Chapter 49

Ryan eyes Detective Suhr suspiciously. She’s said it twice now, but he’s still dubious. “So you’re just letting me go?”

He rushed his father off the phone. Told him not to book any flights or do anything until he called back. Didn’t mention the detective saying he’s released, though. Not yet, in case it’s a trick.

“You’re free to go, mate.” The detective gestures to the conference room door. Something about her demeanor has changed. It’s less stiff, less all-business.

“You’ve talked to my lawyer in Kansas? You believe me?”

“I’ve reached out to the police in your town, but we haven’t had a chance to connect yet. It’s still early there.”

Ryan doesn’t understand. It’s unlikely they would let him go without talking to someone in Kansas.

Suhr guides him out of the room and down a corridor. She says he’ll get back his phone and passport when they process him out. Ryan’s thoughts are swirling: What’s her play here?

“Can I ask you something?” Ryan asks as they walk down the narrow hallway that has walls covered with too many coats of paint.

She turns to him, gives a one-shouldered shrug.

“Why are you just letting me go?”

The detective tilts her head to the side, as if debating whether to share information with him. Then: “I’d like to show you something, if you have time.”

He obviously has time. They must have found something that made them understand Ryan didn’t kill Peter Jones and his wife.

Ryan nods, and follows the detective. The hallway opens up to a large space crowded with cubicles. The cube farm is filled with chatter and the clack of computer keys. She takes him down another hallway and stops in front of a closed door.

Before they go inside, Ryan says, “When I go in there, is someone going to put a black sack over my head and strap me to a chair for more questioning?”

She gives a small laugh. “You watch too much television.”

The room is set up with several computer monitors. There’s a single officer at the workstation, like the commander of the Starship Enterprise. The detective instructs the officer to pull up some footage.

On a large screen on the wall pops up a scene of a rural road. The area has the purple hue like it’s early in the morning. That’s confirmed by the time and date stamp in the right corner of the screen: 6:07 a.m., two days ago—the day Ryan met with Pinky Man at the Palazzo. It feels like a lifetime ago. Ryan recognizes the area: It’s near the church in Lackford. The spot where the road ends and the only access to church grounds is the footpath.

A figure enters the frame, walking down the trail toward the old church. The footage is grainy, so you can’t make out much except that the person wears a baseball hat, a covid mask, and glasses. It could be anyone—a local on a morning constitutional, a parishioner heading to an early mass—except for one thing. The figure carries an axe.

“Is this who you think killed them?”

The detective doesn’t answer. “If this was London, we’d have footage at every imaginable angle from hundreds of CCTV cameras. But we don’t get much crime out here.”

The man at the workstation taps on the keyboard and more footage appears. It’s now daytime. The date stamp says 4:32 p.m. the same day. A car races to the same spot, a man jumps out and sprints down the path.

Ryan understands now. The man sprinting is Peter Jones—aka The Monster aka Pinky Man—and he’s running because someone, the figure with the axe, has his wife.

Ryan’s mind jumps to the Palazzo, the pure terror on Pinky Man’s face when he received that video call.

“Peter Jones?” Ryan asks, though he knows the answer.

The detective nods. The video isn’t clear, but she seems certain about it.

The final piece of footage shows the figure with the axe heading back down the path. Head down, baseball cap pulled low.

The figure—is it a man or woman?—fumbles with some keys and the lights on Peter Jones’s car flash on and off. The figure opens the back door and throws the axe inside.

Ryan shudders thinking of the couple’s last moments. You still can’t see who it is, but you can tell that the killer is wearing surgical gloves, plus blue booties over his shoes. The car soon drives out of the frame.

This is one of the “they” whom Peter Jones warned him about.

“Were you able to identify who it is?” Ryan asks.

“Not yet. We’re still analyzing the footage, seeing if other cameras in the area caught anything. I know it’s hard to make much out, but do you recognize anything about this person? We can play it back, if that helps.”

The officer at the controls plays the video back again. It’s even more unsettling the second time.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “Nothing stands out to me.”

“He’s not from Lackford, we know that much. Paddy at the tavern knows everyone in town.”

“Did you find Jones’s car yet?”

“No, but we will.”

“This must be the guy who called Jones when I met with him in Italy. The reason he left in a panic.”

The detective nods somberly.

“Maybe if you find out who Peter really is—I mean, was—it will help ID who killed them. You should talk to the Leavenworth sheriff. Jones implied he knew something about Alison’s abduction.”

“Step ahead of you, mate.”