Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
The air smelled of stale coffee at the overworked station.
Zoe was convinced that the substation had been barely active before she’d arrived armed with a riddle that led her to the first murder victim of Pineview Falls in many years.
The doors creaked, the windows jammed, and the refrigerator in the break room constantly hummed.
The substation was brimming with activity.
Deputies from the neighboring towns had pitched in to find Amy Andrews.
Her picture was pinned to the bulletin board.
Zoe stared at her unremarkable face. The printer under the board spat out missing person posters.
She picked one up and frowned at the fading ink and poor paper quality under her fingertips.
It would wash out in the rain, which was a frequent occurrence.
Outside sheets of rain pounded against the pavement.
Water cascaded from awnings, dripped from the edges of street signs, and splattered onto windshields of cars in the parking lot. The town was painted in smears of gray.
“He’s waiting for us.” Aiden appeared.
Zoe gathered the printout and tucked it under her arm. Upon entering the makeshift interrogation room, she was immediately put off by Adam.
He sat with easy elegance, legs crossed, fingers tapping against the arm of his chair as though he were waiting for a drink at a jazz lounge instead of a police interview.
She dropped the folder on the table in front of them and perched on the chair across from him.
“Ah, the infamous folder drop,” he said, flashing a lazily amused smile. “A detective classic. Next, you’re going to dramatically flip it open, lean forward, and say something ominous. Something like”—he deepened his voice mockingly—“we both know why you’re here, Adam.”
Zoe’s jaw ticked. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Do surprise me, then.”
She leaned in slightly, his voice quiet but sharp. “Tell me about your dog.”
Adam’s eyes jumped between Zoe and Aiden, like he was trying to decipher some hidden code.
“My dog? Aesop?” He placed a hand over his chest, as if deeply offended.
“You dragged me all the way down here to discuss—what? Canine nutrition? Breed temperament? I assure you, Agent Storm, Aesop is the perfect gentleman. Is the FBI really that clueless about the murders?”
Zoe flipped open the folder. Inside was a forensic report, a few photographs clipped to the top. One showed Jackie’s body, another the silver-gray borzoi hair found on her clothing. She tapped the photo with one finger.
“This hair,” Aiden said, his tone almost conversational, “is from a borzoi. Not a very common breed, is it?”
Adam exhaled dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Tragic,” he mused. “And here I was, thinking we were talking about my dog, not forensic hair samples. You must forgive me—I do have a flair for the romantic, but this feels a little too… forensic noir for my taste.”
She stared at him. “The hair matches your dog, Adam. It was found on Jackie’s body.”
Adam tilted his head, his expression curious rather than worried.
“Are you implying,” he said slowly, “that my beloved pet has become some kind of murder suspect? That he’s leading a secret life—roaming the streets at night, luring unsuspecting women into alleys?
I must say, that would make for an excellent short story. ”
Zoe’s patience thinned. “How did your dog’s hair end up on a dead woman?” she asked flatly.
Adam hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the table. “What if I told you I met her a few days before she went missing?”
He was testing her reaction. “I would say that’s bullshit because this hair wouldn’t have stayed stuck on her jeans for several days. I think she touched your dog shortly before she went missing and was killed.”
Suddenly, he dropped his fake charm act rubbed his temple. “I didn’t do anything. I swear. I’m just a storyteller.”
“And this way you get to be in the story you created. Every writer’s dream,” Aiden said.
“I… I was there.” His lips quivered and he leaned forward.
“Where?” Zoe asked. “I don’t have a lot of time, so hurry up.”
His chin trembled. “I was at Fun House before you showed up with the sheriff. But I swear I didn’t kill her.” He raised his hands.
Zoe masked her surprise and kept her face rigid. “Convenient you were at Fun House.”
“I was there for my story! I was walking Aesop and thought I’d get some inspiration too.
I’m working on a podcast, if you must know.
A real-time account of my journey during this string of murders.
Even though Fun House is closed for the season, I have been going there from time to time.
But you can’t just write about a place like Fun House from memory, Agent Storm. You have to breathe it in.”
“Why Fun House?” Zoe challenged.
“Well, obviously because it all comes down to it,” he scoffed.
“The game that’s torturing and killing the women is based on the massacre and Jackie was related to a victim.
I was at Fun House so that I can soak it in and capture its true essence.
” Horror crossed his eyes. “I was walking through the hallways when I saw her. Jackie. At first I thought it was some fallen prop but when I got closer, I saw her skin and all that fresh blood.” A violent shudder rolled through him. “It was barbaric.”
“How do we know that you didn’t move the body there yourself?” Zoe asked.
“I didn’t!” His eyes blazed. “Check my whereabouts. I was at an interview with News 9 before that. The day before I was at work all day. You can confirm my alibi. I didn’t do this.”
“Don’t worry, we will.” She smiled sweetly. “Why didn’t you call the police when you discovered the body?”
He avoided their scrutinizing gaze. “I… I wanted to be the one to break the story. But I was so disgusted and shocked by what I saw. And then I got scared, thinking what if the killer was still around? My dog was with me, barking crazily. I ran out of there and was figuring out how to use this for my podcast when I saw the sheriff’s car approaching from the end of the street.
Next thing I knew, the scene was swarming with cops.
I don’t know how you guys got there first.”
Zoe didn’t like Adam—disingenuity poured out of him. Here was a man with a distorted vision of the world, where the only thing that mattered was a story for people to lap up. And then there was his penchant for wordplay—a quality he shared with the killer, who had left riddles.
“Did your dog touch the body?” Aiden asked.
“Yes. Obviously. It’s a dog. It smelled something and went sniffing around.” A moment of hesitation, his smugness withering. “He might have swallowed something he found.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ. The crime scene was tampered with. Do you realize how serious this offense is, Adam?”
“I’m sorry! I told you I was in shock and I struggled to control Aesop before I finally dragged him out of there!
But I think he was sniffing around the pockets of her jeans quite a bit.
” He pulled out his phone and after a couple swipes, showed them an image.
“This came out in his excretion this morning. I didn’t recognize it but I think Jackie had it on her. ”
Zoe and Aiden stared at the photo of a keychain, a piece of paper inserted into it with INV-W7-D4-1553 written on it.
“Is that a fob or what?” Aiden wondered out loud.
He shrugged. “No idea. It’s not mine. It must be Jackie’s. I don’t know what it means. I was hoping to find out for myself—that’s why I kept it.”
Zoe stared at Adam. His colorful flamboyance that once eclipsed the station had gone, replaced with desperation.
“Agent Storm, Dr. Wesley,” he said. “I wouldn’t kill anyone for a story.
For starters, I’m only good with words and reading people.
” His eyes zeroed in on Zoe. “Like I can look at you and know that you carry shame that you hide behind your infectious, dimpled smile.” Zoe flushed red.
Adam looked at Aiden. “And I can sense that you know deep loss and struggle to be understood. But I’m not smart enough to get away with murder.
And the worst nightmare for any writer is never being able to write again. ”
Zoe held the evidence in the palm of her hand. INV-W7-D4-1553. What did it mean?