CHAPTER NINETEEN
Suleiman’s home was modest but well-maintained. The driveway was bright and clean, almost as though it had never been driven on. The grass was flawlessly cut in a pleasing checkered pattern, and the lone tree was pruned delicately. Even the windows were spotless.
There was something off about the place, though.
Faith couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Maybe it was the absence of any kind of decoration.
There were no flowers in the brick planter ringing the house, no flag extending from the holder above the porch.
The porch itself was spotless, the pine planks swept utterly free of dust, but there was no furniture, no plants or decorative statuettes, not even a welcome mat.
Nothing to make the house look lived in or personal.
It was almost like someone had planted a stock photo of “house” in the middle of the neighborhood.
Turk seemed on edge too, and like Faith, he didn’t seem to know what it was that had him on edge. He just looked around and snorted, tail switching back and forth, head lowered as though he was preparing for a fight.
Jessica knocked on the door firmly and called, “Jennifer Suleiman? FBI.”
No answer.
Jessica shared a look with Faith and lifted her hand to knock again but stopped when the curtains in front of the window—plain gray with no adornments, stitching, or embroidery of any kind—moved out of the way and a small, anxious face looked through.
The eyes fell on Turk and widened. The owner of the face called through the window, “Is your dog a legitimate certified K9 unit?”
“Yes, he is,” Faith said. “We’re real FBI agents, and we need to talk to you.”
She looked up and to the right, like she was trying to remember something really important.
For several seconds, she didn’t speak. Then, just as Faith was about to repeat her request, Jennifer said, “Can you please hold your ID up to the window? I just need to verify it. I’ve had bad experiences with fake service animals, but if I can verify your ID, I’ll believe you. ”
She seemed just apologetic enough that Faith decided to comply. She still suspected that Suleiman was their killer, but she remained by the window and looked up Faith’s ID with her cell phone, so Faith didn’t think she was stalling for time.
She seemed genuinely relieved when Faith’s ID came back legitimate.
She smiled apologetically and disappeared from the window.
A moment later, the door opened, revealing a petite woman of maybe five-two at the most and barely more than a hundred pounds.
The wide round lenses of her glasses made her face seem even smaller, almost girly.
Her brown eyes had long lashes, and she had full lips adorned with a liberal amount of dark red lipstick.
The effect could have been seductive except she was dressed in a pair of overalls and a baggy, long-sleeved sweater, so instead it came across as cute.
Jessica cast Faith a brief glance as though to ask, Really? You think she tried to kill Robert Big-Man Crawford?
Faith had seen small killers kill big victims before, so she wasn’t ready to let this girl off just because she looked like a children’s show character instead of a murderer. “Jennifer Suleiman?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” She blinked, frowning and hesitating for a moment. When she spoke again, it seemed like she was just realizing that the FBI was talking to her. She lowered her eyes, swallowed, and asked, “Um… What’s this about?”
“We’re investigating the murders of Margaret Hayes and Thomas Webb,” Faith said, choosing to be blunt, “as well as the very recent attempted murder of Robert Crawford.”
Jennifer flinched at the mention of murder, but she didn’t seem to recognize the names. “Well… I didn’t kill anyone.”
“You mind if we come in and talk about it?”
Jennifer hesitated, once more looking up and to the right.
Her brow furrowed slightly. Faith wondered if she had some sort of learning disability that made it difficult for her to process information.
After a moment, Jennifer said, “Um… Sure. I guess.” She smiled at Turk.
“He’s cute. I’m glad he’s a real K9. He looks like a sweetie. ”
“Yeah, he’s a good dog,” Faith said.
And what was more, he didn’t seem threatened by Jennifer, just confused, a bit like Faith was. He accepted Jennifer’s head pats but gave Faith a questioning look that she couldn’t answer.
Jennifer led them into the house. The interior showed the same odd emptiness as the exterior.
The house and furniture were all spotless, not as though she’d feverishly cleaned recently to hide evidence but as though she had never left any sign of living here in the first place.
The furniture included all the typical necessities: sofa, easy chair, coffee table, widescreen tv on a stand, kitchen table and chairs, but it was all devoid of adornment or decoration.
No placemats on the kitchen table. No potpourri on the coffee table.
The television remote sat next to the television, and not a single picture hung anywhere on the walls.
“Did you just move in?” Faith asked.
Jennifer frowned quizzically, thought for a moment, and said, “No, I’ve lived here for fourteen years.”
“Ah.” Odd.
“Would you two like some water?” Jennifer asked. “Or maybe I can bring some for your dog?”
Her voice was tremulous, soft, timid. Many killers came across as timid in their daily lives, but upon closer inspection, the potential for violence was easy to spot. Faith didn’t get that impression from Jennifer.
But the house. It was too perfect. Too bland.
Like a psychopath asked to construct a house who understood the need for functional items but didn’t understand the desire for decoration.
And there was the odd hesitation each time Jennifer was asked a question, like she was waiting for someone else to tell her what to say.
“Water’s fine,” Faith replied. “Thank you.”
Jennifer returned with four water bottles and a steel dog bowl. She set the bowl down in front of Turk, carefully opened one of the water bottles, and poured it into the bowl. Turk lapped gratefully, and Faith noticed grief cross Jennifer’s face.
“You miss your dog, huh?” she said with genuine sympathy.
“I do. She was my little princess.” Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened briefly. Then her eyes popped open, wide as saucers. “Is that why you’re here? Because my dog was killed by that fake service dog?”
