by Mary Stone
Nathaniel’s eyes went wide as Bobby snapped the handcuff around one wrist. The agent then threaded the bind through a metal loop on the table and attached it to the other wrist.
As he straightened to his full height, Bobby crossed his arms as he continued the Miranda warning, making sure each and every word was precise. This was a freaking judge, after all. He, more than anyone, would know which hoops he could jump through. He finished with, “Do you understand these rights as I have read them?”
The judge shifted his wide-eyed stare from Bobby to Winter and then back. “I-I do. What, what do you mean? Murder? I told you what happened. It was self-defense! She was going to kill me with that knife!”
Winter leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Doubtful, Mr. Arkwell. You see, we got her tox screen back, and she was...” She narrowed her eyes. “She was as sober as a judge.”
Resting both hands on the table, Bobby pinned Arkwell with a venomous stare. “So, that right there is enough to poke a few holes in your story, don’t you think? You see, Mr. Arkwell, I was in the military for six years. We’re about the same height. And honestly, I might be a little thinner than you. You’re in pretty good shape, especially for someone your age.”
Winter pulled out a rickety chair and moved to sit. Arkwell’s eyes darted from one agent to the next as he struggled to decide where to place his focus.
“Even if a girl Peyton’s size had a butcher knife and she was facing me,” Bobby straightened to his full height, “I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to pick up a gun to shoot her. One solid punch to the head would’ve knocked her out cold, don’t you think? She’s only a hundred pounds. I could probably bench press her, and I’m sure you could.”
Winter didn’t give Nathaniel time to insert a word edgewise. “Not to mention the fact that she was already injured by then, right?”
Waving an appreciative index finger at her, Bobby nodded. “Right. Because someone had actually punched her in the back of the head. Or, if they didn’t punch her, they hit her with something. The cops didn’t see anything at the scene, but we’ll see what we can dig up after we get a warrant for the rest of the house.”
As best as Winter could tell, the cloud of confusion on Nathaniel’s face was genuine. “Sh-she was injured in the scuffle. I told you that I followed her into the garage when she tried to leave. That’s when I tried to just knock her out, like you said. But she didn’t go down, and then she kicked me.”
Anger burned in Winter’s veins as she scooted forward. “There’s something you’re not telling us, Mr. Arkwell.”
Nathaniel started to shake his head, but before he could speak, Bobby cut him off. “You want to hear what I think happened?”
Winter turned to her fellow agent and nodded, playing along. “I’m interested.”
As he scratched the side of his face, Bobby made his way to stand behind Nathaniel. “You said your son was upstairs, right? In his room, looking for something?”
“That’s right.” The judge’s voice was a croak.
“And you were in the living room, watching some TV. I think your son went upstairs, and you took the opportunity to make your move. You propositioned this pretty young girl, threatened her, probably. You wanted her to come to your room with you for a little fun. I mean, it’s been quite a while since your wife passed, hasn’t it? Got to fill that void somehow.”
As Bobby went on, Winter kept her scrutinizing stare on Nathaniel Arkwell. Anger clouded his light brown eyes as he clenched his jaw and shook his head.
“No. None of that happened. I’d never do that to a-a young woman, to a girl.” Anger rolled off the man in waves. Either he was deep in denial about his shameful predilection, or he was truly offended by the idea that a couple FBI agents would assume he was a rapist.
She and Bobby exchanged vehement glances, and he nodded. They were on the same page.
Arkwell’s outburst was unexpected, and truth be told, it was bizarre. Inconsistent, even. Until now, the man had been as cool as a cucumber.
Taking on a friendly countenance, like an old friend posing a question, Bobby leaned against the far wall. “Why’d you strangle her then?”
Though the expression was fleeting, a measure of unabashed shock flitted over Nathaniel’s face. The rise and fall of his chest had quickened, and a flush had risen to his cheeks.
And then, as if it had never been there at all, the ire vanished. The cadence of his breathing was still rapid, but the ire that had been about to boil over had dropped down to a simmering irritability.
Nathaniel laced his fingers together. “I grabbed her by the throat to push her away from me after she’d grabbed the knife.” His voice was cool and calm, his body language impassive and almost unreadable.
This was the judge in him, Winter knew. The training that forced him to remain neutral during the most heinous of trials.
Winter lifted an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell us that to start with?”
Shaking his head, he turned his eyes down to his hands. “Didn’t cross my mind. I figured that more or less went with the territory of self-defense.”
As she looked back to Bobby, Winter gritted her teeth.
In one moment, the man had seemed ready to stammer out a confession, and the next, he was made of stone.
If she wasn’t so sure of what she’d seen in her vision, she would have doubted herself now.
She’d double-checked the DMV records to be sure that Nathaniel Arkwell owned a black, new model Mercedes sedan, and the database confirmed that he did. Though she hadn’t caught a clear picture of the entire license plate, she could swear that the first couple letters matched what was listed in the DMV database.
But now, she wondered. She wondered why Nathaniel was so defensive, and why the idea that he’d tried to molest Peyton Hoesch seemed to offend him such a great deal. Much more than shooting her in the back.
