Chapter Twelve
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The coffee wasn’t great. Lukewarm and bitter. But Griff drank it anyway. It was hot enough to wake him up, and that was all he needed.
He stood in the cold case room beside Lily, both of them eyeing the digital evidence board like it might suddenly rearrange itself into a neat confession. No such luck. The same photos, files, and timelines stared back at them. More organized now, sure, but still not giving up all their answers.
He took another sip, watching Lily as she leaned in, tapping the screen to shift a few images—Catherine’s autopsy report next to the photo of Hannah’s original crime scene. The parallels were impossible to ignore.
They were both dressed in their usual gear.
Jeans, boots, weapons holstered. But there was something heavier in the air between them this morning.
Maybe it was the knowledge that everything was coming to a head.
Or maybe it was just the pressure of what they needed to pull off in the next few hours.
Hallie had given them the green light to handle the interviews on their own. No outside interference. Just the two of them, face-to-face with the three people who’d been lying to them in various shades since the start.
A full slate.
A chance to finally punch holes in someone’s story. Or catch them slipping.
Griff glanced at the clock on the wall. “Rhett’s due in fifteen.”
“After that, Margo,” Lily said, barely looking up from the board. “Then Everett. If they all show.”
“They’ll show,” Griff said. “Too much heat now. And Everett will want to protect whatever’s left of his image.”
Lily gave a tight nod. “Let’s make it count.”
He looked back at the board one more time. Three suspects. One truth. It was time to start pulling it out of them. One lie at a time.
Griff was reviewing the interview notes they’d prepped for Rhett when the soft knock came at the cold case room door, and Jemma poked her head in.
“There’s a call you’ll want to take,” she said. “Someone who used to work for Everett Langston. Said she wants to talk to whoever’s handling Catherine’s murder. She sounded… shaken.”
Griff and Lily exchanged a quick look. “Put it through to the landline,” Griff said, already moving toward the desk in the corner. Jemma gave a nod and stepped out.
The phone rang a second later, and Griff picked up and hit speaker. “This is Deputy Griff Abrams. I’ve got Deputy Lily Oliver with me. You’re on speaker. Who am I speaking with?”
“I’m Sharon Bennett.” The woman’s voice was shaky, thick with nerves. And grief. “I… I worked for Everett Langston for six years. Office assistant. Left in 2012.”
Griff didn’t interrupt. He could hear the strain in her words. She was pushing herself to make the call.
“I heard about Catherine,” she continued. “I saw it on the news this morning. I keep thinking maybe I should’ve said something years ago. But it didn’t seem like it mattered then. Or maybe I just didn’t want to get involved.”
Lily stepped closer, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the phone as if she could pull the truth out of it faster.
“I don’t know who killed her,” Sharon went on, “but I do know this. Fifteen years ago, when that girl, Hannah Cole, was killed, Everett left the office unexpectedly. I remember he was agitated. Maybe scared. It was near closing time, but he had a supplier coming in for a late meeting, and he still just left, told me to reschedule the meeting.”
Griff felt Lily go still beside him.
“The following day,” Sharon added, “he asked me to cover for him. Said if anyone asked, I should say he was meeting with a confidential client. Someone big. That it was a private deal he didn’t want public. I figured it was another affair. I mean… we all knew. Everett wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Griff’s jaw tightened, and he leaned in. “Sharon, has anyone else ever asked you about that night?”
“No,” she said. “Not until now. I thought the police had an airtight case. That they didn’t need anything from me.”
Griff met Lily’s eyes, the weight of the moment settling in. Everett’s alibi, such as it was, just crumbled. He hadn’t been working late. He hadn’t been with Catherine. He hadn’t been anywhere anyone could verify.
Fifteen years ago, he vanished for several hours on the night of Hannah’s murder.
And now Catherine was dead, too.
Griff leaned in toward the speaker, keeping his tone steady and reassuring. “Sharon, I’d like you to come in and make an official statement when you’re able. Doesn’t have to be today, but sooner is better.”
There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a shaky inhale.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked quietly.
Griff didn’t hesitate. “No, you’re not.”
He glanced at Lily, who gave a nod of agreement. Even if this could be construed as withholding information or obstructing back then, fifteen years was a long time. In his mind, Sharon had been scared, not complicit. And legally, the statute of limitations had already done its work.
For her, anyway.
But not for Everett.
There was no statute of limitations on murder.
“Thank you for telling us,” Griff added. “This helps more than you know.”
