Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Nonna!” I growl.

She picks the cage up, blows me a kiss, then scuttles toward her car.

“Nonna!” I shout again. “Stop being presumptuous!”

Her eyes flash with laughter. Then she turns, and I hear her cackle as she straps Gio’s cage into the front seat. I dig my key from my purse, shove it into the lock, disable the alarm, and kick both of my shoes off. Leaving Drake in the hall, I run upstairs and into my bedroom. I select some cute floral ballet pumps and slip my feet in them before I head back downstairs.

Drake is still standing in the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s staring out the door. Nonna’s car rumbles down the street, and he slowly turns to face me.

“She knows I speak Italian, right?”

I sigh heavily, bending to grab my purse. “I think that’s the problem. She knows but pretends she doesn’t and gets to freak you out that way. Being a pain in the ass is her full-time job.”

I reset the alarm and Drake follows me outside. “She’s really going to take the parrot to Dev, isn’t she?”

“Unfortunately, you’ve given her three things.” I sigh. “One: she has a revenge plot against Amelia because she knows she hates the bird. Two: she has the baby—er, parrot-sitter she wants. And three: she has a blackmail plot for their wedding. They get married or the bird stays there.”

“Ah. I see.”

“You’re a terrible influence on her, Detective Nash. I’m not sure she needs someone like you.”

He winks, clicking the key fob and unlocking his car. “Come on. It was a joke.”

I lift my eyebrows. “No, it wasn’t. It was evil and you know it.”

He pauses. The grin that spreads slowly—and sexily—across his face is infectious, and before I know it, I’m grinning back.

“Don’t take offense at this,” he says, reaching behind me for my door handle, “but I need to be a little evil to deal with your family. For Catholics, you’re all kind of hellish.”

“I…cannot argue with that. Damn,” I mutter.

He laughs, kisses me, and opens the door. “Come on. Let’s go find Alistair Carpenter and listen to him deny sleeping with Dina White and give us bullshit alibis.”

“And then we can get coffee and cupcakes. Because cupcakes.”

He shuts my door then walks around the front of his truck, shaking his head.

We’ll get coffee and cupcakes. That’s his “yeah, whatever” face. I see it a lot.

I like that face. I get my own way.

The fair is kinda eerie when it’s empty. Well, when there aren’t a couple hundred people milling around it, that is. It’s not lunchtime yet, so the only people here are the travelers. It’s a better time to talk to them, without the distraction of customers and money to be made, but it’s also more dangerous.

If our theory is right about the killers being one of them—and between us all, we’re like ninety-nine point five percent sure it is—then we could do something silly like interview someone innocent and tip off someone guilty.

It’s just too damn quiet for this, but I know in my heart that Dina’s murder is connected to the others despite the severe difference in the way she died.

Which means that, in some way, Alistair is connected to all of this simply because of his potential relationship with Dina. One I want to know more about.

We find him helping a woman who looks like she could be his mom at a burger stand. His hair is tied back into a small bun, and he’s wiping the hot plate down.

Apparently, not all man buns are sexy.

“I’m all done with prep,” the woman says to him in that distinctive Louisiana drawl, wiping her hands as we approach. “You finish your cleanin’ and lock up when you’re done.”

“Sure thing, Mom.” He runs the cloth under the tap. “I got it.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” She unties her apron and disappears out of the side door.

We hesitate until she’s out of sight before approaching Alistair in the truck.

“Hey!” he says, his eyes landing on me. “You were here the other night, right?”

“Hey, Alistair.” I smile. “Do you have a couple minutes for a question or two?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just give me a sec.”

Drake leans into me. “I don’t understand his hair,” he murmurs. “Why is it in a bun?”

“Guys do that now,” I whisper back.

“Why not just cut it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a manual on men’s hairstyles.” I can barely keep my own damn hairstyle in check. “Shut up and let me handle this. He likes me.”

He laughs quietly then steps forward, his smirk smug. “Mr. Carpenter. I’m Detective Drake Nash from the Holly Woods Police Department. We have a couple of questions for you regarding your relationship with the late Dina White.”

I try to hide my sigh. I hope the fabulous detective realizes that Alistair Carpenter is in a food truck with a number of pans and knives he could wield at his every whim. So Drake has a gun, but that isn’t much good if you have a frying pan flying at your head.

Of course I’m being melodramatic, but what part of “he likes me” didn’t he understand? I could flirt the answers out of the guy and he wouldn’t realize until later on today.

But no. Neanderthal Detective Nash strikes again.

