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Ella took a step back and let thecomment linger. She willed Puder to carry on.
'My emotions, Puder spat.'Apparently, I have trouble regulating them.'
Like a child, Ellathought silently, noting the paradox of his admission—an adult man unable totemper his own fury. Something about this insight lodged itself in the back ofher mind, beckoning for further contemplation, but she shelved it for laterexamination. ‘Were you scheduled to see Rebekah yesterday afternoon?’
The question hung in the airbetween them, a noose tightening with each silent second. Then, as if a switchhad been flipped, Puder's contemptuous facade shattered. His fist collided withthe steel bars, the sound resonating through the otherwise hushed corridor. ‘Itold you, I'm done with her,’ he barked, popping a vein on his forehead. ‘Waslooking for someone new. Someone better.’
Ella absorbed the brunt of his ragefrom behind the safety of the barrier. The hot sting of his anger swirledaround her, yet she waded through it, searching for the elusive strand oftruth. Could this vehement denial be the mask of a guilty man, or the genuinefrustration of the falsely accused?
'New therapist, huh?' she said. 'Nofuture appointments, then. Nothing that ties you to either victim at the timeof their deaths?'
'Might help if I knew when thesewomen were killed, wouldn't it?'
Ella silently cursed. She'd triedto tangle Puder up with information that wasn't public knowledge.
No luck.
'Midday yesterday. Midday lastFriday.'
'Not guilty,' Puder snarled.'Nothing to do with me.'
Ella took a step back, not out offear, but to fully absorb the sight before her—a man caged by more than justthe confines of law, ensnared by his own volatile nature.
‘Very well, Mr. Puder,’ Ellareplied, her voice steady, betraying none of the disquiet that simmered beneathher calm exterior. She made a mental note of his reaction. She reminded herselfthat with suspects like this, emotion could easily cloud judgment. Every fiberof her being strained to sift through the chaotic display of fury for thereality of the situation. Daniel Puder was either the most convincing innocentman she'd ever interrogated, or he was a murderer whose temper had finally ledhim to kill.
And it was up to her to decidewhich.
The steely echo of footstepsheralded an interruption, and Ella’s focus snapped from the man before her tothe figure appearing in the corridor. Ripley strode towards them with apurposeful gait, her presence slicing through the tense air like a scalpel.Puder's face twisted further into a snarl, clear disdain for another playerentering his arena.
‘You're in luck, Puder,’ Ripleyannounced.
'What? This doesn't feel like luckto me.' Puder barked.
Ella turned, her confusionmirroring Puder’s irritation. Her eyes locked on the objects clutched inRipley's hand, her mind whirring to make sense of the sudden arrival.
'Got something you might want tosee,' Ripley said, extending Ella a wad of flimsy cards, each one as limp as awell-used bookmark. 'Officers just retrieved these from Puder's workplace.'
'What are they?'
'They're bad news for us. Good newsfor Bruce Banner in here.'
Ella flipped through them. Thecardstock was warm from Ripley's firm hold, yet the information printed uponthem anchored Ella's heart to her gut. She scanned the dates first—yesterdayand last Friday.
The days when Donna Shepherd andRebekah Holden drew their final breaths.
Her fingers traced the timestamps,each one a silent harbinger of the truth they were about to unveil. The inkednumbers didn't waver, didn't flinch under her scrutiny. They simply stoodthere, bold and unapologetic, marking Puder's presence elsewhere during thosecritical windows of time.
‘Damn it,’ Ella murmured under herbreath. The reality of the situation settled into her gut, heavy andundeniable.
Ripley turned to Puder and said,‘Looks like you were punching the clock when our victims were punched out forgood.'
Puder's simmering rage boiled overat the insinuation, his fists colliding with the bars once more, the metallicclang resonating with his fury.
‘Of course, I was!’ he spat. ‘Itold you, I got nothing to do with this!’
Ella held the clock cards closer,as if proximity could somehow change what they revealed. It couldn't. Theevidence was clear, exonerating the man who seemed every bit the killer indemeanor, yet now appeared anything but in fact.
She let out a slow exhale, notquite a sigh but a release of pent-up pressure. A lead, a strong suspect, andnow, a dead end.
