Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Detective Kaitlin Pierce
Seven Days Since Allison Clarke’s Murder
The man sitting across from me is a Devil disguised as a gentleman. I’ve seen enough evil in this world to recognize it, even if he’s put on a very convincing mask.
“Thank you for meeting with me today, Mr. Parsons,” I tell him, keeping my voice smooth and even.
The fluorescent lights above us buzz. It’s an interview room tactic. Everything in here is designed specifically to be uncomfortable—cold room, buzzing lights, stiff chairs, even a sickly green tint to the beige paint. The goal is to leave the suspect uncomfortable.
But Gabriel Parsons looks completely content, as if he finds peace in this discomfort.
It’s unnerving just how calm he is. Predators are always the most calm right before they strike.
I read that once in a book about snakes and it’s stuck with me ever since.
I’ve found it to be just as true about humans.
“My pleasure, Detective Pierce.” He smiles as he speaks but it’s not a true smile.
I stare down at the file on the stainless steel table in front of me, pretending to read. I don’t need to read it. I know exactly what it says.
“You’ve recently been hired to teach at the high school?” I ask even though we both know I know the answer.
“Yes, as the business teacher. I own a large cybersecurity company that I built from the ground up. I wanted to give back, help the next generation of future business leaders.”
He crosses and uncrosses his legs. The same smile still plastered to his face.
He’s wearing sleek navy blue pants and a jacket with a crisp white shirt.
His dark hair is slicked back to reveal his piercing blue eyes.
Outwardly, you could almost be led to believe his story.
But there’s small signs of his dishonesty—the black ink peeking out from his shirt, the small twitch of his fingers, the slight bunching of his shoulders. A wolf parading as a sheep.
“And that was before Allison Clarke’s murder, correct?” I ask as I watch for any reaction.
I get none. He doesn’t so much as flinch.
I should be investigating the husband, the most likely suspect, the suspect that the Captain and all the other senior officers are looking at for this murder.
But there’s something I can’t quite shake about Allison Clarke’s past. There’s a piece to this puzzle that we’re missing.
And I have a feeling that the man sitting across from me is the key to that missing piece.
“Correct. We overlapped for a few months before what happened.”
I almost scoff but I stop myself. Lies.
“Before she was murdered, you mean?” I push back. “She was brutalized, murdered, and dumped.”
“Of course.” He quickly drops the fake ass smile and sensibly shifts to sadness. Too slow. “It was a tragedy.”
“How well did you know the victim, Mr. Parsons?”
I keep my body language open, my tone neutral, my expression mildly inquisitive.
I’ve chosen a blue button down and jeans.
Blue suggests trustworthiness and honesty.
The jeans suggest this is a casual conversation.
All the pieces have been thoughtfully constructed to make him think this is a friendly follow-up conversation.
He has no idea that I’m laying the trap and letting him hang himself.
Something flits across his face. He covers it quickly, but not quickly enough. “Not well, I’m afraid, Detective.” His tone is sincere but his body language tells a different story. “We only worked together briefly before…”
He trails off, unable or unwilling to say it. I notice he hasn’t mentioned her murder, avoiding the subject completely. The hunch that I’ve been harboring begins to solidify more and more with every moment.
“That’s interesting, Mr. Parsons,” I retrieve a few papers from the file and slide them across the table to him.
“Your phone records show you two texting frequently,” I point to the records on one page, “and that series of pictures are from the school security feed. They show you entering her classroom, closing the door, and remaining inside with her for an extended period of time—alone.” I watch him carefully as he examines the papers, looking for any sign he’ll crack.
“So, I’ll ask again, Mr. Parsons—what exactly was the nature of your relationship with the victim? ”
When his eyes flit back up to meet mine, something in him has shifted. Gone is the mask of professionalism. Black hair has fallen across his forehead, curtaining the swirling depths of his darkening blue irises. He looks deadly, dangerous—a true Devil.
“Clever, aren’t you?” he asks with a malicious smirk that sends a shiver down my spine.
Right on cue, there is a knock at the door.
It swings open before I can utter a word and Officer Tennyson waltzes in as planned.
He is wearing his uniform blues, another piece laid out carefully.
We want the aura of justice to hang in the air, despite my casual attire.
A contrast meant to throw our suspect off.
Tennyson drops a paper right next to me on the steel tabletop.
“Here’s that print out you requested, Detective.” His tone is stiff. We will have to work on the rookie’s acting skills.
“Thank you, Officer,” I dismiss him swiftly before he fucks up the interrogation with his shitty acting. He pauses for a moment, clearly not wanting to miss what’s about to happen. Without any acknowledgement from me, he relents and leaves.
The Devil across from me is still smirking, his sharp eyes searing into me. “And what is this new card you’ve brought to play, Detective?” he asks with a smug tone. He’s cocky. Men usually are.
“This?” I ask him, feigning innocence. “Oh, this…” I slide the paper across the table to him. “Is simply a photocopy of a background check.”
“A background check?” He scoffs as his veiny tattooed hand pulls the paper toward him.
“You see,” I continue, “I was curious about the stranger who showed up right after one woman went missing and a second woman was murdered. I wondered to myself if your arrival was a coincidence.”
His eyes scan the paperwork, his mind working through the pieces of the puzzle I’m laying out for him.
“But imagine my surprise when I learned that Gabriel Parsons seems to not only have mysteriously arrived here right at the same time as these crimes, but that your entire identity seems to have mysteriously appeared out of nowhere just a few years ago.”
His gaze flicks back to mine. I expect to see panic, worry, maybe even anger.
I don’t expect to see the heated excitement that pains his features.
He looks wild, unhinged, manic. For the first time in my career, I’m truly frightened of a suspect.
I have no doubts that this man, this demon, would be capable of murder.
“You know that famous quote—‘He who fights monsters should be careful, lest he becomes a monster himself. And if you gaze into the dark abyss long enough, the abyss will gaze back into you,’ Detective Pierce?”
“Nietzsche,” I confirm. I have no idea where he’s going with this train of thought, but I will let him tell me what he’s thinking.
“Be careful how far you descend into the darkness, Detective. We’re all monsters here.”
A chill runs down my spine. My stomach churns with unease as he sits back, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.
“Nietzsche suggested that men should be careful as they hunt monsters, suggesting the inherent monstrosity lurking in the minds of men,” I offer to him as his eyes thin, clearly confused that I would dare to challenge him.
“But I’m not a man. Maybe it takes a woman to catch a monster.
Wouldn’t you agree, Mr.—well, I’m not exactly sure who you are, but do believe me when I say that I intend to find out. ”
I’ve never backed down to a cocky male before and I certainly don’t intend to now.
“I look forward to discussing it with you when you do figure it out.” He stands, buttoning his coat across his core. “With my lawyer present, of course.”
He walks across the room. I don’t stop him. As soon as he closes the door behind him, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in.
This absolutely is not over.