Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Foster got up, pacing around the room as they were asking the questions. When he sat down, he dragged his chair and sat to Sheppard’s right side. Since the table sat against the far wall, this had the effect of hemming Sheppard in. If he wanted to leave now, he’d have to ask Foster to move.

“I don’t like that,” Jensen muttered. “The suspect looks trapped. A good lawyer could claim that by this point, the suspect felt he was being held.”

“It’s a completely standard interrogation technique,” Tatum said casually. “We use it all the time in the bureau. There, see how he’s pointing out the pictures? We can just say he sat there to be closer to the witness.”

Jensen didn’t answer, but he seemed at least momentarily reassured.

“I want to show you some footage from the Digging Killer’s videos.” Lyons unzipped the laptop bag.

“Okay,” Sheppard said.

Tatum watched the man intently as Lyons opened her laptop and started the first video. Nicole Medina, screaming for help. Sheppard was clearly mesmerized. He stared at the screen, his mouth ajar.

“He definitely looks excited by this clip,” Jensen said.

They let the video play for several minutes. Sheppard’s eyes didn’t budge from the screen.

“Do you know who that is?” Lyons asked.

He glanced at her, then back at the screen. “The other victim.”

“Had you seen this video before?”

“No. Just images in articles.”

She kept asking him questions about Nicole Medina. He was vague, his answers short. He didn’t play dumb, didn’t act as if he didn’t know who that was. His eyes kept going back to the monitor.

“I think this is our guy,” Tatum said.

“I don’t know,” Zoe muttered. “I don’t think his response fits.”

“Why not?” Tatum asked. “He looks almost excited by it. Isn’t it what you were expecting?”

“The killer has the two videos at home. Probably the full videos. I’m willing to bet he’s watched them dozens of times. He probably has favorite segments. Does this guy look like he’s watched the video dozens of times? Look at him. He’s completely enthralled.”

“Maybe it’s just really good stuff. Every time he watches it, it’s as exciting as the first.”

Zoe glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “If that was the case, he wouldn’t need to kill more girls. This is the last reaction I would have expected from the killer. I thought he’d act as if he finds it abhorrent. Or maybe he’d watch a few seconds, cool and detached. But this?” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

A few minutes went by. Lyons let the video run. The sounds it emitted, accompanied by the mild echo of the monitor room’s sound system, were getting on Tatum’s nerves.

“Okay, I think it’s my turn.” He grabbed an earpiece and plugged it in his ear.

He stepped out from the monitor room, blinking at the sudden harsh light outside. He took a moment to get used to it. He wouldn’t be very imposing if he barged into the interrogation room blinking like a frog in a hailstorm. After a second, he pushed open the door to the interrogation room.

The room smelled of sweat. This was something they couldn’t have known in the monitor room. Sheppard was sweating profusely. All eyes in the room went to Tatum.

“Mr. Sheppard,” he said. “I’m Agent Gray, from the FBI. I’ll join in for the rest of this session.”

“Uh . . . okay. Sure.”

Tatum leaned against the wall and folded his arms. That was the extent of his job there. To stand by the door, blocking the way out, a federal agent.

To make the pressure rise even further.

Foster and Lyons resumed the questioning. Had Sheppard ever seen Nicole Medina before? Had he seen her with the man who’d been with Maribel Howe? Was he sure? More photos were spread on the table, whose surface was hardly visible by now. Foster and Lyons were doing their job splendidly.

“Mr. Sheppard,” Foster suddenly said. “Can you tell us where you were on August twelfth at eight p.m.?”

This had been another of Zoe’s ideas. The date was insignificant. None of the girls had disappeared on that date. As far as they knew, nothing had happened then. Zoe theorized the killer would have prepared an alibi for the nights of the kidnappings, but he would be caught unprepared if asked about a different date. It would make him wonder what they had. It would unbalance him.

And it did.

“Uh . . . what? When? I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“It ties in to your testimony,” Lyons said smoothly. “To this guy you saw. So where were you?”

“I . . . I would have to check. Am . . . am I a suspect?” His eyes shifted, glancing at Tatum, then back at Lyons.

“Of course not,” Lyons said. “You’re just here to help.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you remember what you did that night?”

He looked around him frantically.

“I don’t like this,” Jensen’s voice buzzed in Tatum’s ear. “You’re asking him direct questions, Foster. I want him Mirandized. I don’t want another Whitfield incident.”

“No need,” Zoe’s voice sounded in the background. “They’re asking about an unrelated date. We agreed on it beforehand.”

“I . . . think I was home,” Sheppard said.

“Can anyone corroborate that?” Foster asked.

“A skilled lawyer could make the entire footage from this interrogation inadmissible!” Jensen sounded hysterical. “Foster, Mirandize him, now!”

“You’re being an idiot!” Zoe snapped sharply. “There’s absolutely no need to act like a—”

The feed was cut as Jensen presumably removed his finger from the mic’s button. Tatum cursed inwardly, realizing their mistake. When Tatum had entered the interrogation room, he’d increased the pressure on the suspect. But he’d also left Jensen alone with Zoe. And if there was something she absolutely couldn’t do, it was handle someone like the lieutenant.

“Uh . . . I think maybe I was alone . . . no, hang on.” Sheppard licked his lips. In the background, Nicole Medina let out a long desperate moan. His eyes shifted to the screen, then to Tatum. He seemed like a cornered animal. A cornered animal that was about to make a mistake.

The door to the interrogation room flew open, and Jensen strode inside, brandishing a Miranda slip.

“Mr. Sheppard,” he piped. “Before you go any further, would you mind signing this? It’s just a bit of bureaucracy. It states that you know your rights. That you have the right to an attorney and that anything you say can be used against you in the court of law. You know, all that stuff from the movies.”

He put the paper on the table, over Maribel Howe’s picture, and smiled.

Sheppard’s eyes went to the Miranda slip. He frowned.

“Why would I need to sign this?” he asked. “I just came to help.”

“It’s really just procedure,” Jensen murmured.

Every moment in the interrogation was a careful thread, weaving the web tighter around Alfred Sheppard. Each subtle move tightened the trap, making it harder for him to get out safely. And Jensen had collapsed this carefully laid snare with one bumbling, heavy-handed move.

“Am I under arrest?” Sheppard asked.

Foster sighed. “No, Mr. Sheppard. You’re just here to help.”

“Well, then I think I gave you all that I can. It’s getting late. I really need to go home now.”

“I was surprised to get your phone call,” Joseph told Zoe after they’d ordered dinner. “I thought you were back home with your sister by now.”

They were sitting at the restaurant where they’d met for the first time. Zoe had ordered the same steak, and her stomach made a little rumble when she thought of it. “I was delayed. I’ll probably fly back on Tuesday.”