He Drake. He police officer. He no listen to woman. Roar.

He’s gonna roar his way to his only orgasm being a tug in the shower if he keeps this up.

“The late Dina White?” Alistair pauses, his hands wrapped in a tea towel. “What do you mean the late Dina White?”

She wasn’t on time for, oh, the rest of her life, maybe?

Shit. I didn’t say that out loud, did I?

I glance at Drake. He’s not glaring at me like he wants to duct-tape my mouth shut, so no, I didn’t say it out loud. Phew. What do you know? Perhaps my brain-to-mouth filter just took twenty eight and a half years to grow properly.

“It means that her body was discovered in her apartment yesterday morning. We’re unsure regarding the circumstances surrounding her death, so we’re questioning anyone who may help us put her last few days together,” Drake lies smoothly. “We’ve been told that you had a personal relationship with the deceased. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Look, I don’t know who told you that, but they were lying.” Alistair snorts and drops the tea towel on the hot plate. “I only knew her through the fair. Just-in-passing kinda thing. We don’t tend to get close to the people in the towns we pass through ’cause we don’t stay long enough.”

My lips purse, and I immediately flatten them again. I cough and cover my mouth with my hand.

“The person who provided us the information was very sure,” Drake replies. “Perhaps they had you mistaken for someone else.”

“They probably did. Sorry.”

I cough again, this time lightly patting my chest.

Drake gives me a funny look. “Could you tell us the last time you saw Dina White? We know she went out of town, but we’re trying to put things into place before then,” he asks, looking back to Alistair.

“Geez,” he responds, glancing over our heads. “Musta been…Wednesday? I think. Sorry I can’t be clearer.”

Again, I cough.

Wow. This one isn’t so fake. I guess that’s what I get for not thinking my plans through.

The attempted cough to “clear” my throat gives me a real niggle, and another three coughs have my eyes watering.

“Noelle? Are you okay?” Drake asks, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Tickle in my throat,” I wheeze. I look at Alistair through teary eyes. “Can I have a bottle of water, please?”

“Sure. Hang on.” He pulls something from his pocket and bends forward. When he stands, I just make out the shape of a pocket knife in his hand. “I don’t have anything chilled yet though. Sorry.” He passes me a bottle, his fingers wrapped around the label.

“Thank you,” I whisper, taking it by the bottom and uncapping it. I take a mouthful and instantly feel better. “How much?”

“Don’t worry.” He waves it off. “That’d make me sick bastard if I charge a choking woman for a bottle of water.” He winks then faces Drake. “Is that everything, Detective? I need to get my stall ready for the day.”

“Yeah,” Drake says slowly, still eyeing me suspiciously. “Here’s my direct number. If you can think of exactly when you may have seen Dina White or anyone who may have, that’d be real helpful.”

“Sure thing.” Alistair slips it into his back pocket after giving it a glance. “See ya.”

Drake rests his hand on my back and guides me across the fair. He doesn’t say a word as we pass people setting up stalls. He doesn’t even look at me. Just steers me to where he wants me to go, which happens to be his truck.

“You got an evidence bag in there?” I ask, looking at the truck.

“The hell for?” Drake frowns at me. He’s doing a lot this morning. Oy vey.

I hold the water bottle up. “First thing I had Carlton run on Alistair was his record. He’s clean. Which means that, if the prints pulled from Dina’s are his, they won’t match anyone on the system. This label, however…”

“Has his prints,” he breathes. He looks at the bottle for a moment then up at me. “Have I ever told you that you’re fuckin’ brilliant?”

“No, but feel free to. I haven’t had my ego stroked today.” I grin.

He produces a bag from beneath the front passenger’s seat, and I drop the bottle into it.

“Y’all have my prints and DNA on file, but I didn’t touch the label anyway. You’re welcome. He also had a pocket knife and he used it to open the case. It kinda looked like the one that attacked me in the woods.”

He does that sexy halfgrin-half-smirk thing that gives me butterflies. Then he cups my chin and kisses me quickly. “Not bad for someone who hasn’t had her cupcake yet.” He puts the bag in the trunk and slams the door down.

I clear my throat. “About that cupcake.”

He sighs, but he’s smiling.

Bingo.

“I forgot to tell you, but Alistair is a big, fat, smelly liar.”

“Aside from the fact that I already figured that out for myself, I have to say your professional opinion is outstanding.”

“Shut up.” I grab a cupcake from the box and set it in front of me. “He was totally lying. It was written all over his face. He’s been bonking the heck outta Dina White.”

