by Lara Lacombe
“Okay,” she said agreeably. “What’s that?” She was careful to keep her tone neutral, but her heart rate picked up. Was he really going to confess so quickly? It normally took her hours, or even days, to coax a confession from a suspect. Maybe Quinn was going to make it easy on her...
He met her eyes, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to see her very soul. Rebecca resisted the temptation to look away and tried to appear friendly and interested in what he had to say. It was important to gain Quinn’s trust so he would open up to her. The faster she got him to let down his guard, the sooner she’d discover the truth.
“I didn’t kill those women in the park.” His voice was low, but he enunciated every word clearly, as if he wanted to make sure she didn’t misunderstand him.
“And I damn sure didn’t kill my wife.”
* * *
If Quinn’s words shocked Rebecca, she didn’t show it. She smiled slightly, and he got the impression this wasn’t the first time she’d heard a man proclaim his innocence.
But in his case, it was the truth.
“If I really thought you’d killed anyone, you’d already be under arrest,” she said smoothly.
Yeah, right, he thought. Quinn wasn’t stupid. The only reason he wasn’t in handcuffs right now was because the police didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with the murders of those two unfortunate women he’d found in the park. Finding the first body had been bad enough. Finding the second victim, a week later, on a different trail, had been a new level of horrible. He knew he was still a suspect, though. Actually, the term the detective had used was “person of interest,” as if that was supposed to make him feel better.
It didn’t.
Nothing about this situation was okay. The only thing that made it tolerable was the fact that he knew with absolute certainty there wouldn’t be any evidence linking him to the deaths of those women.
Once the police realized he was innocent, these “voluntary” conversations would come to an end.
But until that day, Quinn intended to cooperate. The memories of his gruesome discoveries demanded he do everything in his power to ensure those poor women found some kind of justice.
The FBI interrogator was watching him, her face completely calm with no hint of impatience. She looked like a woman without a care in the world, as if she was happy to spend all day sitting in front of him, waiting for him to start talking. Her calm demeanor was a skill that likely served her well in her job, and under different circumstances, Quinn would have asked her more about her career. Working for the FBI had to be exciting, or at the very least, interesting.
Now was not the time for pleasantries, though.
Quinn took a deep breath, bracing himself for the jolt of pain that always came whenever he thought of Ashley. “We met in college,” he began. “We had a couple of intro classes together. I noticed her on the first day, and after a few weeks, I finally worked up the nerve to talk to her.” He smiled briefly at the memory, remembering the way his knees had practically knocked together as he’d stood in front of her desk and asked how she was doing.
He shook himself free of the memory and continued. “I was so nervous around her that if it had been up to me, I’d probably still be searching for the courage to ask her on that first date. Fortunately, Ashley was braver than I was, and she took matters into her own hands. She asked me to dinner, and I said yes. Four years later, we got married a week after graduation.”
“Were you happy together?” Rebecca’s voice was quiet and unobtrusive, the question a gentle conversational nudge to steer him in the desired direction. He knew where they were headed, and he swallowed hard.
“She was my everything,” he said, his throat tight. “Ashley was unique. She was insatiably curious, so full of life. Being around her was like holding lightning in your hands—she had so much energy and spark. Her personality was magnetic, and it was impossible not to be drawn in, to want to get close to her. When she looked at me, I felt like I was her whole world.” Quinn paused and shook his head. “She certainly was mine.”
“What did she look like?”
Ashley’s face popped into his head, the image crystal clear even though he hadn’t seen her in two years. “A little like you, actually,” he said, glancing over Rebecca’s features. “Red hair, pale skin, full lips. She had the most beautiful smile...” He trailed off, unable to continue. Not a day passed that he didn’t think about her and the life they should have had together. Knowing he would never see her again was a special kind of torture, and Quinn often wondered if he’d ever be able to think about Ashley without pain. He knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer like this. Their time together and the year and a half they’d spent married had been so full of happiness, it seemed wrong to have it overshadowed by his grief. But he’d learned the hard way he couldn’t control his emotions, no matter how he tried.
“She sounds very special,” Rebecca said quietly.
Quinn nodded. “She was,” he agreed.
“I know this is difficult for you, but will you tell me how she died?”
He’d known the question was coming, but it still hit him like a punch to the gut. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly, determined not to shed tears in front of a stranger. Just because she looked like Ashley didn’t mean she was Ashley, and he couldn’t let Rebecca’s appearance distract him now.
“Ashley loved to go hiking. It was something we both enjoyed, and we took a lot of camping trips together. She was so happy when I got assigned to Yosemite as my first ranger job—she always said it was her favorite national park.” He smiled briefly at the memory.
“One of her friends had come out for a weekend visit. They had planned a hike on one of the more advanced trails, but since they were both experienced hikers, I didn’t worry about them. Ashley and Naomi knew what they were doing, and they weren’t the kind to take unnecessary risks with their safety. I had planned to go with them, but I was unexpectedly called in to work. I dropped them off at the trailhead and said I’d try to meet up with them later.”
