20. Kendrick
Chapter twenty
Kendrick
Reid Fuller is nothing like I expect. Cold-blooded killers may not have a specific look or any identifying features, but there’s always something. Even if that something is merely a gut feeling that a person isn’t quite right.
Fuller’s pushing forty, with dark-blond hair, laugh lines, and cynical brown eyes that don’t match the rest of his face. I’ve seen pictures of him before he was convicted and sentenced to life for the murder of Leah Anderson. He’s not the same person. They never are.
But whatever he is now, he’s not the killer. He never was.
Which puts us back at square one, chasing our tails. For fuck’s sake.
“What are you, cops?” he asks suspiciously, his shoulders up around his ears. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“No need for a lawyer,” Spencer says casually, leaning back in his chair. He pulls the sides of his jackets inward and does up the middle button. It’s not often I get to see him all dressed up in a suit. He’s more a “shorts and T-shirt” kind of guy. Makes the experience even better when it happens. “We just want to have a chat.”
“Right. That’s what the last cop said. Now look where I am.”
“Sounds like they weren’t wrong to have a chat with you.” His gaze flits to me at that, anger sparking. There’s still some life in there. Along with resignation. He’ll be in here for a long time, for something he didn’t do, and he knows it. The assumption that we consider him guilty is deep-seated. It is what got him here, after all.
“If you’re looking for a confession, you’re not getting one.”
No, we’re not. Being found guilty after pleading not guilty meant a longer sentence for Reid. No plea bargain. No lenient sentence. Sebastian’s summary of the case came through earlier today, filled with a lot of unflattering comments and an offer to appeal on the basis of ineffective legal representation. Something to keep in our back pocket for later if needed. If we can find the real killer, and put them behind bars, then he has a free ticket out.
“And why’s that?” Spencer asks, raising an eyebrow. “Court ruled you guilty.”
“The court was wrong. I didn’t touch her.”
An interesting word choice. Not “I didn’t kill her,” but “I didn’t touch her.” Deliberate. Something else is going on here. “What was your relationship with your victim?”
“She’s not my victim,” he growls. “What the hell is this? Who the hell are you? I don’t have to talk to you.”
Spencer leans forward, elbows resting on the table. His mouth tips up at the side. “You don’t,” he confirms. “But if you’re really innocent? Trust me, you want to talk to us.”
Reid narrows his eyes, glancing between us. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“We’re your guardian angels.” If he’s innocent, there’s a high chance whoever killed Veronica and Irene is the same person who killed Leah. If we can link them to both sets of murders, we can get Reid out. If not, Sebastian will come in and sweep the floor. Either way, he’ll walk free again, hopefully sooner than later. “Tell us about Leah. You worked together, right?”
A muscle in Reid’s jaw twitches. “Yes. That’s automatic guilt, is it? There was a whole office of people that worked with her. Why was I singled out?”
Why, indeed. By all accounts, for the same reason that Colin Trine was singled out. There are mentions of sexual harassment in Reid’s case, that he had an unhealthy fixation on Anderson, and she agreed to date him because he threatened her job. Allegedly. Even that seems unusual, considering she was a prominent character on a long-running Australian soap opera. She may not have been making bank, but losing her position at the real estate agency wouldn’t have left her destitute. I can see where Sebastian is coming from; the prosecution had a field day with that line of enquiry, and it should have easily been thrown out the window by the defence.
“Rumour has it you had a soft spot for her,” Spencer says, a little suggestiveness in his tone.
“Rumour is wrong,” Reid answers flatly. “She worked in reception, and our relationship was purely professional, in all ways.”
“Because you didn’t touch her?” I repeat. Something about the wording is still niggling at me. I wish I had my phone on me, so I could look at that email again. They emptied our pockets when we came in. “A few of your colleagues confirmed that you were dating her.”
“No. She asked me out, and we went on one date. Singular.”
“Only one?” Spencer asks. “Why?”
“I… Look, I said yes because she was attractive. And then… then she wasn’t.”
I study his face, looking for any lies or hidden truths. There isn’t anything there that would suggest he’s holding back. “Not your type?”
“Her personality left a lot to be desired.”
“You didn’t know that already from working with her?”
“I guess I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. Going on a date isn’t a crime.”
“Murder is,” Spencer says flippantly.
“Then maybe you should find the person who murdered her,” Reid fires back through gritted teeth. “But that’s too hard, right? Why bother doing the work when you already have the obvious target? Your whole fucking police force is a joke. I hope you sleep well at night, knowing that innocent people are stuck here because you can’t be fucked doing your job properly.”
There’s more to this story, and it feels like we’re close to putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “What happened after your one-and-only date?”
It takes him a second to get his anger under control. I doubt “control” is a word in his vocabulary. It’s simmering under the surface, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice. That temper wouldn’t have helped him in court, especially if he had a lawyer not worth their fee who wouldn’t have advised him how to behave.