“So eloquent.”

“Are you just here to piss me off with dumb comments?”

Drake grins and leans forward. “Yes. We’re in your office. I have no idea why we’re in your office. This isn’t where the magic goes down.”

“There is no magic to go down,” I argue. “What’s going down is cupcakes, coffee, checks, and conversations with Alistair.”

“I like the alliteration. Is that your smart sentence for the day?”

“No, the smart sentence will be when I explain your dead body. You know, the one I’m going to dump in a barn full of cow crap.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Drake grins, grabbing a chocolate torte cupcake.

I lean forward on my desk and lift my raspberry-frosting-covered finger. “Two words. Dung. Beetle.”

He fakes a shiver and bites into his cake. Chocolate frosting covers his nose, and my smile is wide as I watch him attempt to wipe it off. He keeps missing a spot, and I lick my finger clean before reaching forward and scooping up that clump of chocolatey goodness that’s hanging out on his cheek. I glance at it, then him, then put my finger in my mouth.

Mmm. Chocolate.

“Is it bad if I think that was sexy?” he asks, his eyes on my mouth.

“We’re supposed to be working. You know. Finding people who kill people?”

“You ever watched a shit-hot woman lick frosting from her finger?”

“Well, yeah. I look in the mirror, you know?”

“You watch yourself eat cupcakes?”

I grab my cake and lift it. “Look at that. Sexy. As. Fuck.”

He glances between the cake and me then finally settles on me. “You have a cupcake problem.”

“You call it a problem. I call it love. It is what it is.” I shrug a shoulder. “So, what do we do about Alistair?”

“I’m waiting to see if prints can be lifted from the bottle, but they’re pretty sure they can get even a partial one that will be enough for a match. We sent it in on a rush, and since these cases are the priority, we’ll know within an hour if we have it. If it matches, we can bring him in for questioning because it proves he lied.”

“It’ll match. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, my little human lie detector.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Hush. I still feel like we’re missing something.”

“You’ll be missing your waistline if you open a third cupcake.”

My hand is hovering over the lemon one, and damn it, he’s right. I slide my hand back across my desk, away from the cupcakes, and sit on it. Then I sit on the other for good measure. Who knows what they’ll do when I’m paying attention?

“If I didn’t know how true those words were, I’d probably have punched you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t. You’re going soft, sweetheart.”

I hit him with a look that’s anything but soft. “You’re going off topic again. And here I thought I was the squirrel in this relationship.”

Drake holds his hands up and leans back in his chair. “All right. What are we missing?”

Oh, sweet Jesus. He’s all about the smart questions today, isn’t he?

“If I knew, it wouldn’t be missing.”

“Fair point.”

I give him a look that says No, you think? then then away. My lips purse as I cast my eyes out the window to the park just across from the building. The trees are lush and green, and I can even make out the flowerbeds that seriously need some TLC. Maybe an anonymous complaint to the mayor—or ten—will finally get him to get those fixed. After all, everyone loves the park. Moms, kids, dogs, cats. Even raccoons and squirrels.

Speaking of squirrels, I’m squirreling again. I’m pretty sure a room full of toddlers would have a longer span of concentration.

I grab my whiteboard marker from the holder and walk to the board. It’s covered in red smears from my last attempts at this, but the more people who die, the more evidence we get.

If I can’t put my squirreling down and get something from it, I should really not be in this job anymore.

Everyone who’s gone missing has gone missing since the fair came to town. So we have probably one hundred and fifty travelers from newborns to the elderly, and a good chunk of those are between the ages of eighteen and fifty. A lot of them are also male, which doesn’t exactly narrow our suspect pool down, and a size-ten foot isn’t exactly uncommon.

I tap the marker against the board. The clinking noise fills the quiet of my office.

Discounting Dina, all of our victims except Tracey are young adults—students of some sort. But even then, Tracey was a professor, so they’re all somehow in education. Even Robyn, our still missing girl, is a student in Austin.

I write this down.

Everyone has been alone when they’ve gone missing. Toni after leaving Melanie’s store. Melissa at the airport before Brook was supposed to meet her. Annabelle after seeing her boyfriend at the fair. Tracey on her way home from a late night grading at work. Robyn on her way home from the fair.

I still.

Every one of them has gone missing when it’s been light. Every one of them has disappeared from a public place, and while the only kind of evidence we have for Toni and Melissa are sketchy security cameras that don’t show us a face, for the most part, someone has to have seen something.

Especially if they went missing from the fair.

