by Mary Stone
Glancing to Stella, she pointed to the envelopes. “These are addressed to Cameron Arkwell. This must be his room.”
Stella’s green eyes went from curious to determined as she did a full three-sixty of the room. “I’ll start with the closet.”
Winter pulled the sheet of paper from the top most envelope. The letter was dated a little over a month ago, and the text merely advised that Cameron’s tuition had been paid.
Must be nice. Winter replaced the envelope and shuffled through the remaining pieces of mail. Each was from VCU, and each had already been opened.
She rifled through the top drawer on one side of the desk, but all she found was a stash of basic office supplies. A stapler, a stack of blank paper, a box of mechanical pencils, a couple HDMI cables. When she opened the larger bottom drawer, her heart pulsed, nearly taking her breath. Atop another stack of printer paper, a spiral notebook glowed like an ember.
With a quick glance to the closet door, Winter reached down to grab the notebook. When she flipped to the first page, she forced herself to exhale the breath she’d been holding. She knew the page was blank, but the ghostly handwriting was outlined in the same angry shade of red as the cover had been.
It should have been Nathaniel who died that night, was the first sentence that jumped out to her.
Before she could read through more of the text, movement flickered in Winter’s periphery as Stella poked her head out from the closet door. “Did you find something?”
Angling the paper at the sunlight that streamed in through the picture window, Winter nodded. “I think so. This page is blank, but there was something written on top of it.” She met Stella’s curious glance. “Do you have a pencil?”
As Stella held up a finger, she ducked back into the closet to reemerge with her kit in hand. “I found something like this a few years back, and ever since then, I’ve always carried a piece of graphite with me just in case. Here, set it on the desk.”
Nodding, Winter set the notebook down and stepped aside and waited while Stella took the prerequisite “before” photos of the seemingly blank page. Though she tried to peek over Stella’s shoulder as she gingerly rubbed the graphite along the paper, she couldn’t make out any details.
“Oh my…” Stella set down the graphite before she turned her wide-eyed stare to Winter. “You should look at this.”
Winter’s expression was grim as she looked down to the faint, white writing. The start of the diatribe referenced Nathaniel Arkwell’s shocked reaction to something Cameron had given him, but there were no specifics listed. They might have been on a different page, but Winter had no way to know for sure.
After the writing speculated on Nathaniel’s various weaknesses, Winter was certain the musings had been written by Cameron Arkwell.
Nathaniel should have been the one to drive through that hurricane to pick up his precious little girl. She’s the only kid he’s ever given a shit about. He should have died for her. It should have been Nathaniel who died that night. Someday, I’ll make sure he knows that. I’ll make sure it’s the last thing he ever hears from me.
Though ominous, none of the statements were a direct threat of harm to any one member of his family. However, what was clear was that the kid carried a chip on his shoulder. Winter didn’t have to stretch her imagination to envision Cameron Arkwell as the perpetrator of a violent crime.
Nathaniel Arkwell was a different story. According to his daughter and his sister-in-law, the judge didn’t even like to step on bugs in his own home. He collected firearms, but he’d been adamant that the weapons were strictly for self-defense.
Winter could feel Stella’s eyes on the side of her face. “What are you thinking?” she asked. The good humor had vanished from her tone, and her visage was steely.
Lips pursed, Winter shook her head. “Cameron’s got a grudge against his dad and his sister, that’s for sure. By itself, none of it’s necessarily incriminating. But when it’s taken in context with Peyton Hoesch…”
Stella nodded her understanding. “It changes the narrative.”
As she retrieved her phone from a pocket to take her own picture of the paper, her pulse rushed in her ears. “It changes everything, and it means that Aiden Parrish was right. It means that there’s still a serial killer on the loose, and it means we’ve been looking into the wrong person.”
She gritted her teeth.
Aiden was always right.
35
Though Aiden wondered at first why Autumn had delved into the subject of Nathaniel Arkwell’s son, he didn’t take long to put two and two together.
