“Don’t move, Ms. Allen,” it said. She immediately recognized it as the young detective from the bar. “On your knees, please, hands behind your head.”
His voice is oddly calm, she thought as she obeyed his order, slowly sinking to her knees and placing her hands behind her head.
EIGHT
Maureen had been sitting in the interview room for what seemed like days. He had hauled her straight in from the house, processed her, and shoved her into a holding cell. While there, she had resisted the urge to sleep for fear of more torment and took to pacing the three to four steps of the cell, stopping every few minutes to do some push-ups or use the low bed bolted to the wall to do a few dips. Anything to keep awake. The young detective had come back a few hours later, judging by the sunrise, looking as though he had only gone home to change clothes and shave. An attempt to look more formidable perhaps? It wasn’t fooling her. She recognized the bags under his eyes all too well. They probably mirrored her own. In any case, he’d led her into the room she was currently sitting in and had left her to herself, most likely hoping that the time alone would bring her further discomfort and give him the edge he was looking for.
“Okay Ms. Allen,” Detective Benitez said, slapping down his notebook and taking a seat at the steel table opposite her. “Let’s just go over all of this again, shall we?”
The lamp that illuminated the room was behind his head, so she had to squint if she wanted to look at him. Once her eyes adjusted to the harshness of the glow, she was able to examine his face more closely. He was fairly attractive, she had to admit, with a strong jaw and dark, Latin features. Not necessarily her type, but his deep brown eyes were what caught her attention. They seemed as if they saw more than the average person. She was going to have to be exceedingly careful if she was going to explain her way out of this predicament, especially since the truth was so unbelievable.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Detective,” she said. “I may not have the money for an attorney, but surely you have a public defender you can provide for me?”
“You haven’t been charged with anything, Ms. Allen,” he replied, allowing a grin to break on his face. “We’re just talking. But if you insist, we can find someone to be with you during this interview and take you back to your cell for now. We’re a small town, and the county courthouse doesn’t have a whole lot of public defenders on staff. I’m sure we could get one here in a couple of days. Or you could confess to the murder of Jacob Lowes, and your cooperation will be rewarded. We can get you in front of a shrink, and you just might avoid the death penalty.”
“Didn’t know Missouri still had the death penalty,” Maureen quipped, making no effort to hide her disdain.
“The death penalty isn’t used often, it’s true. It’s reserved for the most heinous of crimes. I’m sure the murder of a child and desecration of the corpse would qualify.” His tone raised slightly.
“Well, since I didn’t kill that kid, I guess I got nothing to worry about.” She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.
“I thought you wanted a lawyer. You’re not doing yourself any favors making statements like that,” he replied.
“What’s the point?” She was getting tired of this already, and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. “A public defender won’t do me any good anyway.”
“Because you’re going to confess?” he smirked. “I’ll need to bring in one of ours if that’s what’s going to happen.”
“I’m not going to confess to anything, because I didn’t do anything! And lawyers don’t do anything but screw up just to line their own pockets.”
Maureen watched as the detective slowly got out of his chair and strutted over to the single window. He shut the blinds, rubbed his eyes, and let out a loud sigh. Too loud in her opinion, all part of the act. She hated when cops did this, pouring on the melodrama, pretending that the answers they were receiving physically pained them, all to throw off their interviewee. This one’s act wasn’t very polished. He clearly hadn’t interviewed anyone suspected of a serious crime before.
“Okay,” he said, returning to his seat at the table, “you obviously have some experience in situations like this. So, since you’re not going to cooperate, I’m just going to start talking, and you can feel free to correct me when I get something wrong.”
Maureen shrugged. This was going to be good.
“I admit, I haven’t had any time to really look into you,” the detective continued in his self-important tone, “but, it’s a pretty small town, and last night at the bar was the first time I’ve ever seen you.” He paused and looked at her for an unwavering moment. “Or was it? Maybe the first time I saw you was yesterday morning running away from the crime scene.”
She froze stiff. He had recognized her. She tried to hold his stare, but she blinked first.
“I thought so,” he said triumphantly.
“It’s not a crime to be out for a run,” she retorted.
“Oh, not at all, but it is a crime to break into a closed crime scene in the middle of the night.”
“Okay, so lock me up for that and go after the person who killed that kid.” He wasn’t going to run her over.
The detective softened. “All right,” he said, “let’s put a pin in that and get back to what we were talking about. How long have you been in town?”
“Three weeks or so. My car broke down, if that was going to be the next question.”
“In fact, that was my next question,” he smiled. “Thanks for the help. Now, you’re living where exactly?”
“One of the loft studios in the old factory district on the south side of town. You want an exact address?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I suspect you don’t have a legal lease or anything, knowing some of the guys that rent out those places. Where did you come to us from?”
“East.” She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t going to make his job easier.
“Can you be more specific?”
“Not really,” she answered, doing her best to maintain her mask of indifference. “I move around a lot. Don’t like to stay in one place for too long.”