“She wanted a second; I said no. She said I’d regret turning her down.” He snorts with ill humour. “Guess she was right.”
I tap my fingers thoughtfully on the table. “If you didn’t kill her, then who? You must have an idea.” I sit up straighter when Reid hesitates. Well, well. I didn’t expect that to get any bites. “You do. Tell us.”
“It’s not—she dated someone from the studio she worked at. After our date. Some old guy.”
Spencer leans back again, pressing our shoulders together. Our fingers brush under the table, and we share a look. “How do you know that?” he asks, tucking one hand under his armpit, studying Reid’s face.
“She kept ‘accidentally’ sending me the dirty messages she sent to him. Forwarding her calendar, with their dates on it. Trying to make me jealous, I guess.” He snorts derisively. “As if that behaviour’s appealing in any way.”
Sounds like the unhealthy fixation went the other way in this case. “Does this old guy have a name?”
“Uh—Jack something? I don’t fucking know. I deleted the messages.”
His first mistake. Never remove evidence. One of many mistakes that all ended here. “Why didn’t you offer that in court?”
“Lawyer said without the messages there was no point bringing it up,” he says, a hint of acid in his tone. “Told me to keep my mouth shut, and everything would sort itself out.”
Spencer rubs his wrist, not looking away from Reid. There’s something in his gaze. His brain’s in overdrive. What does he have? “Anything else you want to tell us?”
“Fuck off and leave me alone, so I can finish my sentence in peace?”
Jack. Jack. Why does that name sound familiar? We’ve run across so many names in the last week they all blur together, but something about it is definitely pinging my radar.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Spencer says with a grin, standing up. “We should do it again.”
“Let’s not.”
By the time we get back out to the car, Spencer is practically vibrating. He knows something, and he’s about to burst to get it out.
“What is it?” I ask, opening the passenger door for him, resting one hand on the top of the car and leaning in.
“Jack is the name of the new girl’s dad.”
Well, that’s interesting. “Melody? Could be a coincidence.”
“Could be.”
It rarely is. Looks like we have a new person of interest. Thank fuck for that; I thought we’d be going in circles forever. “We have a list of all the employees for the studio. We should take a look at all the Jacks, just in case.” We shouldn’t get too excited; it still could be a coincidence.
Spencer leans closer, lips hovering below mine. “You think Reid’s innocent. I could tell the second you saw him.”
“Just a gut feeling.”
He sneaks a hand up under my suit jacket and tugs my shirt up so he can press his palm against bare skin. It sears into me, and I arch, wanting more pressure. I bite my lips and sway forward, our lips brushing.
“Your gut feelings are always right,” Spencer whispers. “And I trust you. If you think he didn’t do it, then I’m with you.”
“And if I’m wrong?” I’m not always right. But in this, I know I am. Reid Fuller’s no killer. Which means there’s a person on the edge of serial killer territory out there. Possibly tipped over already. That’s never a good thing. We need to stop it. Without putting Spencer in the line of fire. That’s a different kind of dangerous territory we’re wading into. Everything we do comes with risks. If I start shielding him from everything, we’re going to have a problem. I never have—I protect him when I can, let him push ahead when he needs to. There was always that confidence that no matter what he did, he’d come through unscathed.
Considering our line of work, it was a ridiculous confidence. One that shattered into a thousand pieces when he got taken last year. I can’t let it happen again, but I can’t let it consume me either. What important details will I miss because I’m too busy being scared for him? I can’t be this compromised. I don’t know how to be anything else anymore.
Spencer lifts himself up enough to slant our mouths together properly. His tongue licks across my bottom lip, and I open, letting him have whatever he wants. He grips my waist to keep himself in place as he melts my brain. “Then we go down together. Whatever path you walk is the one I walk.”
Goddammit. I push him back into his seat and go in after him, tilting his head up and deepening the kiss even further. “My path is yours.” Fisting his hair, I dive back in, licking and tasting until we’re drowning in it, and he’s moaning, arching up against me, nails digging into my back. “You don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”
He shudders against me, clinging so tight he breaks skin.
“Say it. Tell me,” I demand hoarsely. I need to hear him say it.
“Nowhere you can’t follow,” he gasps. “Together. Always.”
Fuck, that sounds so good. The words are mine and mine alone. I’ll carve them into my skin so I never forget. Carve them into his.
His heavy breathing caresses my skin when I pull away. His pupils are dilated, and there’s never been a better sight than that. That I make him feel like that. Somehow knowing it’s less about sexual desire and more his desire for me that’s doing it makes it so much sweeter. He’s mine, and the ways he needs me mean that he always will be.
“We should call Greer,” I murmur, not willing to move out of his space just yet. “And get a copy of his files for Irene. Maybe she knew a Jack too?”
“I love the way you think,” Spencer breaths out.
That deserves at least one more kiss. The rest of the world can wait.