The Richmond police had asked Cameron the usual series of questions about what had happened leading up to the time when Nathaniel Arkwell allegedly shot and killed Peyton Hoesch. They’d swabbed his hands for gunshot residue, but they hadn’t looked for defensive wounds.
At the time, they hadn’t known that they needed to look for defensive wounds. At the time, Nathaniel’s story didn’t involve a physical altercation. And at the time, they had no reason to doubt the Honorable Judge Arkwell’s recount of events. When a suspect provided a weapon and claimed that they had fired the fatal shot, the first question on the detectives’ minds wasn’t whether or not they were covering for someone else.
After Nathaniel told Autumn what had happened to his wife, the man pulled up his stone-faced façade. But this time, there were cracks in the stone. If Aiden noticed the judge’s weariness, he knew for certain that Autumn had noticed.
“Why are you so interested in my son all of a sudden?” Nathaniel asked. The defensive undertone to his question was plain to hear. Autumn was close to a nerve.
Her expression was blank as she met Nathaniel’s accusatory stare. “Your family life is relevant to this interview, Mr. Arkwell.” Her tone was as unreadable as her face.
The judge narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
Autumn didn’t flinch. “Does it bother you to talk about your son?”
When the start of a flush crept to Arkwell’s cheeks, the corner of Aiden’s mouth turned up. It really was a shame Autumn hadn’t accepted a job offer at the FBI. With the uncanny knack she had for seeing straight through a person, her interrogations would have been a thing of beauty.
Arkwell pressed his fingertips together. “It doesn’t bother me, Ms. Trent. I just don’t see how it’s relevant. I’ve told you and the Feds what happened, and I don’t see what asking me about my kids could possibly accomplish.”
Her green eyes flicked down to the yellow legal pad as she scrawled out a few words. Nathaniel’s intent stare followed each and every movement of her wrist, but she rested her hand over the paper as she regarded him.
“What are you writing?” Arkwell jabbed a finger in the direction of the legal pad. His stone-faced visage was about to crumble.
He was sure Autumn knew it, but she belied no hint of her intent. Her bright eyes were calm, her movements easy and unassuming, her tone cool and professional. Now more than ever, he understood why she’d landed a position at a firm as lofty as Shadley and Latham.
And now more than ever, he wished she had accepted his invitation the night before last. He could have woken up to the soft scent of apples and vanilla on her skin when Detective Ramsey called him at five in the morning instead of with a woman he barely knew.
He brushed away the thoughts. This wasn’t the time or the place to mull over his missteps in the realm of interpersonal relationships. Not when Nathaniel Arkwell was so close to cracking.
Autumn slowly shook her head. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Mr. Arkwell. This is a clinical interview to establish your state of mind before and after Peyton Hoesch was killed.”
The judge leaned forward to fix her with a withering stare. “You’re trying to figure out if I’m lying? If I’m crazy? Is that what this is? I’ve already told you and the FBI what happened. How many times do I need to say that?”
Rather than shift away from the intimidating glare, she fol
ded her hands and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Then why are you suddenly so reluctant to elaborate on it? Do you feel guilty about something, Mr. Arkwell?”
Before Arkwell could reply, Aiden’s phone buzzed against his side. With another glance at the judge, he retrieved the device from an interior pocket and unlocked the screen.
“Of course I feel guilty,” Nathaniel said.
As Aiden’s eyes fell on the photo that Winter had group texted to him and Noah Dalton, Nathaniel Arkwell might as well have been on the moon. He zoomed in to read the handwriting that had been outlined on the sheet of lined paper, and the familiar twinge of adrenaline rushed up to greet him.
Pocketing the phone, he strode out of the room. He rapped his knuckles against the heavy door, but he didn’t wait for a response before pushing down on the lever and nudging it open.
He made a note of the judge’s hallowed expression before he turned his attention to Autumn. “Dr. Trent, if you could, I need a word with you.”