They had a clear picture of how Peyton had been killed, but at the same time, they knew nothing about the events that led up to her death.
31
Aiden didn’t think he had been consciously avoiding Autumn that day, but when she and Noah Dalton entered the briefing room, he felt an unmistakable pang of guilt. Though he half-expected her to ignore his presence altogether, her face brightened when her green eyes met his. As Noah took his spot behind Winter and Bobby, Autumn picked her way over to where he stood on the other side of the room.
Silver was threaded through the teal fabric of her button-down shirt, and the color made her eyes seem brighter. Though the matching silver flats and black slacks weren’t as dressy as the designer heels he’d seen her wear a few times, she looked every bit the successful professional.
“No Louboutins today?” He couldn’t help the smile that crept to his face when she chuckled.
She shook her head. “No, not today. How do you know so much about women’s fashion, anyway?”
The smile was still on his lips as he shrugged. “The red sole makes them pretty distinctive. My ex used to wear them too.”
Her eyes flicked to Sun Ming, and he had to fight to keep from cringing.
“Different ex,” he said.
As she returned her attention to him, her smile took on a sarcastic edge. “Well, she had good taste then.” White light glinted off the band of her silver watch as she raised her wrist to check the time. “Looks like we’ve still got a few minutes. I was hoping to get your take on Nathaniel Arkwell so far. I’ve got an interview scheduled with him in a little bit, and I’m curious to hear your impression.”
He should have been glad she cut right to business, but to his continued surprise, he was disappointed. With a quick glance to the rest of the room, he was satisfied that no one was paying special attention to their conversation. Though he had no intent to hide his thoughts about Nathaniel Arkwell from the rest of the agents in the room, he also didn’t want to start a debate with any of them regarding the likelihood of Arkwell’s involvement in the disappearance and potential
murder of five young women.
“I think he’s lying about what happened to Peyton Hoesch.” Aiden lowered his voice, and her expression turned curious. “But I don’t think he’s the serial killer we’re looking for. I think if he was, then there would be a history of behavior to back it up.”
Autumn nodded. “I agree. But how thorough was the investigation into his background?”
This time, it was his turn to fix her with a sarcastic smile. “That’s your territory, Dr. Trent. It’s why you’re here.”
Leaning against the wall at his side, she shrugged. “Fair enough. What’s your theory on what happened to Peyton?”
He crossed his arms and glanced around the room again. “He might not be a rapist or a serial killer, but I think he made a move on Peyton, and she didn’t take it well. He was probably surprised, and he overreacted, so the confrontation turned violent. He might think he acted in self-defense, but he’s actually the one who instigated the whole incident in the first place. That’s why he acted so offended when Winter accused him of assaulting Peyton.”
Her eyes met his as she nodded. “Because he wasn’t trying to assault her, at least not in his mind. He wanted consensual sex, but she wasn’t having it. It’s plausible.”
“Plausible, but there are still holes in that story too.” He held up a hand. “The blood and skin cells the ME found under her fingernails. That wasn’t from an old confrontation, and Nathaniel didn’t have any wounds that matched. Also, her fingerprints weren’t on the pantry where he accused her of stealing money. Then, of course, the fact that he shot her in the back. But part of that is explained by the theory that she turned him down.”
“He might not have wanted her to tell anyone else about the encounter, and that might have biased his assessment of how much danger he was in. In a way, he was looking for a reason to turn the incident into a self-defense situation.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “Huh. Interesting.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Interesting? What do you mean?”
Shaking her head, she waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing. I’ll find out after this briefing.”
As if on cue, Max Osbourne strode into the room and closed the door behind himself. He nodded a greeting to Aiden before he took his place behind the wooden podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve gotten some news back from the chief medical examiner.” He paused to gesture to Winter and Noah. “Agents Black, Dalton. You’re the leads on this case, so I’ll let you take it from here.”
As Winter rose to her feet, Aiden felt a twinge of pride. They might not have been on the best terms after he provided her with such a blunt assessment of her brother’s mental state, but he was still impressed by how far she’d come over the last year.
Clearing her throat, Winter glanced down at the little notepad she carried. “This is a new development, but based on Nathaniel Arkwell’s actions and the inconsistency of his recount of Peyton Hoesch’s death, we have reason to believe that he’s involved in the disappearance of five young women, including Dakota Ronsfeldt.”
Six months earlier, Aiden might have succumbed to a bout of panic at the announcement. The lead had resulted from one of the strange visions she sometimes had about cases they worked, and he would have worried that she couldn’t sufficiently explain the reason for her hunch. But over the past year, she had learned to hone her bizarre ability and use it to her advantage. By working backwards from the vision, she knew where to look for evidence that supported her theory.
“What do we have that connects those murders to Nathaniel Arkwell?” When Max Osbourne posed the question, there was no accusatory undertone to his voice. Apparently, he’d also realized that Winter Black was a cut above a typical investigator.
She flipped back a couple pages. “Judge Arkwell drives a black Mercedes sedan, which is the same make and model that a witness saw pick up Dakota the night she disappeared. Our informant for this case, Ryan O’Connelly, recognized him from the group where the rumor of the deaths originated. With that, plus the suspicious behavior he’s exhibited so far in our investigation of Peyton Hoesch’s death, I think there are too many coincidences to ignore.”