Rebecca nodded. She probably knew these details already—it was the same thing he’d told the police at the time. He knew it was her job to make him tell the story again, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Quinn took a deep breath. Might as well get on with it. Drawing it out would only make him feel worse.
“After a few hours, my boss told me I wasn’t needed anymore and I could go. I called Ashley and got her coordinates, and told her I’d meet her at one of the waterfalls that was a landmark along the trail. I knew a shortcut and set off. But when I got to the meeting point, they weren’t there. I waited around a few minutes, thinking maybe they’d stopped for pictures or a water break. But when they still didn’t show, I grew worried. I called Ashley’s phone again, and that’s when I heard it.”
“Heard what?”
“Ashley’s phone. I could hear it ringing. The sound came from somewhere below the trail.” His gut twisted at the memory, and he heard the echo of her cheerful ringtone in his mind.
“I... I walked to the edge of the trail and saw...” He trailed off, unable to continue.
“They had fallen?” Rebecca asked softly.
Quinn nodded. His throat tightened up, and he didn’t think he’d be able to go on. He forced out the words, and they scraped against his tongue as he spoke. “They were too far down for me to get to them. I yelled to them, but neither one responded. I called for a medical evacuation right away.” The wait for the rescue crew had been the longest stretch of his life. He’d stared down at Ashley’s still form, unable to look away, straining to see any small movement, any twitch that would indicate she was still alive.
“The police questioned you after your wife and her friend were recovered?”
“Yes.” Quinn turned his thoughts away from that horrible discovery and focused instead on the afte
rmath. The small interrogation room, not unlike this one, where he’d sat, talking to the detectives.
“Why were you considered a suspect?” She sounded genuinely curious, even though she had to have read his file before walking into the room. Quinn thought about asking her the same question, but decided to humor her with a reply.
“Ashley and Naomi were experienced hikers, and the trail was in good condition,” he said again. “It was determined they had most likely slipped over the edge, probably after getting too close for a photo. But I guess the police had to consider foul play, and since I was the last person to talk to Ashley, that made me a potential suspect.”
“But they never arrested you.”
“There was no evidence,” he said simply. “I told you before, I didn’t kill my wife or her friend. No matter how hard the police looked, they weren’t going to find any evidence to the contrary.”
Rebecca was silent a moment, considering his words. “When did you ask to be transferred?”
“About a week later. I couldn’t continue to work at Yosemite—it was too hard.”
“So you were assigned to Big Bend National Park about two years ago.”
Quinn nodded. “It was a good change. Ashley would have loved it here, too, but it’s easier to go to work knowing I’m not going to be ambushed by a sudden memory of us hiking this trail or camping in that spot.”
Rebecca smiled. “I can imagine.” She leaned back in her chair, her head tilted to the side. “I take it you enjoy your job?”
“I do. Very much.”
“And you’re feeling comfortable here? Like it’s home?”
“Yes.” Where is she going with this? Quinn wondered.
“Let’s talk about the women you found.”
The images flashed across his mind and he winced. “I don’t know how much I can tell you,” he said. “Like I told the police, when I found each woman, I called it in right away.”
“I’m sure you did,” Rebecca said soothingly. “I just want to know what you think about the situation.”
Quinn frowned. “What I think?” he asked. “I think it’s terrible what happened to those women.”
Rebecca nodded. “I agree with you. I also think it’s quite interesting that a man who was considered a suspect in his wife’s death was the one to discover these two victims.”
Quinn’s blood ran cold as Rebecca continued. “Another thing that fascinates me is the fact that your wife had red hair. Do you remember the hair color of the women you discovered?”
“Red,” he whispered, his mouth dry as the desert.
“That’s right.” She nodded, looking like a proud teacher pleased with her student’s progress. “Red. Kind of a striking feature, wouldn’t you say?” She leaned forward, as if she wanted to impart a secret. “See, in my line of work, we call that a pattern. It’s quite common for killers to target people who share a set of characteristics—in this case, hair color.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Never said you did,” Rebecca replied smoothly. “I’m just laying out the facts here. It’s one thing to stumble across one dead body. But to find two in two weeks? That’s some exceptional luck.”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Quinn muttered.
“Neither would I,” she said, her tone suddenly harsh. “What is it about you, Quinn Gallagher? Don’t you find it odd that you’ve come across three...no, four dead women in the last two years?”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he spluttered. For the first time, a kernel of fear took root in his chest. Was he really going to be blamed for the deaths of these women? There wasn’t any evidence linking him to the crimes, but the way Rebecca was talking made him second-guess his actions.
“Well, I have,” she responded. “And let me tell you, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said.
“Well, what do you know?” She leaned back and smiled broadly. “Neither do I.”
* * *
“What do you think?”
Rebecca rolled her head to the side, stretching out her neck. It had been a long few hours in the interrogation room, and she was ready for a fresh cup of coffee.