A flicker of curiosity flitted over her face, but she nodded as she picked up her pen and paper to stand. “Sorry, Mr. Arkwell. This will just take a minute.”
As the door latched closed, he beckoned her into the observation room. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
“You need to see this. I know he was about to give you something, but trust me.” He retrieved his phone and unlocked the screen before he handed it to her. “This is a major development.”
Wordlessly, she accepted the device from his outstretched hand.
He studied her face as she read through the rant that Cameron Arkwell had scrawled. Pursing her lips, she glanced up to him and then back to the screen. The shadows casted by the harsh white light lent her face an ethereal glow.
“Cameron Arkwell wrote that?” Her tone insisted that the question was as much a statement as a genuine inquiry.
He nodded. “Yes. Winter said she double-checked the handwriting against Nathaniel Arkwell’s, and it didn’t match. She found it in Cameron Arkwell’s room.”
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she handed the phone back to him. “Shit. Shit.”
Aiden nearly reached for her but kept his hands at his sides. “What?”
When her eyes met his, there was a split-second of anxiety in her otherwise polished demeanor. “Arkwell’s daughter and his sister-in-law are here, aren’t they?”
“They are. Dalton was with them, last I knew. Why?”
“Okay, good. If he didn’t know before, Cameron knows by now that we’ll figure out who really killed Peyton Hoesch, and he knows we’ll figure out that he’s killed before. This…” She gestured to the phone. “This is sort of like his manifesto. There might not be anything incriminating on that page, but it spells his intent out pretty clearly.”
Aiden ran a hand down his face. “He’s going to kill his sister.”
Her expression was grim as she nodded. “His sister, and potentially the rest of his family. She’s staying with them, so I doubt he’d have a moral issue killing them all to get to her.”
“I’ll tell Winter. We still need something solid from the father.” He gave her an expectant look, but to his surprise, she shook her head.
“I can’t interrogate him. I could lose my license. I’ll get ahold of Winter while you take that picture to Nathaniel Arkwell and get him to talk.”
Though his first thought was to protest, he knew she was right. She couldn’t stroll into the interview room to present a hateful rant that had been written by Nathaniel’s son. She couldn’t, but Aiden could.
“Okay. I’ll deal with the judge, you call Winter.” He held her gaze as he gestured to the room. “Stay here, though. I might need you.”
Her expression was unreadable as she snapped a hand to her forehead in a crisp salute. “Aye-aye, Captain. I’ll be right here.”
He tried to suppress his sarcastic smile, but the effort was for naught. “At ease, Trent.”
With a half-hearted release of the salute, she pulled out a chair and dropped to sit.
The good humor and the moment of levity were miles away as he pushed open the door to the interview room.
Nathaniel’s attention jerked to him, and the man narrowed his eyes. “Where did she go? Who are you?”
As Aiden produced his badge, the movement was just short of reflexive. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Parrish.” He paused to slide his phone across the table. “Do me a favor and take a look at that, will you?”
Nathaniel set his mouth in a hard line, but the handcuffs clattered as he pulled the phone closer. When he peered down at the image, Aiden wasn’t sure what to expect. He wasn’t sure if the judge would snap at him, if he’d toss the smartphone off the table, or if he’d launch into a string of obscenities.
But the longer Arkwell stared at the screen, the more the resistance in his eyes dissipated. By the time he pried his gaze away from the picture of Cameron’s letter, he’d been thoroughly deflated.
Arkwell slid the phone back to Aiden. “Where’d you get this?”
“Your son’s room. Your daughter is here, along with your sister-in-law, but we have good reason to believe your brother and your two nieces are in danger. I’ve been in the BAU for a long time, and I’ve seen men like your son snap before. He knows we’ll find out he was the one responsible for Peyton Hoesch’s murder, and he knows we’ll find out about the other women he’s killed.”
All the color drained from Arkwell’s face. “The other women?”
