Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

DETECTIVE GRANT

I draw my colleague to a stop outside the interview room, and she gives me an inquisitive gaze. Sarah O'Hara, a thirty-two-year-old detective, has a knack for sniffing out lies like a bloodhound, but suspicions and facts are two different things. Suspicions don't hold up in court, for one. I've been in this job long enough to know that, but this case is proving difficult.

"Are you okay?"

"The case rides on this interview."

Sarah's face remains blank. No emotion flickers in her eyes. She knows the deal already.

"If he gives Cruz a solid alibi, we have nothing."

"Cruz walks free," she says, echoing my thoughts.

"With so little evidence linking him to the crime scene, we need to pull the truth from our key witness."

Sarah flicks her eyes between mine, then sighs, waiting for one of our colleagues to walk past before she looks at me. "He'll trust us. I know it."

Inhaling deeply, I gnash my teeth. I've lost sleep over this investigation. "Fine… It's showtime."

Sarah opens the door and enters the small interrogation room smiling, wanting to get on Marshall's good side. We know about the affair. The question now is how long it has gone on. Mobile records and Google searches prove that Cruz stalked Marshall and his wife for a very long time, going to extreme lengths to gain access to Marshall without his knowledge. Meanwhile, his colleagues reported that Ms. Phillips tried to gain Marshall's interest. On the day of her death, she invited him out for drinks with their colleagues.

It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together.

"Hi, Mr. Kirk," Sarah says, sitting across from him, and I pull out a chair at the small table and lower myself down.

While she introduces us, I study the dark circles around his eyes. His skin is pale, and he looks tired. When it's my turn to talk, I interlace my fingers on top of the folder. "How well do you know Cruz?"

He stares at me for a moment, trying to figure me out. "I've known him his whole life. I grew up with his father."

We already know this information.

"You're close to his dad?"

"Best friends."

"Tell me a bit about that."

He bounces his eyes between Sarah and me before tapping his thumb on the table as he says, "We met as kids. Lived on the same street. Now we play golf and have dinner together on Wednesdays."

I make some notes. "When did the affair start?"

Marshall's throat jumps, his thumb tapping, tapping, tapping. "I was out drinking one night, and he was there. We slept together."

"How long ago was this?"

"A couple of months."

"His parents didn't know?" Sarah asks as she rolls a pen between her fingers.

Marshall follows the movement, shaking his head. "No. We kept it a secret."

"I see."

He looks away and clenches his jaw.

"Why don't you tell me more about the relationship?" I ask, trying to steer us back on track and sensing we'll lose him if we don't keep him talking.

Thirty minutes pass while we discuss every aspect of their relationship. Marshall soon relaxes and even smiles at some points, but his face shutters when Sarah asks him if he's in love with Cruz. He regards her before placing his chin on his clasped hands and nodding. "Yeah, I think I am."

"You think, or you are?"

Seconds pass. Marshall scratches his brow, then stares out the small window to our left. When he eases back in his seat, I hold my breath. Weeks of sleepless nights have led us to this moment. "I'm in love with him."

Sarah shifts beside me. "Can you tell us about your whereabouts on the night of Ms. Phillips's murder?"

"Am I a suspect?" he asks, frowning.

"No, not at all. You're free to walk at any time."

"I was at home all night."

"Alone?" I question, my heart thudding hard. We need him to open a window of opportunity for Cruz to have been at the crime scene. Without it, we're screwed.

His throat jumps as he looks between us, but then his tension eases. "No, I wasn't alone. I was with…Cruz."

My heart sinks, and I sense Sarah stiffening beside me. Shit…

"All night?" I ask.

He pins his eyes on me, steeling his jaw. "All night."

The wall clock ticks loudly in the background. We stare at each other, neither willing to back down. He looks away first when Sarah clears her throat.

"We know about Cruz's obsession with you. Are you aware that he stalked you for over a year—probably longer—reading your emails and text messages, encroaching on your privacy? He even installed cameras in your house. The email you received about your wife's affair came from his IP address." She digs her finger into the table. "He was more than happy to see your marriage fail so that he could swoop in and pick at the remains."

"My wife cheated on me." His eyes harden. "Cruz isn't responsible for her actions."

Sarah sits back and crosses her arms. "Ms. Phillips was found in pieces. Her attacker chased her down with a chainsaw, Mr. Kirk. It's the worst crime scene I've witnessed in my career. The responding officers required extensive therapy." She leans forward again and rests her elbows on the table, eyes intent on Marshall. "The person who murdered Ms. Phillips is a violent and very dangerous killer, make no mistake. He will kill again if he's not caught. Maybe not right away, but mark my words, he can't control his impulses." I can sense her desperation from here. "It's vital that you tell us the truth, Marshall. Was Cruz with you all night?"

He looks past her at a remote spot on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest while grinding his teeth. A myriad of emotions cross his face. Then he exhales a heavy sigh and drags his fingers through his beard; the words that follow the loud rasp have me hanging my head in defeat.

"Cruz was with me all night."

Sarah stares at him blankly and then rises to her feet and walks out without another word. The door slams shut, and we sit silently while I slide the folder toward me.

That's it. Game over. We don't have sufficient evidence to charge Cruz or keep him in custody. He's a free man, and Ms. Phillips is nowhere closer to getting justice.

Rising to my feet, I drum my fingers on the folder and debate if I should say something or not.

Marshall rubs his tired eyes, his hair a mess and his clothes creased. He looks like a ghost, and I would feel sorry for him—the man has lost his closest friend and his career—but his displaced sense of loyalty for a cold-blooded killer has put our town in danger, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it now.

Not without his help.

I pull a photograph from the folder and toss it on the table. "Do you know this girl?"

Marshall pales. "Violet Scott. She's one of my students."

"She's gone missing."

His eyes fly up to mine, and I shrug as I collect the photograph. "Interesting timing, don't you think? Cruz's parents confirmed that she came around for dinner a few weeks back, and now she's missing."

When he gulps, paler than a corpse, I fish out a card from my pocket and slide it toward him on the table. "There's my contact details if you change your mind."

CRUZ

I wait patiently on the cot, with one leg extended and the other drawn up, my wrist resting on my knee. A surveillance camera is mounted in the upper corner of the room, and a red light blinks repeatedly. Whoever is watching on the other side must be bored by now. I haven't moved a muscle since I entered this holding cell and laid down.

Staring at the moldy, cracked ceiling, I count the seconds since I last saw Marshall. Time in here crawls by, leaving me restless and fidgety, though I'm a calm lake on the outside. No one will ever see me crack under pressure, and it'll take more than bars to keep me away from what's mine. I'll be waiting patiently, imagining all the ways I'll make Marshall submit, willingly or not.

Footsteps echo in the hallway, and keys jingle in the lock. The door opens, and a bored-looking officer jerks his chin at me to make a move. "You're free to go."

Well, well, well. A smile crawls over my lips and I slide out from the cot, following the officer into the hallway. Detective Grant leans across the wall opposite, his tie askew, eyes narrowing on me as though he has me figured out. He's just waiting for me to slip up so that he can tighten the noose around my neck.

Smirking, I keep my attention locked on him for as long as I can, and then I wink as I turn the corner.

To be continued…