She turned to the detective who’d asked the question. Morris, that’s his name, she recalled.
“He’s not a killer.”
Detective Morris snorted and shook his head. “Just like that? You talked to him for what, two hours, and suddenly you know he’s innocent?”
Rebecca gave him a level stare. “I know he didn’t kill those women. He was on patrol with a partner when the medical examiner estimates both women were killed, which makes for a pretty good alibi, don’t you think? Not to mention, he’s not at all interested in the details of the deaths—he shut down hard when I started talking about it. That’s not consistent with the behavior of a killer. They tend to enjoy hearing about their crimes. Gives them a chance to relive the excitement.”
Morris nodded. “I’ve heard that.”
“He’s not the killer,” Rebecca repeated. “But that doesn’t necessarily make him innocent.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s a possibility he’s working with the killer. Pointing out potential victims, then ‘discovering’ them later so the killer can get his five minutes of fame.”
“Like a wingman?”
Rebecca shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“Why would a person want to do something like that?”
She sighed, suddenly exhausted. “There are any number of reasons. But I just don’t know if Quinn Gallagher is the type of man who would do such a thing.” She glanced back at the door to the interrogation room, replaying their conversation in her mind. Nothing he’d said had triggered any alarm bells, but it would probably take several interviews for her to pick up on more subtle cues.
“Anything from forensics yet?”
Morris shrugged. “Not really. Fibers and fingerprints are still being processed. They did say the first scene was fairly pristine, while the second was more compromised.”
“So he probably found the first body soon after she’d been dumped, while the second one sat there longer, giving animals and the elements time to degrade evidence.” Rebecca’s tone was thoughtful as she incorporated this piece of information into her mental file on Quinn Gallagher. She made a note to look at the report on his wife’s death, see if there were any similarities across the sites. It was a long shot, but perhaps there were some commonalities. Her gut told her he wasn’t the killer, but she’d been wrong before...
“That’s what the evidence techs said,” Morris confirmed. He jerked his head in the direction of the interrogation room. “How do you suggest we proceed?”
“Cut him loose.” Rebecca stood and caught a glimpse of Morris’s surprised expression. “You don’t have any evidence against him. There’s no reason to hold him.”
“You really think it’s a good idea to let him back out there?”
“Why not? Either the man is innocent, in which case it’s wrong to detain him. Or he’s working with the killer, in which case he’ll make contact with our perp. Just keep an eye on him.”
“We don’t have that kind of manpower,” Morris protested. “We can’t follow him all the time.”
Her phone buzzed at her hip, signaling an incoming email. Rebecca glanced at the screen and shook her head. “Then I guess it’s a good thing your boss requested my services for the next few weeks.” She pocketed the device and smiled wryly. “I’ll stay close to him while I’m here. In the meantime, I need to change my hotel reservations. It seems I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future.”
Chapter 2
It wasn’t a bad room, as far as hotels went. The bed was small and lumpy, the air conditioner
louder than a jet engine. But the air was cool and there was a desk in the corner where she could spread out her files. She’d slept in worse places before.
Rebecca sat in the lone chair in the room, twirling up forkfuls of lo mein as she worked through her emails. Her boss, Franklin Jessup, had told her to stay in Alpine for the next week at least to provide assistance to the local police in their investigation. Normally, two dead women in two weeks wasn’t the kind of thing that would register at the national level, but since she’d already been in El Paso for a forensic psychology conference, the request from Alpine PD had been easy to accommodate.
This one sounds right up your alley, Frank had written. He was right; Rebecca had made somewhat of a name for herself focusing on crimes against women. It was one area where she felt she could really make a tangible difference in people’s lives. Women were so often the target of violence—any time she helped put a killer behind bars, she knew she was saving lives of his future victims.
She had to admit she was intrigued by these cases—two red-haired women found in a national park in the space of two weeks. It was a hell of a pace, even for a serial killer. The local police had already dubbed the suspect “the Yoga Killer,” thanks to the characteristic arrangement of the bodies: hands over hearts, legs bent with the soles of their feet touching. She pulled up the crime-scene photos for another look, noting how each woman had been placed in exactly the same pose, even down to the sprawl of hair across their faces.
“So he doesn’t want to look at you,” she murmured, clicking through the images. That was interesting. It seemed the killer had no problem taking a life, but he didn’t want to be confronted by the empty, accusing stares of his victims. Postmortem guilt, perhaps? Maybe he got caught up in the moment when he was hurting these women, only to be filled with remorse after the fact. The possibility suggested he had poor impulse control, but the situation was more complicated than that. Both scenes had been devoid of any obvious evidence, and the crime-scene techs had reported it looked like the killer had taken pains to sweep away his footprints. Initial analysis of the bodies had revealed no fingerprints or DNA, which meant whoever was doing this was careful and methodical. Still, Rebecca knew there was no such thing as the perfect murder. They’d find the clue that would bring this killer to justice, no matter how improbable it seemed now.