“We believe this killer is seeking revenge for wrong suffered at the hands of people with fake service dogs,” Jessica replied. “We think they see it as justice, not revenge. They believe they’re doing the world a service, protecting people from those who see the rules as optional.”
“Well… I don’t believe in murder, but I understand why the killer would feel that way.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she took off her glasses, folded them, and set them on the coffee table.
Every movement was careful, not planned but cautious.
She seemed afraid of everything and everyone around her.
Faith wondered if she was always like that or if she had changed after the death of her service dog.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping tears from her face with the heels of her palms. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“We’re not here to judge you,” Jessica said gently.
“You know, I saw her die,” Jennifer said, sniffing. “Her throat was ripped out. She was trying to breathe, but she just made this horrible sucking noise. Bubbles came out of the hole in her throat. She… She looked at me…”
She pressed her eyes shut so tightly her head shook.
Faith looked at Jessica and saw no suspicion in her partner’s face, only compassion.
She felt sorry for Jennifer too, but she couldn’t shake the sense of offness about her.
It was nothing more than a sensation tickling the back of her mind, but it was a sticky sensation, one that refused to leave.
“I almost saw my dog die once,” Faith said. “I told the person threatening him that if they killed him, I would kill them. And I meant it. If Turk hadn’t found a way out of that situation somehow, I would be in prison for murder right now.”
Jessica frowned at Faith, but Faith kept her eyes on Jennifer. She was telling their suspect the truth, but when it came down to it, Faith hadn’t committed murder. Jennifer might have, and if she had, then sympathy wouldn’t be enough to stay Faith’s hand.
Jennifer sniffed. “There’s no point. The woman whose dog killed him moved to Alaska. Even if I wanted to kill her, I couldn’t.”
“But you can kill others. Other people whose choices put innocent people in danger.”
Jennifer’s brow furrowed again, very briefly this time.
Then she smiled bitterly. “Some, maybe. Not all. Not even many. Probably one if I sneaked up on them. But I’d be caught.
I’m not a fighter. I’m not good with guns.
I’d just end up going to jail, and everyone would think that I was just a killer. It wouldn’t change anything.”
“You sound like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
That earned Faith another frown, but she ignored that one too. Jessica had clearly made up her mind regarding Jennifer already, but Faith wasn’t so sure.
“I did,” Jennifer admitted. “After Princess died, I thought about it. I guess everyone does. I fantasized about meeting that dog in a dark alley, shooting him so the owner had to watch, and then shooting her too. I thought I could maybe follow them home and hit the dog with my car.” She chuckled.
“Stupid stuff. And like I said, it wouldn’t change anything. Princess would still be dead.”
That cast a bit of a shadow on Faith’s suspicion.
The killer thus far had shown no interest in the dogs aside from ensuring they couldn’t be attacked.
They’d locked Margaret Hayes’s and Robert Crawford’s dogs away, and when Crawford’s dog got out, they fled rather than face it.
If anything, the killer was afraid of big dogs.
Jennifer could be lying, but she didn’t give any sign of that.
It was time to stop beating around the bush.
“Where were you earlier this afternoon?” Faith asked.
Once more, the furrowed brow, the slight pause. “This afternoon? I was shopping.”
“Where?”
“The farmer’s market in Chestnut Hill.”
Faith and Jessica shared a look. Faith refrained from asking Suleiman directly if she had killed Robert Crawford, at least for the time being, but she wanted to follow that lead.
An accusation might put Suleiman on the defensive.
Maybe by being coy, she could coax Suleiman into releasing incriminating information.
“Did you happen to see an altercation there?” Faith asked.
“An altercation? Like a fight?”
“An argument. It didn’t become physical.”
“Um… No. There was something going on on the other side of the market, I guess, but I didn’t see it.”
“What time did you leave the farmer’s market?”
“Four-thirty, I think.”
That was two hours ago. Faith and Jessica were called to Crawford’s house around five-thirty.
The attack couldn’t have taken place more than fifteen minutes before the police arrived or Crawford would have already bled out.
If Suleiman left the farmer’s market at four-thirty, she could have walked to Crawford’s house in thirty minutes.
More than enough time to attempt the murder.
More than enough time to come here after the attempt and maybe take some quick steps to hide evidence: a shower, burying the clothing, but not enough time to completely destroy it.
“Would you mind if we searched the premises?” she asked. “Just to clear your name off our list?”
Jennifer blinked. “Sure. Um… Are you guys gonna like, tear everything apart?”
“We can’t promise to leave everything perfectly tidy, but we’ll do our best to keep things clean.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
Faith was a little surprised that Jennifer so readily agreed. Even an innocent person would likely have hesitated at least a little more before agreeing. Sure, she’d brought up the investigator’s respect for her property, but that wasn’t exactly hesitation.
She wasn’t acting like a suspect, but she wasn’t acting like a normal person either. Faith couldn’t be sure if it was just some unknown bias that made her feel that way. She just felt off to Faith.
“All right,” Faith said. “We’ll call a forensics team and get that out of the way right now if that’s all right.”
“Sure. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Hopefully we’ll prove that tonight,” Jessica replied with a smile.
Jennifer nodded. She looked back at Turk and stroked his fur. He allowed the contact but looked hard at her, unsure whether to trust her or not.
Faith felt the same way. Either they were about to kill some time pillaging an innocent woman’s home, or they were going to discover what skeletons lay buried in her closet.