We’ve focused so hard on when and where they went missing that we never thought to focus on everyone who may have seen them. And if they were alone or with anyone before they disappeared.

If they were alone and the profiles match the ones we’ve gotten from the cameras, we have the potential to find a killer. Or at least someone who can lead us to the killer.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, turning to Drake. “I need transcripts of every interview and notes from every questioning conducted outside of the station. They’re all going missing in broad daylight, Drake. Right in front of people’s noses, and no one has realized it. Someone somewhere has seen something. That information could be right there in our faces. We all got caught up in the panic of the murders and the hype and didn’t consider when they actually disappeared.”

He inhales sharply. “We wouldn’t have missed that. We’ve been over it all a hundred times, Noelle. There’s no way we’d overlook something so vital.”

“Then we’ve been asking the right questions to the wrong people.” I sit down and run my fingers through my hair. “We need to step up our game. There are too many people and not enough of us working on this. You need to call Sheriff Bates and Mayor McDougall. The murders and disappearances aren’t stopping.”

“What do you suggest we do? Offer a reward for anyone who has any information that could help us solve this case?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. It doesn’t have to be much, but it’s about time that twisted ass of a mayor stepped up and helped us. Reroute some of the council’s budget and tell him to drive himself to work for a freakin’ month. If anything, public plea for information will make the killers think we have nothing to go on. There’s every chance they’ll get cocky.”

Drake’s eyes shine with hope. “And, when killers get cocky, they screw up.”

I clap my hands together. “Exactly.”

His phone rings, and he picks it off my desk. “Detective Nash,” he answers. “Uh-huh… Really? ... That’s great. Thanks, Leonard… Yeah, send it over. Thanks.” He hits the screen and looks up at me. “They got a partial print from the label clear enough to run against the ones found in Dina’s apartment.”

I take a deep breath. My stomach flips with nauseous anticipation. “And?”

He gets up and pockets his phone. “And I’m going to get me an arrest warrant for Alistair Carpenter.”

I never thought I’d say this, but I wish it were Friday. I’m dying for a giant plate of Nonna’s homemade pasta and meatballs and garlic bread. A bottle of wine would also go down rather nicely.

Today has gone from zero to light speed and it’s happened that quickly. We’ve questioned a brokenhearted teenager, had a dalliance with a crazy, old Italian lady and her super-European, love-struck parrot, wasted time questioning a lying shitfuck, eaten cupcakes, had great ideas on how to propel this case forward, and arrested the same lying shitfuck we spoke with earlier on account of wasting police time.

Said lying shitfuck is sitting in an interview room, waiting for a lawyer, and stewing over his screw-up.

Lying shitfuck could be cruel, but I’m mad. I don’t understand why people lie. Don’t they know they’ll be found out? Lies are nothing more than a ball of wool waiting to be unraveled. Sometimes, they unravel accidentally and the trail leads you to the truth, or sometimes, they’re deliberately torn apart.

In this case, they were torn apart deliberately. I knew he was lying. I don’t know what it was, but I just knew it. I’m glad I tricked him into the water bottle and even gladder that prints had been lifted and matched. Getting him to hand them over for us to verify his story would have been hard.

Sometimes, being a human lie detector, as Drake calls me, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s not even dinnertime and I’m exhausted. I want to curl up into my bed and wake up in twelve hours to start another day. That’s the biggest problem with cases that involve a serial killers—nothing happens for ages. Then, just when you feel like giving up hope, boom. Everything comes at you in one day.

I can honestly say that I think Dina’s murder is the key to the others. It’s far too much of a coincidence for it to be unrelated. I think, if we find her murderer, we’ll find one half of the serial Satanists.

Drake and Trent are currently at the town hall with Sheriff Bates, pleading the case for reward money for information. Oddly enough, I think Mayor McDougall might just agree. He already expressed his displeasure about these murders and the way it makes Holly Woods look, and if we say this is the best effort we have to get information and redeem the town’s image…

I think we’ll get our own way on that.

I’ve also decided that I want to talk to Eddie Roy again. He’s Jackson’s adoptive father, meaning he also would have had a relationship of some sort with Dina. I wonder if he has any idea about Alistair and Dina.

The door opens to the interview viewing room, and I jerk around. The black hair of Jason as Alex is the first thing I notice, and I smile.

“Hey. I wondered if you’d get here.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was at the town hall. Told the mayor the council will offer rewards for information whether he likes it or not. Drake and your brother are on their way back now, and Sheriff Bates is working with the media team at the hall.”

“You did? How did you do that?”

