CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sheila's fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel as she and Finn made their way to Juan Rodriguez's home. The afternoon traffic in Coldwater was light, but every red light felt like an eternity.

"What's our approach here?" Finn asked, reviewing their notes on his tablet.

Sheila took a deep breath, considering. "We keep it casual at first. We're just following up on a lead, asking some routine questions. No need to spook him if he's innocent."

"And if he's not?"

"Then we'll be ready," Sheila replied, her hand unconsciously moving to check her holstered weapon.

They pulled up to a modest two-story house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Colorful flowerbeds lined the walkway, and a 'Nature's Way' bumper sticker adorned the SUV in the driveway.

They approached the front door, and Sheila rang the bell. No answer. She tried again, then knocked firmly. Still nothing.

"Car's here," she muttered. "He should be home."

Just as they were about to leave, the door opened slightly, held by a security chain. A man's face appeared in the gap: Juan Rodriguez, looking exactly like his photos, but with an expression of wariness that hadn't been captured on camera.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice guarded.

Sheila held up her badge. "Mr. Rodriguez? I'm Deputy Stone, and this is Deputy Mercer. We'd like to ask you a few questions if you have a moment."

Rodriguez's eyes widened slightly. "What's this about?"

"Just following up on a lead, sir," Finn said smoothly. "Nothing to worry about. May we come in?"

Rodriguez hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. He closed the door, and they heard the chain being removed before he opened it fully. "Come in," he said, gesturing them inside.

The interior of the house was immaculate, with a distinctly minimalist aesthetic. Rodriguez led them to a living room dominated by a large cross on one wall and shelves filled with health and spirituality books.

"Please, sit," he said, indicating the couch. He remained standing, his posture tense. "Now, what's this all about?"

Sheila decided to start gently. "Mr. Rodriguez, we understand you attended the 'Coldwater Cares' charity gala four years ago. Is that correct?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes, I try to attend most local charity events. My business does a lot of community outreach."

"Do you recall meeting Laura Hastings or Sophie Tournay at that event?" Finn asked.

Rodriguez's brow furrowed. "Those names sound familiar... Wait, aren't those the women who were murdered recently?"

Sheila noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he said this. Nervousness? Or guilt? "That's right," she said. "We're trying to establish any connections between the victims."

Rodriguez's face paled. "You...you don't think I had anything to do with those murders, do you?"

"We're just exploring all possibilities, Mr. Rodriguez," Finn said calmly. "Can you tell us about your relationship with these women?"

Rodriguez ran a hand through his hair, visibly agitated. "I...I didn't really know them. I mean, I might have met them at the gala, but I meet lots of people at those events."

"And Rachel Kim?" Sheila asked.

"I knew her from some school board meetings, but that's it."

Sheila leaned forward. "Mr. Rodriguez, we know that you run a men's group at St. Michael's Church focusing on moral purity. Can you tell us more about that?"

His eyes narrowed. "What does that have to do with anything? Are you implying something?"

"We're not implying anything," Sheila said, keeping her voice level. "We're just trying to understand the full picture."

Rodriguez stood abruptly. "I think I'd like you to leave now. If you have any more questions, you can contact my lawyer."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a glance. This wasn't going well. "Mr. Rodriguez," Sheila began, "we're not here to accuse you of anything. We're just—"

"I know my rights," Rodriguez interrupted. "And I know what you're insinuating. I'm a respected businessman and a valuable member of this community. I had nothing to do with those murders."

The tension in the room was palpable. Rodriguez stood with his arms crossed, his face a mask of indignation and fear. Sheila remained seated, trying to project calm while internally strategizing her next move.

"Mr. Rodriguez," she began, keeping her voice even, "I understand this is upsetting, but we have a job to do. These women were murdered, and we need to follow every lead."

Rodriguez's jaw clenched. "And I'm telling you, I'm not a lead. I'm a victim here—a victim of your baseless suspicions!"

Finn leaned forward. "Sir, if you're innocent, then helping us will only clear your name faster."

"I shouldn't have to prove my innocence!" Rodriguez snapped.

Suddenly, a memory clicked into place in Sheila's mind—Francine Albright, the elderly woman from St. Michael's. She had mentioned seeing a 'new priest' at the church recently.