“I’ll come by this afternoon,” Sharon said, her voice still fragile but more resolute. “I’ll bring anything I can remember.”
“We’ll be here,” he said, then ended the call.
The room went quiet again. He looked at Lily, who was already walking back toward the evidence board.
“One more lie down,” she said.
“And one alibi gone,” Griff replied.
And Everett Langston had just climbed higher on their suspect list.
The knock at the door came quick and sharp. Griff looked up from the board just as Hallie pushed it open.
“Rhett just got here,” she said. “Brought his lawyer. I’ve got them waiting in interview room one.”
Lily straightened beside the board, shoulders rolling back like a switch had flipped. Game face on.
Hallie didn’t stop there. “Also, we found Catherine’s car. Parked off a trail not far from where her body was discovered. Tucked in behind a tree line.”
Griff frowned. “So she might’ve driven to the scene willingly.”
“Looks that way,” Hallie said. “We’re having it processed now.”
Lily crossed her arms, brow furrowed. “Still no sign of her phone?”
“No,” Hallie confirmed. “But the phone company turned over her call records. Catherine received a call about an hour before her estimated time of death. Number’s a burner. Untraceable.”
Griff cursed under his breath. “So someone lured her out there.”
“That’s our working theory,” Hallie agreed. “And it doesn’t clear Everett. He’s got the resources, and the motive, to get a burner and make that call.”
Griff nodded. “We’ll work that angle.”
Hallie stepped back, giving them room. “Good. I’ll leave you to it.”
She shut the door behind her, and Griff looked at Lily. “Time to see how many lies Rhett’s lawyer is going to let him tell,” he muttered.
Griff grabbed the folder from the edge of the desk, and they went down the hall to the wing that housed the interview room. They stepped in together, the air inside as tight and sharp as the expressions waiting for them.
Rhett sat stiffly at the table, arms crossed, his jaw locked in a permanent clench. His suit looked a size too small and ten years out of date. Across from him sat his attorney—Valerie Pike.
Griff had seen her in court before. Sharp. Ice-veined. Not easily rattled. Today, she wore a navy suit, her dark hair pulled back into a precise knot. Her eyes flicked toward him with polite disdain.
Lily moved to the corner of the table and turned on the recorder. Her voice was even as she read the standard case information into the log. Names, date, time, and case number.
When she finished, Griff pulled out a chair but remained standing as he met Rhett’s glare dead-on. “Before we begin, I’m going to read you your Miranda rights.”
Rhett’s lip curled like Griff had spit on his shoes. “Are you serious?”
Griff didn’t flinch. “Dead serious.”
He recited the rights, watching the muscle twitch in Rhett’s jaw. As soon as the recorder clicked to log the end of the Miranda warning, Valerie Pike leaned forward, her voice slicing through the tension like a scalpel.
“This is harassment,” she said smoothly. “You’re targeting a decorated former officer who served this department for years.”
Griff didn’t blink. “We’re questioning a man tied to two homicide investigations,” Griff said, then reached into the folder and pulled out the document they’d just uncovered. He slid the page across the table to Rhett, letting it rest between him and his attorney.
Rhett stared at it—and cursed under his breath.
Griff didn’t give him time to recover. “Fifteen years’ worth of monthly payments. Two thousand dollars a month. You want to explain that, Hale?”
Valerie Pike’s brow furrowed, and she leaned in quickly, whispering something sharp in Rhett’s ear. It was clear from her reaction that this, this steady flow of money, was not something she’d been briefed on.
But Rhett shook his head, nudged her hand away, and spoke before she could stop him. “I was a consultant,” he muttered. “Security.”
Griff raised an eyebrow. “Two thousand a month. For fifteen years. That’s what—three hundred and sixty grand? Not a bad haul. So what exactly were you doing for that kind of money?”
Rhett’s eyes narrowed. “Vetting clients. Running background checks. That sort of thing. And when she traveled, I’d provide personal security.”
Lily didn’t say a word, but Griff saw the shift in her posture, the subtle way her jaw tightened. She didn’t believe it either.
Neither did he.
“You were retired. Officially off the force,” Griff said. “You mean to tell me Catherine Langston, CEO of multiple companies, didn’t have a professional security firm on retainer? She needed you?”
Rhett’s silence was answer enough. The lie sat on the table between them, as obvious as the paper that proved it.
Griff didn’t need to look at Lily to know she was winding up. Her voice was smooth, clipped, and cool as polished steel.