“How ‘bout the last place you lived?”
“I stayed at a public house in Kentucky for a few months.”
“They still have those?” He clearly didn’t buy her answer.
“That’s what they called it. I gave ‘em seventy-five bucks a week and didn’t ask any questions. As long as I got a bed and shower, I don’t need much.”
“A nomadic lifestyle like that might make someone think you’re running from something.” The way he said it sounded like an accusation. Maureen had no doubt it was intentional.
“Almost everybody is running from something.” She could have sworn she saw the detective’s face twitch as she said it. “Don’t presume to know me. Whatever you’re thinking, I can guarantee you’re wrong.” She sat back and crossed her arms.
“Whatever you say, Ms. Allen,” he said, resuming his formal tone. Condescending, really, to her ears. “Why don’t we go to the night of the murder. Tell me where you were.”
“At home,” she scoffed. “I remember I woke up around quarter to three. Nightmare.” The memory of it sent a shiver down her spine. She tried her best to hide it. The detective was looking down at his notes, and didn’t seem to notice, much to her relief.
“I’m assuming you were there alone,” he said without looking up at her.
“Of course,” she spat back. “It would be way too convenient for me to have been fucking someone and be able to give you his name, right? Not that I need a name as long as he’s hard in all the right places.” She was hoping to throw him off his game a bit. Unfortunately, she underestimated the detective’s professionalism.
“It would certainly get you out of here and away from me sooner,” he replied flatly, scribbling in his notebook. When he
finished, he looked up at her again. “Saying that I believe that you were—in fact—at home alone during the murder, I’m curious as to why you just happened to be in the neighborhood the next morning when you’re not a neighbor, why you know details about the case that weren’t released to the public, and why you would want to break into the crime scene last night. Do you see how your story doesn’t add up?”
“Something about the whole thing just seemed familiar,” she relented. “I needed to be sure.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you might have information about who did this?” His voice grew as he perked up in his chair.
“I . . .” she started, but thought better about it and decided to stop talking. She folded her hands on the table and made an effort to keep her lips pressed tightly together.
Just as the detective was about to speak, she heard the door open. Her eyes darted over as a black suit filled with a tall man sporting a close-cropped haircut entered the room. His face bore almost no expression as he strode straight up to the table and dropped a manila folder on it. He eyed Maureen briefly before turning to Detective Benitez.
“I’m Agent Howard Layton,” he said in a smooth voice. His words carried the hint of a Southern accent. Maureen couldn’t help but scoff. He sounds like a self-righteous ass, she thought to herself.
The agent shot her a look before addressing the detective. “I’ve taken control of this case, Detective, and I’ll be finishing this interview. You can head out and speak to my partner, Agent Lorenzo. She’s with your captain now getting up to speed. You can help with that.”
Detective Benitez seemed to bristle at that and opened his mouth, most likely to protest.
“That’ll be all, Detective,” the agent said with a bite.
The detective seemed to have received the message and left the room, but not before he’d very deliberately slammed his notebook shut and shoved it into his pocket, staring at the agent the whole time. The slamming of the door behind him actually sent a jolt through her.
Agent Layton took the seat opposite her to make his formal introduction. “I’m Agent Howard Layton,” he repeated, looking through the dozen or so sheets of paper that he had brought into the room. “I’m the ASAC of the St. Louis branch of the FBI. Do you understand what that means?”
“That you’re trying to impress me with a fancy-sounding acronym?” she retorted, settling back into her chair, trying to appear as casual as possible.
“That fancy-sounding acronym means,” he replied quietly, folding his hands on the table and leaning toward her ever so slightly, “that my title is Assistant Special Agent in Charge. It means that there is only one person in this jurisdiction that outranks me when it comes to law enforcement. And it means, if I’m here in person, you should understand how seriously the FBI is taking the murder of this child and the mutilation and desecration of his body.”
His tone did not change, but the intensity in his gaze told the story. The years of care were written in the creases on his face. His gray eyes had looked upon death and into the eyes of those responsible for many years. Maureen had no doubt that he would do what he could to pin this crime on her. She was a convenient suspect with no alibi, a stranger to the town, and a trespasser who broke into the crime scene. Well, at any rate, she wasn’t going down without a fight.
“You were fingerprinted before Detective Benitez began his interview with you,” Agent Layton continued, “and those prints are now being sent to our analyzers.”
Shit! This day had to come eventually. She did her best to keep her face as smooth as possible. Just pretend it’s poker, she thought and blinked a few times but said nothing.
“You know, I’ve sat in front of a lot of killers, thieves, and rapists in my time, and so I like to think I’ve developed a sixth sense at being able to read people’s stories.” He stared hard at her and let his words hang in the air for a moment. “Now I’ve just met you, but I can tell that you have a lot of secrets that you’d prefer to stay buried. You’ve obviously had dealings with law enforcement before; anyone can see that. But I’d venture to guess that I’m not the first FBI agent you’ve spoken to.”