Sheila's pulse quickened. If they could get Rodriguez in a lineup, Francine could potentially identify whether he was the man she saw. It wasn't conclusive evidence, but it could be a significant step forward—or it might completely exonerate Rodriguez.

"Mr. Rodriguez," Sheila said, her tone shifting to something more conciliatory, "I have a proposition for you. One that could clear this up quickly."

Rodriguez eyed her warily. "What kind of proposition?"

"We have a witness who saw a man at St. Michael's recently—a man she didn't recognize, who was presenting himself as a priest. If you'd be willing to participate in a lineup, we could potentially rule you out as a suspect immediately."

Rodriguez's expression wavered between suspicion and hope. "A lineup? But I haven't done anything wrong."

"Exactly," Finn said, catching on to Sheila's plan. "If our witness doesn't identify you, that's a major point in your favor. It could end our inquiries into your involvement right here and now."

Rodriguez seemed to consider this, his anger slowly giving way to calculation. "And if I refuse?"

Sheila chose her words carefully. "That's your right. But it would leave us with unanswered questions. We'd have to continue our investigation, which might involve speaking to your employees, your church group members..."

She let the implication hang in the air. Rodriguez's reputation was clearly important to him, and the mere suggestion of a prolonged public investigation seemed to unsettle him.

After a long moment, Rodriguez sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll do your lineup. But I want it on record that I'm cooperating under protest, and I reserve the right to have my lawyer present."

Sheila nodded, relief washing over her. "Of course. We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Rodriguez. If you'd be willing to come down to the station now, we can get this taken care of quickly."

As they led Rodriguez out to their car, Sheila caught Finn's eye. They both knew this was a gamble. If Francine identified Rodriguez, it would strengthen their case against him. But if she didn't...

They'd be back to square one, with a killer still on the loose and time running out.

***

Sheila stood behind the one-way glass, watching as Francine Albright squinted at the lineup. Juan Rodriguez stood among five other men of similar build and age, all dressed identically. Ms. Albright had been studying them for what felt like an eternity.

"Take your time, Ms. Albright," Sheila said into the intercom, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. "There's no rush."

Francine nodded, her eyes moving from one man to the next. "I...I'm not sure," she said, her voice wavering. "It was weeks ago, you know. My memory isn't what it used to be."

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn. This wasn't going as smoothly as they'd hoped.

"It's okay, Ms. Albright," Sheila said, stepping into the room. "Let's talk through it. What do you remember about the man you saw at the church?"

Francine's brow furrowed in concentration. "He was tall...well-dressed. He had kind eyes, I remember that."

Sheila nodded encouragingly. "That's good. Anything else? Maybe something unique about his appearance?"

Francine shook her head, frustration evident on her face. "I'm sorry, I just can't be certain. They all look similar from here."

Sheila felt her heart sink. Without a positive identification, they had nothing concrete to tie Rodriguez to the crimes—or to exonerate him. She took a deep breath, reminding herself to remain patient.

"It's alright, Ms. Albright. Let's try something else. Close your eyes for a moment."

Francine did as instructed.

"Now, think back to that day at the church. You're standing there, and this man approaches you. What's the first thing you notice about him?"

Francine's eyes remained closed, her face scrunched in concentration. "His smile," she said slowly. "He had a warm smile. And...and there was something about his face..."

Sheila leaned in, sensing they were on the verge of a breakthrough. "What about his face, Ms. Albright?"

"It was…strange, like he was wearing a lot of makeup. Odd for a priest."

Finn scribbled in his notebook, taking down these details.

"Do you notice anything else about him?" Sheila asked.

Suddenly, Francine's eyes snapped open. "Oh! I remember now! He had a small scar, just above his right eyebrow. It was faint, but I noticed it when he got close."

Sheila's heart raced as she turned to look at the lineup. Juan Rodriguez's face was unblemished.

"Are you sure about the scar, Ms. Albright?" she asked.

Francine nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes, I'm certain now. None of these men have that scar. The man I saw at the church isn't here."

Sheila's heart sank—they hadn't found their killer. Still, at least they had eliminated a suspect. It was progress, even if it meant they were back to square one.

Just then, Finn's phone rang. He stepped aside to answer it, his expression growing serious as he listened. When he hung up, he turned to Sheila with a grim look.

"We've got a situation," he said quietly as he led Sheila out of Francine's hearing. "Someone left a message in the town square…and the chief thinks it's from the Coldwater Confessor."