Chapter Thirteen #2
We enter the bustling police station after fighting our way through the swarm of reporters hanging about outside, waiting for a hint of a story.
The station is bustling, with cops power-walking between meeting rooms and offices, ready to tackle the biggest case of their lives.
Well, the biggest case since Thomas Vale.
The press knows that there has been a significant development, and if I'm honest, I’m surprised the news hasn’t leaked already.
Three female bodies were excavated at Connor Maddox’s house.
Three. That’s just the ones they’ve found so far.
I have a harrowing feeling in my gut that this wasn’t the last of what the police would find.
I had the same feeling with Thomas Vale.
A battle for dominance rages within me. My gut is telling me there are more bodies to find, but also that Connor isn’t the one who did it.
Which makes zero sense given the evidence stacked up against him, and the fact that I know he’s a liar.
He has a history of feeling angry at women, albeit a short one.
And he hadn’t been truthful about who was visiting him in prison.
But it didn’t make sense as to why not? Why would he lie about who was visiting him?
Especially when we could easily check the visitor’s log.
Detective Williams ushered me over to an office where he and Officer Sanchez were huddled around some papers. As soon as I entered, her eyes rolled, and she continued reading whatever it was that had them so enthralled.
“How you doing, Katie?” Anthony asks.
“Good. I got a good night’s sleep, which will help with today.”
“We’re set to interview Maddox again. Will Dr. Jones be attending?” His voice tightens as soon as he mentions Jonesy’s name.
“He’s on a call with the colonel right now. He’ll be in shortly—”
A knock at the door interrupts me, and Jonesy stands almost at attention, his army uniform crisply pressed.
His broad shoulders fill the door frame, making it look like he’s walking into a hobbit hole and not the detective’s office.
He shoots me a wink as he steps into the room, his hands gripping the back of the chair.
Even Officer Sanchez stops what she’s doing, her mouth slightly parted.
She sits up a little straighter, and the alarm bells inside me start ringing.
Is she interested in him? I see her pupils dilate, and for all the goddamn huffing and puffing she’s given me every time Anthony looks in my direction, I’m pissed that she’s now making googly eyes at Jonesy.
My friend. Who is not exactly my friend but is quickly becoming less like an enemy as time goes on.
Is it really only two weeks that we’ve been working together?
I rise from my seat and step toward him, which earns me another eye roll from Sanchez and a raised eyebrow from Jonesy. What am I doing? Staking my claim? On Jacob Jones? No, I don’t think so. Abort. Abort mission.
“Take a seat,” I mutter.
“Shall we get started? Sanchez, give us the rundown,” the detective says coolly.
“Yes, Detective. Three bodies have been found on Connor Maddox’s property. The excavation team is in the process of digging up additional parts of the yard that the cadaver dogs indicated—”
“Why did they bring cadaver dogs in the first place?” I ask.
It wasn’t the usual process to bring the specialized team to a suspect’s residence.
Not unless there was a belief that a crime had been committed there.
Given that Connor Maddox was suspected of murdering a woman in the parking lot of a bar, it doesn't make sense that they would do that.
“We received an anonymous tip to take the dogs,” Detective Williams states, raising his hand to indicate for Officer Sanchez to continue.
She picks up without skipping a beat. “Our team is currently working to identify the three women and working with the missing persons team to match up the dates with women who have disappeared from the area. They’re also obtaining DNA samples, which may prove a match for those family members who provided samples during their missing persons investigation.
“As Detective Williams said, we are preparing for our interview with Connor Maddox. We’ve also brought his girlfriend into custody. Once we’ve interviewed her, you’ll be able to establish a time to evaluate her along with our transcript.
“For now, Connor Maddox is our only suspect in the murder of Jennifer Kray. We aren’t currently pursuing other avenues.” She turns to Detective Williams, who gives her a proud nod, leaning back into his chair; it swivels slightly.
He thinks this is a win.
“Why the change of MO?” Jonesy asks.
The detective smirks, straightening from his relaxed position. He interlinks his fingers and leans forward on the desk. “Isn’t that for you to find out?”
“Sure, but you must have some theories. This seems like a big leap. Carefully executed murders with pre-planning, enough to bury them in his backyard, to slashing someone’s throat in a parking lot, and stabbing them sixteen times. That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Maybe he lost control. Maybe he hadn’t killed in a while,” the detective offers lazily.
He’s not interested in the why. He’s interested in getting this case cleaned up quickly—putting another serial killer away will only heighten his reputation.
Not that Anthony is the type of man who is overly concerned with things like that.
At least he’s never given me a reason to think he is.
But still, putting away one serial killer will give you a reputation.
Two? That will make you a legend. People will be talking about these cases for decades.
And on the tip of everyone’s tongue will be the detective who put both of them away. Detective Anthony Williams.
“We’ll have to meet with him again. We got interrupted yesterday with the development,” I say, and the detective nods.
“What can we do in the meantime? Presumably, you’ll want us out of the way whilst you collect evidence?” Jonesy asks.
The detective almost looks impressed, that is, until Jonesy pulls out his award-winning sly smile, which only makes Detective Williams pinch his brows together in annoyance.