Despite herself, Maureen felt her shoulders shrug and her head tilt to the side. It was as good as a confirmation for him.
“Yeah, I thought so.” There was no sense of triumph in his voice. “I’ll even go out on a limb and say it was a really long time ago, you may have even been a kid. The experience stayed with you didn’t it?”
“What, have you been talking to my mother?” She couldn’t stop the words. Her emotions were overloading; she slipped up and said too much to the detective, the FBI was running her prints, and now this agent was acting like he knew her. She immediately cursed herself for having allowed such a loss in control.
“I haven’t, but it’s interesting you’d think that, and it seems to prove me right.” He allowed the smallest of grins to break through his face. “So let’s focus on that for a minute. Tell me about the last time you spoke to an agent.”
Maureen sat like a statue in her chair.
“Hmm, okay.” Agent Layton shifted in his seat. “Look, Ms. Allen, I’m here to catch a killer. I haven’t made up my mind about you yet. You may be who I’m looking for, you may not. In either case, you’ll help yourself by cooperating and answering my questions, even if they seem totally unrelated. I assure you, I have my reasons for asking.”
Maureen let out an exasperated sigh. “My brother was murdered when I was eight. They never found out who killed him.”
“So that’s why you don’t trust cops.”
“I don’t trust cops,” she fired back, “because even when I tell them the truth, they never believe me.”
“Then give me a reason to believe you. That Detective Benitez has made some pretty strong accusations against you. There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence that can make your life very difficult for quite some time.” He folded his hands under his chin and rested his elbows on the table, trying to seem as though he was actually interested in helping her no doubt. He let his honeyed words hang in the air. It made her want to puke.
“You can all go to hell,” she grumbled. There was nothing else to say.
Agent Layton sighed. “Have it your way, Ms. Allen. I guess we’ll be getting to know each other very well. I don’t have to charge you with anything to hold you as a person of interest. I won’t have any trouble getting my petition approved to hold you for the maximum-allowable time.” He stacked his papers but made no effort to leave. “That’s ninety-six hours, in case you were wondering.”
Maureen felt her jaw clench. She couldn’t avoid jail time, even if she did tell them about her nightmares. The FBI’s search would eventually uncover a lot of other things about her that would see her rotting in a cell anyway. Try as she might, there didn’t seem to be a way to wriggle off the hook just yet.
And so, she readied herself for the staring contest she was about to have with Agent Layton.
NINE
Manny paced the halls of the police station, deep in thought. Agent Layton had finished with Maureen Allen hours ago, and she’d been shown back to one of the holding cells. He hadn’t gone to see her since then and really didn’t have any other reason to still be at the station, but for some reason, he hadn’t been able to head for home. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to. He was tired, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to that woman than he had first suspected. Before their interview got interrupted, he was sure she was going to tell him something important.
It was well after midnight, and he was alone in the station save for Collins, who had drawn the overnight split since they had someone in holding. He decided to get to work digging into the background of Tom Lowes. The FBI had taken what was left of the vomit sample after the county lab had completed the basic genetic testing, proving it didn’t come from anyone in the family. This weakened t
he case against either Tom or his wife being the actual killer, but it raised a whole new set of questions. Getting more information on the couple just might shake loose a possible suspect for him to focus on, while Layton had his people run the DNA through their database.
Manny found his way back to his desk and started looking over the Lowes family’s phone records for the second time that day. He’d requested the last year’s worth but so far, only the last four months had been delivered. Several numbers came up frequently, though they all had a reasonable explanation: several of Kristin’s clients, Tom’s office, and Kristin’s brother’s cell phone. There were no other numbers called in that time that raised any red flags for him.
The financials on the family hadn’t come back yet. Manny had hoped they would have arrived that afternoon, but the county had indicated that the complete reports from the brokerage were still being put together. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were stonewalling him and favoring the Feds. It was purely his inner pessimist talking. At least, he hoped so.
“Benny, you might want to get over here!”
The shout from the holding area shook him out of his thoughts. Without hesitation, he erupted from his desk and rushed toward the sound. As he rounded the corner leading to the cells, he nearly ran straight through Collins, who was standing at the hall’s entrance.
“She’s freaking out,” whispered Collins in a hoarse tone. “She fell asleep a little while ago, but now she’s tossing and turning all over the bunk and babbling some gibberish. I wouldn’t have called, but I don’t much feel like getting chewed out if she gets hurt on our watch.”
“All right, Jack, thanks,” Manny said, patting Collins on the shoulder. “Why don’t you give me a minute?”
Collins hesitated.
“I’ll call you if there’s anything I can’t handle,” he insisted.
Collins nodded, though it seemed with no great relish, and retreated around the corner. Manny turned his eyes back toward the hallway and edged toward the cell that held Maureen. He peered through the bars and was met with a strange, unsettling sight.
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