from his face, leaving his skin a ghostly
shade of gray. “Not like that, though. Fuck, no one
deserves what the Slasherazzi is doing to people. I only
wanted him to lose his job, not to end up in the damn
morgue.”
“I’m not saying you did this,” Powell said, slouching
back in his seat. “I just want to understand your relationship with the victim. The killer could be someone
like you…someone who felt bullied by him.”
“Then you’ll have a long list of suspects,” Rick
replied. “Fernando pissed off a lot of people.”
I turned away, tuning out the rest of the conversation.
The interview wasn’t going to give us any useful
information, just a regurgitation of everything we’d
already surmised. Marshall glanced at me over her
shoulder.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That he’s not our guy.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We’ve already established that our guy moved most
of the bodies after he killed them, so unless Michaels has a
partner, he’d have trouble hauling the victims to the dump
sites after he’s done with them. Number five was in the
middle of a park, so there’s no way he could have driven a
car there.”
“The knife wounds show two different personalities,”
Marshall replied. “What if we’re not looking at a
borderline personality, but two different people?” I pulled up a seat and cupped my chin in one hand.
“It’s possible, I guess. I still don’t think Michaels has
anything to do with it, though. Did you see his reaction
when he caught on? You can’t fake that.”
“Unless he was reacting to the fact that we were on to
him. But then I imagine our UnSub would have realized
what was happening long before then. Not leaving any
evidence like he does…that takes some brains, and
forensics knowledge. Michaels certainly seems to have
that. I checked over his records, and he aced college with
a GPA of 4.0. Criminology, psychology and even some
minors in forensics.”
“I guess that puts me on the list of suspects as well,” I
replied, though Michaels’ academic record trumped my
3.8. “I still don’t think it’s him, though.”
“Me either, but maybe Agent Powell can still get some
useful insight from him. Oh, and don’t worry, you’re on
my list too.”
I frowned and scratched at the back of my head. “If
that’s so, why bother telling me your theories?” Marshall smiled and walked slowly past me to the
door. “Maybe that’s a part of my test.” She stepped
outside, and the door swung shut behind her, plunging the
room into darkness once more. I sighed and turned back to
the interview room. Whatever was going on in that agent’s
head, it sure went straight over mine.
Chapter Eleven
I crouched low, hiding myself behind a patch of undergrowth as a middle-aged man opened the doorway of his cabin to investigate the jagged rock thrown at his door. The orange glow of a lantern that hung from the porch glinted off his shotgun.
“Who’s there?” he shouted, aiming into the darkness.
That voice. More than two decades on and it still brought back awful memories. I screwed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, steeling myself to control the burning maelstrom of emotions that ran hot through my veins with every loud thud of my heart.
The man ventured only a few feet from the steps of his abode, then paused, squinting his eyes as he scanned the surrounding area. “I know you’re out there!”
My pulse calmed, I stood slowly and inched out from my hiding spot. I held my hands high, and he turned in my direction, leaving me to stare down the bottomless barrel that could easily have taken off my head.
“Don’t shoot.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? What’re you doing on my land?”
“Are you David Ashcroft?” I asked.
He sneered and took a step forward, inclining his head toward the shotgun. “I’m asking the questions here,” he replied. “Now, who are you?”
I chuckled quietly, meeting his eyes and gazing straight into them without
shade of gray. “Not like that, though. Fuck, no one
deserves what the Slasherazzi is doing to people. I only
wanted him to lose his job, not to end up in the damn
morgue.”
“I’m not saying you did this,” Powell said, slouching
back in his seat. “I just want to understand your relationship with the victim. The killer could be someone
like you…someone who felt bullied by him.”
“Then you’ll have a long list of suspects,” Rick
replied. “Fernando pissed off a lot of people.”
I turned away, tuning out the rest of the conversation.
The interview wasn’t going to give us any useful
information, just a regurgitation of everything we’d
already surmised. Marshall glanced at me over her
shoulder.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That he’s not our guy.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We’ve already established that our guy moved most
of the bodies after he killed them, so unless Michaels has a
partner, he’d have trouble hauling the victims to the dump
sites after he’s done with them. Number five was in the
middle of a park, so there’s no way he could have driven a
car there.”
“The knife wounds show two different personalities,”
Marshall replied. “What if we’re not looking at a
borderline personality, but two different people?” I pulled up a seat and cupped my chin in one hand.
“It’s possible, I guess. I still don’t think Michaels has
anything to do with it, though. Did you see his reaction
when he caught on? You can’t fake that.”
“Unless he was reacting to the fact that we were on to
him. But then I imagine our UnSub would have realized
what was happening long before then. Not leaving any
evidence like he does…that takes some brains, and
forensics knowledge. Michaels certainly seems to have
that. I checked over his records, and he aced college with
a GPA of 4.0. Criminology, psychology and even some
minors in forensics.”
“I guess that puts me on the list of suspects as well,” I
replied, though Michaels’ academic record trumped my
3.8. “I still don’t think it’s him, though.”
“Me either, but maybe Agent Powell can still get some
useful insight from him. Oh, and don’t worry, you’re on
my list too.”
I frowned and scratched at the back of my head. “If
that’s so, why bother telling me your theories?” Marshall smiled and walked slowly past me to the
door. “Maybe that’s a part of my test.” She stepped
outside, and the door swung shut behind her, plunging the
room into darkness once more. I sighed and turned back to
the interview room. Whatever was going on in that agent’s
head, it sure went straight over mine.
Chapter Eleven
I crouched low, hiding myself behind a patch of undergrowth as a middle-aged man opened the doorway of his cabin to investigate the jagged rock thrown at his door. The orange glow of a lantern that hung from the porch glinted off his shotgun.
“Who’s there?” he shouted, aiming into the darkness.
That voice. More than two decades on and it still brought back awful memories. I screwed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, steeling myself to control the burning maelstrom of emotions that ran hot through my veins with every loud thud of my heart.
The man ventured only a few feet from the steps of his abode, then paused, squinting his eyes as he scanned the surrounding area. “I know you’re out there!”
My pulse calmed, I stood slowly and inched out from my hiding spot. I held my hands high, and he turned in my direction, leaving me to stare down the bottomless barrel that could easily have taken off my head.
“Don’t shoot.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? What’re you doing on my land?”
“Are you David Ashcroft?” I asked.
He sneered and took a step forward, inclining his head toward the shotgun. “I’m asking the questions here,” he replied. “Now, who are you?”
I chuckled quietly, meeting his eyes and gazing straight into them without
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