“I told him if he didn’t, the FBI would fully descend on his town and turn it into an investigative circus. He about had a heart attack and agreed without another thought. I guess he doesn’t want them looking into his questionable spending of council money.” He winks and takes the seat next to me.

“You know, despite our rocky start, I’m really startin’ to like you.” I laugh.

He grins. “Your rocky start, you mean. Has he been questioned yet?” He nods toward Alistair in the room.

I shake my head. “He’s getting a lawyer. Put up a bit of a fight when he was arrested too, apparently.”

“He’s odd,” Jason says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands in front of him. “He seems like a bit of a loner, so I have to admit that I’m surprised this was true. I thought Jackson was just trying to deflect some attention off himself, but then again, I had no idea Dina was his mother, either.”

“So… We’re deducing that you know not a lot of anything,” I tease.

He looks at me, smirking. “That sounds about right.”

The door opens once more, and Drake pokes his head in. He looks at me. “Ready?”

“For what?”

“Interviewing Alistair. He likes you, remember?” He smirks.

“Bastard,” I mutter.

Jason raises his eyebrows. “You question suspects often?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I drawl, straightening the neckline of my dress as I get up.

“Are you allowed?”

“Unfortunately, I have a contract that says I am.”

“You love questioning suspects. Your favorite hobby is tying people up in knots. We all know who’s gonna come out traumatized in this interview, and it won’t be you.” Drake’s eyes twinkle. “Goldberg is his lawyer.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna need to change my shoes. Hold that thought.” I spin and walk to my purse.

“Change your—oh. Do you often carry a change of shoes in your purse?” Jason asks with a chuckle.

“Honestly, y’all know nothin’ about women.” I slip my feet into my Louboutins and tuck my flats into my purse. “Okay. Let’s go give Alistair Carpenter and Mr. Goldberg the interview equivalent of a colonoscopy.”

I stalk past Drake into the hallway as he says to Jason, “Get comfortable. Trent’ll bring the popcorn.”

I slap his chest. He laughs. Fucker.

“Mr. Goldberg,” I chirp, entering the interview room. “How lovely to see you again so soon. You must be busy.”

“Well, your department will continue to arrest people who need representing,” he manages through a tight jaw, clasping my hand unnecessarily tight.

I squeeze his fingers until he freezes, making sure to look right into his eyes. “This isn’t my department. You should remember that when representing your client. I’d hate to tear you apart in front of one again.”

I swear I hear Drake whisper, “Oh boy,” under his breath.

“Perhaps we should get started,” Drake suggests, pulling my chair out for me.

Reluctantly, I drop Goldberg’s hand and sweep my skirt beneath my thighs as I take my seat. Drake takes the one next to me and hits the button on the recorder. He states the date and time then turns to Alistair.

“Please state your full name, age, and date of birth for the record.”

“Alistair Henry Carpenter, twenty-one, March thirteenth, nineteen ninety-one.”

“Your chosen lawyer is Mr. Samuel Goldberg from Goldberg Law. Can you confirm?”

“That’s correct.”

“Before we start, you should be aware that you do not have to answer anything you don’t want to. You can exercise your right to remain silent, but this may harm your defense should you appear in court. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms. Noelle Bond, owner of Bond P.I., will be assisting me, Detective Nash, in the interview today. Ms. Bond is working with the Holly Woods Police Department in the murder cases of Toni Thompson, Melissa Samuel, Annabelle Porter, Tracey Young, and Dina White. Mr. Carpenter, if you or your representative would prefer a police officer to be present instead of Ms. Bond, please make that desire known before we begin our questioning.”

Alistair looks at Mr. Goldberg. The elder man pauses, his eyes coming to me, but he shakes his head.

“Thank you for the offer, Detective, but we’re happy to have Ms. Bond assist you.”

I love how they all say “assist.” Of the four of us in this room, three of us know that I’ll be running it.

What can I say? I do so love questioning people.

Drake looks at me and nods. He’s trying to keep his amusement from his eyes, but I can already see that he’s struggling and I haven’t even said a word yet.

I place my clasped hands on the table in front of me and meet Alistair Carpenter’s eyes. “Earlier today, you were questioned regarding your relationship with the late Dina White. You lied to us. Why?”

He says nothing. He just stares at me.

“Your fingerprints were found in her apartment, Alistair.”

Again, silence.

“I don’t understand how that could happen if, like you claimed, you didn’t have a personal relationship with her. Did you help Jackson Bullock with any maintenance of the store and her apartment?”

Still nothing.

