theater have anything to do with that?"

"Ticket sales, maybe?" Rachel suggested.

"That's insulting," Hale nearly roared. "And also a weak ass theory."

Rachel watched as Hale's fingers twitched, reaching unconsciously for the comfort of the bottle on the table, a gesture not missed by her trained eye.

"Look, I knew them, sure, but I didn't have anything to do with..." The protest died in his throat, the imploring look in his eyes begging them to believe him.

"Let's focus on the facts, shall we?" Rachel said, her relentless pursuit unyielding. "Mr. Hale, you understand why we're here, don't you? You're currently a suspect in a double murder investigation. And it mainly stems from many rumors that have been circulating about you. So now is the time for you to come clean."

"I'm no suspect!"

"You actually are," Jack said. "And it's going to make it a lot easier on everyone—including you—if you address these rumors right now, to us. It's either that, or we arrest you and take it to a court."

Vincent Hale's eyes flickered with something akin to panic before he decided to go ahead and reach for the bottle. Rachel nearly recommended that he not do that, but she also knew that loosened tongue might be more susceptible to confession. The bottle trembled in his hand, betraying his cool fa?ade. "I... I've done things I'm not proud of," he began, his voice a mere whisper against the dense silence that enveloped the room. "The theater... it's my life, but money has been tight —"

"Go on," Rachel coaxed, watching his every expression.

"Sometimes," Hale swallowed hard, "sometimes you have to make tough choices. There were these actresses..." His gaze drifted away, unwilling or unable to meet hers.

"What about them?"

"Things…things happened and I had to pay for their silence."

Rachel suddenly felt herself on edge, not sure what information might come next. "Silence for what?" she asked.

"In one case, it was blackmail. Pure and simple. And I will go to my grave pleading it." His voice was stern, but it also sounded as if it might break apart at any moment, dissolved by emotion. "I slept with her twice. She came to me for the second occurrence and after that, she threatened to tell everyone I'd raped her. And I think she did it because of an incident a year before that."

"What incident?" Rachel asked.

"An actress and I had too much to drink. She was asking for the lead role, thinking I could get it for her somehow. I didn't argue it and I took advantage of her. She told me the next day that she was going to the cops, tell them she was raped. And I knew…I knew that with so much booze and a very unsafe and unprotected romp…it didn't look good for me. So she asked for money for her silence. And I did it. I gave it to her. I didn't have a choice."

"And I suppose that's why the theater is having financial problems?" Rachel asked.

"The biggest reason, yes. There are other factors, but those two payments are the big ones."

Rachel realized they had enough to arrest him on those charges, even though they might get tossed out. But the bigger questions remained.

"I have to go back to the original question, Mr. Hale. We need to know where you were on the nights of these murders."

The room grew heavy with the unspoken challenge, the game of cat and mouse intensifying as Rachel made a mental note to verify every alibi Hale had provided. This was far from over, and she could feel the pieces of the puzzle begging to click together. Yet, at the same time, she took into consideration Hale's inebriation and noticed his posture. They needed to tread carefully.

"No. I refuse. This is insane."

"Mr. Hale," Jack started. "If you—"

Suddenly, Hale's demeanor shifted. He became more defensive, getting to his feet and screaming. It happened so quickly that Rachel found herself instinctively reaching for her Glock.

In that same moment, Hale made a drunken move that was almost comical. He grabbed a book from the coffee table and threw it at Jack. By the time it fluttered to the ground, pages splayed like a birds' wings, Hale had bolted towards the living room window, aiming to get away by means of the fire escape.

Rachel's instincts kicked in as she lunged forward, grabbing Hale's arm just as he reached the window. They struggled, their bodies pressed against the window, fighting for control. She could tell by his frame alone that Hale wasn't very strong, but the drunkenness added something of an unpredictability factor. Still, by the time Jack had reached them and joined in, Rachel had Hale mostly pinned against the wall. Sensing Jack's presence just moments away, Hale found one last spark of strength and determination.

The three of them stumbled and crashed into furniture, knocking over a lamp in the process. Rachel's heart was pounding in her chest as she held onto Hale's arm tightly, making sure he couldn't escape again. She twisted the arm up behind him so that if he did manage to escape at all, he'd pop his shoulder out of its socket.

"Damn," Hale said, his teeth gritted against their force. "Look, I'm sorry. I panicked and I—"

"You may as well save it for the interrogation room," Jack said as he removed his handcuffs from his belt and moved in to cuff him. "You're under arrest."

Jack slipped the handcuffs on easily and by that time, Hale seemed to have realized his error. He was suddenly docile and silent. As they caught their breath, Rachel glanced at Jack with a mixture of relief and determination.

They had caught their suspect, but their work was likely far from over.