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Fiona nodded as if she understood implicitly. “I get it. You’re out there trying to make some side cash. Nothing nefarious about giving a boat ride to a consensual party. It got out of hand and you got stuck doing Mr. Swain’s dirty work. But who wanted Swain’s activities known to us? Who sent you to confess? We only want to find Ahnah Hemmingway, Ivy Leech, Iris Benington, Susan Mayer, Catherine Overly and Heather Wade. We want justice for Amy-Rose Rydell, Lily Hayes and Dahlia Anderson. You can make a wrong right.”
He shifted in his chair, listening to Fiona catalog the women missing who had flowers in their names. They couldn’t say concretely that the killer had these women, but it was a solid deduction.
“Did you ever give rides to any of these women?” She laid out the photos of the missing women. “You recognize their names or faces?”
“Just Ahnah Hemmingway.”
“What else can you tell us?” she asked.
Ty remained still—Skipper wasn’t responding to him like Fiona. She had a soothing way with her voice when she wanted to; when she didn’t, she could use it to take someone to the grave.
“I don’t think someone wanted you to get into trouble, Ethan. Someone knew you couldn’t be charged with accessory after the fact because there’s no proof a crime was committed, and it’s clear we’ll never find Jenny Davis if you dumped her in the water. Seems to me someone wanted Mr. Swain in hot water. Is that person you? Are you seeking revenge for what he made you do? Or for something else?”
“Me? No.” He violently shook his head. “He paid me real good. Enough I could quit my day job if I didn’t love it so much. But I love the water. Love fishin’.”
“Then why did you come forward? Who are you afraid of?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I got a message from a random number on WhatsApp. Said to go to the sheriff and tell what Swain asked me to do and to make sure the SCU team knew. And not to worry about prison or an arrest. If I did it, I’d get paid a hundred grand.”
“Did you get paid?” Ty asked.
“I did. It was in a brand-new white cardboard box on my boat when I got out of this place. Crisp new bills.”
“Why did you believe this random message?”
“Dude knew the details. He knew where I dumped her. Must have been out that night fishing or something. I didn’t see him, but if he was in the marsh in a canoe or kayak, I wouldn’t have.”
WhatsApp had strict policies. They didn’t store data for law enforcement and even had that information on their website. “Did you delete your account with them?”
“He told me to, so I did.”
Ty swore under his breath. If the accounts had been deleted with the company and their server, then the message was gone. “Can you tell us exactly where you dumped the body?”
“About twenty miles south of the Swain property. Just weighted her down with concrete blocks and dumped her over. But if you try to arrest me again, I’ll recant.”
If he thought he could, then Ty would let him think it. Ty ran his palm across his face. “Would it be common for someone to be on a boat that far out at night?”
“Sure. Lots of reasons. Fishing, hanging out, being with a woman, stargazing... I can go on.”
Maybe the killer had known about Patrick Swain’s little side gig and had been biding his time watching, waiting for something like this to use in some grand scheme.
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Their killer crafted and planned this elaborate show to bring Ty to the Outer Banks. He clearly had enormous amounts of patience. What was in it for him, though? What benefit would it be to him to get Patrick Swain in trouble or on their radar? Maybe he couldn’t care less. If he wanted to send Ty on a wild-goose chase simply because he could, then he’d accomplished his mission. Ty wasn’t ruling out the idea Patrick Swain himself might be toying with him simply because he could. Face-to-face and Ty none the wiser.
“Thank you for being honest, Mr. Lantrip,” Fi said.
Nothing more here for them.
They left the office and headed back to the beach house. Ty told Fiona his thoughts. “What do you think?”
“That you’re right. This guy has been plotting for a long time. Fantasizing over it.”
Ty’s blood froze. “Fi, could this be his fantasy? Could Patrick Swain be orchestrating this whole thing for someone—or maybe it’s his fantasy? To be brought in for murder with no way to be charged or tried? His fantasy is getting away with murder and revenge on me. But I don’t know him.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know and hate you.”
“Maybe I’ll have more information tomorrow after taking a stab at Rand Granger. He can ignore my calls but he can’t ignore me.”
“How do you feel about that? Seeing him?”