“In that case, we can go grab a coffee, eh, Katie?” he adds just to twist the knife.
I give him the middle finger below the table so Anthony and Sanchez can’t see. His shoulders begin to shake as he bites his lip to hold in his laugh. “Come on, Dr. Murphy. Let’s get you a decaf coffee so you sleep well tonight.”
“A word, Dr. Murphy,” Anthony snips. “Alone.” He nods at Sanchez to leave, too, and she picks up the papers in front of her, huffing yet again. He isn’t helping her warm up to me, and now I feel like I’m in the principal’s office.
When the door is closed, he rubs a hand over his face, sighing audibly.
“Are you fucking him?” he says with a heavy sigh.
“Wh . . . what?”
“I know I have no right to ask. Although maybe I do, I don’t know.
But can you let me know so I can move on if you are?
” His resigned tone lets me know that if I say yes, we’re not going to stay friends.
I don’t want to lose him, but the last week or so has shown me that our relationship isn’t going to go further than friendship.
“I’m not. Fucking him, that is,” I say, fighting the frustration of having to explain myself when I don’t even know what I’m doing.
He nods, running a hand over his mouth; the shadow of a beard is starting to come through. Anthony tends to look a little rough around the edges when he’s in the midst of a case. “But you’re going to.”
“Anthony . . .”
“He’s going to tear you apart. You know that, right? He broke your heart once, and he’ll do it again.” His voice is sharper, a hint of anger pinching its way through.
We stare at each other for what feels like minutes before I relent.
“He helps me sleep.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You just said—”
“I said I didn’t have sex with him. We’ve slept in the same bed a few times. Our friend Lottie only has one spare room, and that was before the case started. It was the first time I’d slept through the night in months. I thought it was a fluke.”
I don’t tell him that was the weekend before the case.
And I certainly don’t tell him about the one-bed situation in Ohio.
I’m sure that two psychologists assigned to a murder case sleeping in the same bed is a complete breach of ethics.
Even if there had been two beds, I wouldn’t have been able to avoid him.
And I’m starting to realize, I don’t want to.
I’ve taken to glancing at my front door when I know he’ll be arriving soon.
I keep checking my phone in case he’s messaged me to say he can’t come. It’s honestly out of control.
“And now you’re just living together.” He almost pouts, and if the situation weren’t so awkward, it would almost be comical.
“No, not at all. It’s just a temporary fix until I can get myself sorted.”
“So you’re not planning to date him?”
“God, no,” I scoff. The words roll out before I can stop them, before I even think through what I’m saying. As Anthony shakes his head, I feel like I’m swallowing down nettles.
“It bothers me that you didn’t object like that when I asked if you were going to fuck him,” he spits out.
I should leave. We aren’t going to get anywhere discussing this, and it is only hurting him more.
Anthony is a good man. I don’t want to hurt him because I can’t reciprocate his feelings.
I thought before the Thomas Vale case that things might lead that way.
Even during the case, he’d been a support system that I desperately needed.
But the feelings I had harnessed during that case haven’t gone away.
The dark fantasies that invade my dreams are still coming for me every night.
Anthony can’t stop them, but apparently Jonesy can.
That might make me selfish. It might make me a terrible person.
But there are only so many sleepless nights someone can take until they start to go insane.
It’s affecting my work, my social life, my sex life.
I just need to sleep. And I’ll take it anyway I can.
“I should go,” I say weakly.
“I’m sorry,” he says. There’s a softness to his features, a longing in his deep brown eyes that makes the guilt gnaw at my stomach. “I’m just disappointed. You made out like you hated this guy.”
“I did . . . but there’s a long history there.
It’s complicated. We’re not dating. I’m not sure we’re even friends.
He just understands me in a way that I can’t explain.
Maybe it’s because he’s known me since I was eighteen .
. . I don’t know. And now I’m finally sleeping again, and I’m sorry, but I can’t give that up. ”
“I could—”
“No, Anthony. You need to focus on the case.” I don’t tell him that it wouldn’t work with him.
I don’t have to get into bed with him to know that.
I wish he could, but he’s too soft, too caring.
I wish I could need a man like that. But Jonesy offers me something more than comfort.
He pushes me to my limit and then some. He’s protective in a way that makes my skin burn when he touches me.
He nods, shuffling some papers into a manila folder.
“I do have a request, though.” His ears perk up before I add, “Work-related.”
He sighs audibly, and I bite down a retort. “Sure.”
“Can you find out who visited Connor Maddox at the prison?”
“I can request the visitor logs, no problem. Why?” His detective hat is back on, and I see his thoughts whirring.
“Just curious.”
He nods. “Alright, Dr. Murphy. I’ve got a case to build. Beer soon?”
“I’d like that,” I say. And I meant it.
Jonesy is waiting outside the door, one foot resting on the wall as he leans back, scrolling through his phone. I’m tired. All I want to do is sleep, preferably with him. If only he could do it without acknowledging it in any way.
He slides his phone into his pocket, looking me up and down before nodding.
“Come on, Dr. Murphy. Let’s get you home for a well-deserved afternoon off.”