CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Derek strode back into the interview room as soon as they returned to the CBI offices. Alison was half a step behind him.
"You wanted to talk to us?" he asked Raymond.
"I wanted to talk to her," Raymond said, pointing at Alison. "Were you being straight with me when you said that you believed I was innocent until proven guilty?"
"I was," Alison said.
She went to the table and sat down while Derek remained standing.
"I don't trust him," Raymond said, pointing to Derek this time.
"I don't trust any of the agents in this building or any other building, for that matter.
I know what you all think of me. I advocate for the truth and justice, and it rubs you all the wrong way.
I saw the look in your eyes. You wanted to hurt me when you were sitting opposite me, and—"
"Will you just get on with it?" Derek begged. "If you have something to say, just say it. We’re investigating a triple homicide now, so if you want to confess, go ahead. Or I can leave the room, and you can confess to Dr. Payne if she’s the only one you’ll talk to."
"That other agent came in and gave me some dates, and I have alibis for two of them, but I wanted you to be here when I give the alibis because I don't want them destroying evidence, and I don't believe you would let that happen, no matter what you’ve done in the past."
"I won't let any evidence be destroyed," Alison confirmed. "What do you have for us?"
"Six days ago, that was the first murder, right? Then, four days ago was the second? That’s when they were killed, right?" Raymond asked.
"What were you doing on those nights?" Alison asked.
"I did livestreams both nights, well into the night. I had some followers on, and I did some Q we need to convince you.
Are you dangerous? Maybe, but I don't think you’re the killer. Then who is?"
Alison glanced at the gun on the coffee table before slipping down onto the sofa. She picked up the case files and looked through them again. She read them cover to cover as the night drew on, the night sky outside her residence becoming an inky black with dots of sparkling white.
There was a lot of information in the files, but nothing that lined up between all three of them.
Then a thought.
What if we’re looking in the wrong place? We’re looking for a connection between the three victims who all testified, but is there a connection between the three inmates?
Alison grabbed her laptop from the kitchen table and brought it to the couch. She used her temporary login from the FBI to access the prison database and opened three tabs, one for each of the inmates who’d been testified against.
She hoped the connection would be as obvious as them all being in the same prison, but that wasn’t the case.
Three inmates and three separate prisons.
That also meant Jason Weber wasn’t the connection between all three of them.
Raymond Nichols might have advocated on their behalf, but there was no evidence he’d spoken to all three men directly.
Franklin Howard was only connected to one of the inmates.
That brought her back to where she started.
Then she looked further, moving ahead in time, covering everything, and it was like a light lit up above her head, and a hotel bell dinged over and over.
She looked at the name: Thomas Bennet.
He had counseled Calvin Reynolds. She moved to the next two tabs and ran a simple page search, and the name popped up again. He’d held sessions with all three criminals incarcerated by the three dead women. It was a connection they’d not been looking for, but it was a connection—a good one.
And a connection she knew—vaguely. Although the name of anyone connected to the prison system could pop up, and there was a good chance she knew the person after working in the prison system for over a decade.
Alison opened another tab on her laptop and searched for the name.
Prison records, arrest records, police reports, court cases, and other files. There was a lot on Thomas Bennet—but only from three years ago and before.
Alison went through them, and it jogged her memory.
Thomas Bennet was imprisoned for the final time for aggravated assault.
It was five years ago that she’d consulted on his case and advised the parole board that he should not be released early.
He was a violent criminal with manipulative behavior, both on the outside and in prison.
That led to two more years in prison, and he was finally released three years ago.
Alison went through the reports from his time in prison.
He’d built a network of loyal followers, first dishing out punishments himself and then having his underlings do his bidding.
Reading between the lines, it looked like he’d run things in prison for a while, not doling out the violence, so he could get early release, which hadn’t happened.
"Okay, you were a repeat offender, you went to prison multiple times, and while you were in there, you were in charge. What happened when you went out?"
Alison had to do some additional searches to supplement the information about his time in prison. When he was released, he spent some time looking for employment, gaining steady work as a mechanic after studying for that while in prison. Then, he set up his own foundation to work on prison reform.
Alison read through the reports, business license, newspaper articles, and testimonies.
"Okay, so you get out, get some work, and then decide to help those who are still incarcerated. This is not like Raymond Nichols, where he wants to change the system; you want to help those within the system."
I believe that the best thing to do after being arrested and charged is to serve out your time, be on your best behavior, and then contribute positively to society.
It was a direct quote from Bennet from a local newspaper article in the town where he grew up.
"Did you truly become rehabilitated?" Alison wondered.
"Right up until you were released, you were running the prison and keeping people in line, but not altruistically.
You wanted power, to be in charge. What do you want now?
I was the one who ensured you were kept behind bars for an extra two years. Are you really a changed man?"
Bennet had visited dozens of male prisoners over the past two years, counseling them.
He didn't advocate for early release or to have conditions overturned; he’d just talked with them.
He was a supporter of other violent offenders, and for all intents and purposes, he looked like a model prisoner within the system who came out and positively contributed to society.
"Still, we need to—"
Alison’s blood turned to ice when her doorbell rang. She looked at the clock on the wall to see that it was after two am. She immediately reached for the gun on the coffee table and gripped it tightly.
I didn't notice any lights approaching. Why would someone knock on the door at this hour?
Alison stood from the couch, taking out her phone to call Derek. The lights were on in her house—there was no point in turning them off now and trying to hide.
The doorbell rang a second time.
Alison crept toward the door and moved slowly to the peephole.
A man stood on the other side of the two-inch-thick wood. He was dressed all in black, and he held something concealed behind his back. The man was looking down at the ground, a determined look on his face.
As Alison looked at him, he looked up at the peephole as if staring directly into her eyes.
"I know you’re in there," he said