I took a deep breath. “Let’s cut the crap, Pete. Stop playing games with us and give us the truth.”
Silence hung thick in the air like a noose waiting to be tightened.
Finally, Pete spoke up. “I’m telling you everything I know! Honest to God, I’m innocent!”
I placed the bag of hair on the table in front of him.
“Pete, you’re not telling us everything. What are you hiding?”
Pete shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I swear to God, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, unconvincingly. He looked at the bag. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“That’s your hair,” I said, tapping the bag. “Found at the scene of crime. A whole lock of it. We ran it against the DNA sample you gave us, and it was a match.”
He shook his head. “That can’t be. Are you sure it’s mine?”
“Yes, we’re sure,” I said. “It was a match.”
He looked desperate and groaned. “But I didn’t kill anyone, I swear.”
“Come on!” Tom chimed in, slamming his hand on the table. “Just tell us the truth and we can work something out.”
“I told you already, I didn’t do it!” Pete yelled back, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Okay, then why were you at Bryan Henderson’s apartment?” I asked calmly, trying to reason with him. Stirring him up didn’t seem to help anything. “We have clear evidence that proves you were at the scene.” I grabbed the bag and held it up. “This proves you were there.”
“But I wasn’t,” he continued.
We were getting nowhere with this. “Okay, let’s get back to that injury of yours. The side that you keep touching and wincing when you move. How did you get that?”
“I told you I fell off my bike.”
“Well, the other day you said that it was while doing yard work. So, which is it?” I asked.
“I… I don’t… I can’t tell you.”
“That’s convenient,” Tom exclaimed.
“And why can’t you tell us?” I said. “Is it because it stems from your run-in with the woman, Ashley Wittman, who was in the apartment when you murdered Bryan Henderson? She stabbed you so she could get away from you, right? We have the piece of glass and blood in her apartment; all we have to do is run a match with your DNA, which is being done as we speak. Then we will know for sure. You might as well tell us now. Save us some time. Where is Ashley? Where is Emma?”
His eyes hit the table. “I was attacked.”
“You were attacked?” I asked. “Now that’s rich. By Ashley Wittman, who is half your size?”
He shook his head. “No, at the park. Walking the dog late at night. Someone came up from behind me and kicked me down. I tried to fight back, and that’s when they grabbed me and pulled a lock of hair out of my head. Right here.”
He turned his head and removed some strands of hair, so we could see a small bald spot.
I frowned. “And why didn’t you report this attack to the police?”
His gaze was still avoiding mine. It made it hard to tell if he was lying or not. “Because… because I owe someone money. I borrowed some money from some bad people and hadn’t paid them back. I assumed it was them, punishing me.” He shook his head with an exhale. “My wife doesn’t know this. I have a debt, from gambling. I didn’t know it was a problem till I was on the ground being beaten up. I have been trying to stay away from it, but it’s hard. My wife doesn’t know anything at all. I lost all of our savings just a few months ago and have been trying to win it back. If I don’t then we’ll have to sell the house Marissa is in.”
The desperation in his voice was palpable, and I got the feeling that he was telling the truth. We kept asking deeper into the ordeal, and soon we realized we weren’t getting anywhere. I decided to let him go. I needed more evidence.
As he walked away from us into the darkness outside, I couldn’t help but feel that there was more to this story than met the eye. A lot more.
But what was it I was missing? And why did it feel like we were constantly three steps too late, that this person was outsmarting us?
“Wilde, we have news,” Scott said as I returned to my desk, feeling defeated.
“What news?”
“It’s Ashley Wittman,” he said, while staring at his computer screen. He was shaking his head. He looked up at me.
“The girl who was with Henderson?” I asked.
“Yes. She’s been admitted to the medical center at Sebastian.” He looked up and met my eyes. I saw fear in his. “And get this. A guy came in with her, and he was found dead in her hospital room. Strangled.”
I grabbed my car keys and forgot all about dinner and homework with the kids. Joe had to take care of that tonight. My killer was escalating, and I had to stop him before he killed again.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Then
Kitty held the newborn tight in her arms. She was mesmerized by the beauty of his tiny face and loved feeling the warmth of his body against hers. Even the smell of him was divine. She smiled, feeling happy for the first time in a long time, as the baby fed from her. It had only been a week, and her body was still in pain sometimes. It looked different, and she was tired, consumed by caring for her little angel.
She thought for a moment about her own mother, and tears filled her eyes instantly. She would have loved to have shown her the baby, her grandson. She could use her advice now on getting the baby to sleep, and if he was getting enough food. She missed being able to talk to her.
Kitty sniffled and touched the baby’s soft black hair. He was so amazing, this little creature. So wonderful. She couldn’t dwell in the past now and think about her own mother. There was no time for it. She needed to focus on her baby boy and the future they held together. As a family. Even if it was taking place in this hot small shed, it was her life now, and as long as she held him in her arms, she was happier than she ever was on the outside.