Aiden nodded. “Five in total, six if you count Peyton. His initial target was a classmate named Caroline Peters, but we got to her, so we think he decided to target Peyton when he realized he couldn’t get to Caroline. Did you know anything about this, Mr. Arkwell?”
The man started to shake his head before Aiden even finished. “Jesus, five? Five women? Oh my god.” He dropped his head into his hands, his breath heaving in and out of his lungs.
“If you knew something about this, you need to tell me now, or this is going to get very ugly for you very quickly.” Aiden didn’t let his stare waver as he crossed his arms. “Who killed Peyton Hoesch?”
Leaning back in his rickety chair, Nathaniel let his head loll back to fix his vacant stare on the ceiling. “Cameron killed Peyton Hoesch. He told me it was in self-defense.”
Aiden strove to keep his voice calm. “Tell me everything.”
“A couple weeks ago, Cameron left a flash drive in my office. It was a video, and he told me a few days later that he’d found it on the internet.” He trailed off as he shook his head.
“A video of someone slitting a blonde woman’s throat.”
The man’s face turned red, and his Adam’s apple bobbed several times before he finally met Aiden’s stare. “Yes.”
36
First her father, and now her brother.
Noah couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Maddie Arkwell, and he was almost reluctant to leave the interview room when Winter knocked on the door. He didn’t make a habit of checking his phone while he was in an interview with a witness, but he was glad he’d answered when Winter called to tell him about Cameron Arkwell.
To his relief, Levi Brandt was with her when he opened the door. After a quick introduction, Noah felt more at ease knowing that Maddie and her aunt were in the victim specialist’s capable hands.
As he and Winter set off down the hall, he glanced over to her. “Any word on Cameron Arkwell’s whereabouts?”
Her face was grim as she shook her head. “Not yet. But a few people from the forensics team went with Bobby to search the Arkwells’ lake house. I just got a message from him when they opened up the basement door. They found another locked room down there, and it was a perfect match to what we saw in the videos. They’re going through it now, but there isn’t much doubt left.”
Noah lengthened his stride. “So, now we just have to find Cameron Arkwell. What’s the status of Nathaniel’s brother and his nieces?”
“We got word
to the city police, and they’re going to send a couple officers over to escort them here while we look for Cameron. They should be at the brother’s house soon.”
Noah blew out a quick sigh. “Well, I’ll feel better once they’re here. What about Nathaniel Arkwell? Is he still trying to claim that killing Peyton Hoesch was self-defense?”
Her blue eyes flicked to him as they rounded a corner. “No. About ten minutes ago, he told Aiden that Cameron was the one who killed Peyton. Nathaniel was upstairs when it happened so he didn’t see anything, but he says that Cameron told him it was self-defense.”
He pulled open a glass and metal door after they each swiped their work ID cards over a badge reader. Winter’s strained expression wasn’t just the result of the situation with Cameron Arkwell, but he knew better than to press the issue.
On some level, they’d both hoped that Aiden had been mistaken about the profile of their potential suspect. Profiling wasn’t an exact science, and the knowledge that Parrish was fallible would have been enough to set Winter at ease regarding the SSA’s grim outlook on Justin Black’s fate.
But even though Noah was sure Aiden Parrish was indeed fallible, the man was good at what he did.
Pulling the license plates off my car had been a risky decision, but when I’d weighed it against driving through the city with a sign that immediately identified me to a curious cop, the choice seemed obvious. If Nathaniel had cracked and told the Feds about Peyton, then I was less likely to be pulled over for having no license plates than I was with my own plates.
I’d never cared much about cars, but I was glad for my four-door Mazda. The gunmetal color didn’t stand out, and the make and model didn’t set me apart from any other commuters that afternoon. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of other gunmetal Mazda sedans on the streets of Richmond. I was just one in a veritable ocean. As long as I kept my seatbelt fastened and obeyed traffic laws, I doubted any cop would even look twice.