Max nodded. “Agreed. Do we have enough to get a search warrant for the rest of his house?”
Winter glanced around the room, but she didn’t let her eyes linger on any one person. “We believe so. Agent Vasquez is on his way to the courthouse to present the evidence to a judge right now. We’ll have the warrant in hand within the hour.”
“What about Arkwell’s motive for killing Peyton Hoesch?” Max asked.
When Noah Dalton spoke, their collective attention shifted to him. “He might have been trying to kidnap her. The medical examiner said she sustained a heavy blow to the back of her head. When that didn’t knock her unconscious, it’s possible that Peyton tried to flee, and Arkwell killed her before she could make it out of the house.”
As Aiden shook his head, he could feel Autumn’s stare on the side of his face. “His son was home at the time. Why would he try to abduct one of his kid’s classmates? The son said Peyton was there to work on a group project with him. All the previous victims were prostitutes. There’s no indication any of them had a connection to Cameron Arkwell, so why would Arkwell Senior change his MO so suddenly?”
Winter and Noah exchanged glances. Aiden might not have been keen on Noah Dalton’s company, but he could admit the Texan was just as high caliber an investigator as Winter. His question wasn’t borne from a desire to discredit their theory. Aiden retained his skepticism because he wanted to find the right answer, not just the easy answer.
“It could have been out of convenience,” Winter said as she pocketed her notepad. “She was there, and he found her attractive, so he decided to try to abduct her before his son could catch on to what was happening.”
“Forty-four-year-old serial killers don’t change their MO that quickly.” Aiden’s voice was so matter of fact, he sounded like he’d just announced the solution to a simple math problem.
When the time came to debate the value of circumstantial evidence versus the value of behavioral analysis which was backed by decades of experimental, empirical data, he didn’t pull his punches. There were still too many who thumbed their noses at the study of human behavior—those who referred to psychology as a “soft science” or who insisted that behavioral analyses ought to take a back seat to virtually any other type of evidence.
As long as he was still barraged with the same lines of tedious questioning in a courtroom, he would hold his ground, even if he respected the agents against whom he argued.
To Aiden’s surprise, Max Osbourne turned his attention to Autumn. “Dr. Trent. Thank you again for being here. You have an interview scheduled with Mr. Arkwell, don’t you?”
Autumn’s expression was all but unreadable as she nodded. “I do.” She glanced down to her watch. “In about twenty minutes.”
The SAC swept his steely gaze over the room. “Right now, we’ve got two credible theories for what happened to Peyton Hoesch. In either case, we’re confident that Nathaniel Arkwell is lying or omitting information. Our first goal is to find out what happened to Peyton, and then we can put the pieces together to determine whether or not he’s the serial killer we’ve been looking for over the past week and a half.”
Though part of Aiden hoped that Nathaniel Arkwell was indeed the voyeuristic murderer they sought, he reminded himself of all the good that hope did in this job.
32
It might have been my imagination, but I thought the grass was greener toward the back of the yard. According to most farmers and gardeners, decomposing organic matter was the best fertilizer.
The entire area was lush and green, and the shade from a number of lakeside trees kept the sun from scorching the grass and shrubbery beneath. There wasn’t much I liked these days, but I’d always liked my family’s lake house.
My father had abandoned the property in favor of a more modern residence on the beach in Newport
News, but I still preferred the lake to the ocean. There was a certain tranquility that came with the relative isolation an hour outside the city. I could hear the birds chirp, the woodland animals chatter at one another, and the calm drone of the afternoon breeze.
I’d entertained the idea of just staying here, but I shot it down in short order. I hadn’t expected my father to take the blame for Peyton Hoesch, but I wasn’t delusional enough to think that the man would be able to maintain his façade for longer than a day or two. Eventually, he’d crack, and he’d tell them the truth. He’d tell them about the flash drive. About the knives.
It was just a matter of time.
They’d find me if I stayed put at the lake house, but I didn’t intend to stay. I’d come here to say goodbye, and to retrieve a rifle I never thought I’d have to use. The weapon was a last resort, a final option if the walls closed in around me. When I bought the rifle from a sporting goods store on the outskirts of town, I’d both hoped and dreaded the day that I’d be forced to use it.
Nathaniel had a couple AR style rifles, but I knew better than to try to nab one from under his nose. If there was one thing that man was diligent about, it was his firearms. But Virginia’s gun laws were lax, and I’d picked up my own semiautomatic rifle not long after I turned eighteen.
My intent had been to defend myself from law enforcement if and when they came for me. Today, I’d allocated a different purpose to the fearsome weapon in my arms.
“I’m sorry, ladies.”
To an onlooker, it might have looked like I’d just spoken to the empty yard behind the rustic house. But I knew better.
“I don’t think I’ll be back to visit you all again. I’ve got a few things I’ve got to take care of, and then I’ll be leaving the country. It’s looking like Panama right now, but maybe the Ukraine. I can speak a little Spanish, but I don’t know any Russian, so we’ll see.”