“For the record of the tape, Mr. Carpenter would make an excellent competitor in a staring contest. He’s very focused.”

“Ms. Bond,” Mr. Goldberg starts.

“Mr. Goldberg, please advise your client that, although he can exercise his right to remain silent, it’s helpful for him to state, ‘No comment,’ when he declines to answer a question,” I say without breaking my gaze with Alistair. “Right now, he is the prime suspect in the murder of Dina White, and if he’d like to change that, I’d suggest he decides not to exercise his right to remain silent. Please also advise your client that semen traces were found on Dina White’s body during her autopsy and I’d be happy to offer my opinion that we test Mr. Carpenter’s DNA from his cheek swab during his booking process against the semen sample obtained. I’d like to place my bet that we’ll get a match. Don’t you agree, Alistair?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes. I had a personal relationship with Dina White.”

First: Ew.

Second: There’s the first line on my bingo card.

“Elaborate for me,” I request.

He averts his gaze. “I was having an affair with Dina White.”

“Sexual affair?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When was your last sexual contact with Dina White?”

“The morning she died.”

Oooh damn. “After she returned from California? Walk me through that morning.”

“She landed at four a.m. I arrived at her property just before seven. We had sex. Then I left just after eight.”

“Was she alone when you left?”

“Yes.”

“And she didn’t mention seeing anyone else?”

“No.”

“Did you enter the building through the front or the back?”

“The back.”

“Are the shoes you’re wearing now the same as the ones you wore that day?”

When he doesn’t say anything, I raise an eyebrow.

“You can scoot your chair back some and look if you’d like.”

“Yes.”

“Can you confirm your shoe size and the brand of your sneakers for the record, please?”

“Size ten and a half, and Nike.”

Interesting. Very interesting.

I lean back. “Mr. Carpenter, do you recognize any of these girls?” I take the photos Drake’s handing me and spread them out in front of him.

“Ms. Bond, I was under the impression you were here to question him about Dina White’s death,” Mr. Goldberg interjects. “Not the others.”

“We have every reason to believe the deaths are related,” Drake responds. “If Mr. Carpenter recognizes these girls, we may have more to connect with, and his cooperation would be appreciated.”

“I’d even go so far as to say that any real information he has might result in charges of obstructing justice being…misplaced,” I say slowly. “So, Alistair? Do you?”

He shifts so he’s sitting upright and looks at them all. “No.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Have another look.”

His eye twitches. “Don’t know ’em.” He pushes them to me.

“Third time’s a charm, don’t you think?” I give my voice a hard edge and shove the photos back toward him. “Take. Another. Look. And, this time, try to tell me the truth.”

“I’m not lying,” he lies, looking up.

“Your eye is twitching, and the way your body is shaking tells me your leg is bobbing up and down beneath the table. Both signs of a lie. Now, let’s try this again. Do you recognize any of these girls?”

He glares at me and flicks Annabelle’s photo toward me. “Her. Saw her a couple times last week.”

“Just her? No one else?”

“Pretty sure I saw her with her.” Robyn’s photo comes to me. “They never stopped at my stall. Stopped at Dina’s a few times. And Alex’s. All that religious mojo shit.”

“Religious mojo shit? Is that a technical term?”

“Whatever. What do they have to do with Dina’s murder?”

“I’m hoping you could tell me. Can I tell you what I think?”

“Go ahead,” he snorts.

I kinda wanna punch him and then twist his dumb little man bun off. “I think Dina White enjoyed her affair with you—this was the second time, right?”

He nods.

“For the record, Alistair Carpenter is nodding his agreement. So, back to it… Yeah. I think Dina White enjoyed your company, but between last year and this year, she met someone else. I think she let the two of you have a few nights together. Then, when she was going to tell you, she had to go to California unexpectedly. She left then arranged to meet with you on her return. You crept in your usual way: through the back window in the storeroom. Then I think, Alistair, that morning, Dina told you that you could no longer see each other. I think you lost your temper and forced her to have sex with you. Then you killed her. Then you texted Jackson from her phone to tell him she was staying in California longer.”

“I didn’t kill Dina. I had no reason to kill her.”

“But you forced her to have sex with you, right?”

“No. We had sex. Then I left.”

“I think you’re lying to me.”

“I think you can think whatever the fuck you want. I didn’t kill her.”

“Then tell me who did, because as far as I know, you’re the last person to see her alive. You’re the last person to see her, touch her, talk to her. You’ve admitted you were there and that you had sex with her. I have more proof that you killed her than you do that you didn’t.”