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‘Why were yourappointments so infrequent?’ Ella spoke up.
‘Rebekah got me themeds I needed. Been taking them religiously. Haven't found myself in troublesince.’ His arms folded across his chest, creating a barrier that spoke volumesabout his desire to maintain control, to assert that he was not the man he oncemight have been.
‘Changed man, huh?’Ella responded, her skepticism kept in check by the professional mask she wore.The mask was necessary; it was armor against the world and against the creepingdoubts that each dead end brought with it.
‘Completely,’ Franksaid. 'But hold up, what exactly is the crime here? What are you investigating?Is Rebekah okay?'
Ella studied Frankclosely. His grin, broad and genuine, seemed to slice through the stale gymair, yet there was a tension in his shoulders, a defensive set to his posturethat suggested layers beneath the surface bravado. His laughter, rich andunguarded, filled the space between them, but Ella's instincts hummed with theawareness that laughter could also be a shield.
'No. Rebekah andanother therapist were both killed recently.'
The color drained fromFrank's face as if someone had pulled the plug on his vitality. His toweringform, once seeming to dominate the space with ease, suddenly dissolved into aportrait of vulnerability. Ella looked for any signs of deceit, any signs ofbad acting.
But all she saw wasgenuine grief.
She bit her lip,praying that it was psychopathic traits doing the hard work for him.
But she was beginningto doubt that Frank Harlowe had anything to do with these murders.
'Killed? Rebekah? Areyou sure?' he asked.
'Yes. I'm sorry to bethe one to tell you.'
Frank took a step backand used the mirrored wall behind him for leverage. He exhaled a deep breathand shoved the sweat off his forehead. 'Jeez. Well, I'm really sorry to hearthat. Rebekah was golden. Why would someone hurt her?'
'Where were youyesterday afternoon and Friday?' Ripley asked. Ella kept a close eye on hismicrosignals; twitching nostrils, abrupt leg movements, barriers made of limbs.
‘Here. Training, likeevery day. Ask anyone.' He gestured broadly to encompass the entire space.'Check the CCTV if you need proof. But I promise you, I haven't seen Rebekahfor ages, and I'd never hurt her.'
Ella looked over atRipley, whose expression mimicked Ella's diminishing spirit. She exhaledslowly, not out of relief but resignation. It was becoming a familiarroutine—the hope of a lead followed by the inevitable slump when it turned tonothing. As an agent, she was trained to chase down facts, to piece togetherthe scattered shards of evidence. But this time, all she could see was thereflection of another blind alley staring back at her.
‘Alright,’ Ella said.'We will need to check them.'
Frank's genuine shockand dismay, mirrored in the slump of his once imposing figure against the wall,left little room for doubt in Ella's mind. Ten minutes ago, she could easilyhave pictured Frank dismantling two women with his bare hands. Now, she couldbarely imagine him swatting a fly. Ripley nudged her in the shoulder and gaveher the nod. The universal signal that their interview was coming to a close.
'By the way,' Ripleysaid, 'Probably best to drop that line about pain teaching you things. The guywho said it isn't exactly a hero.'
Frank composedhimself, shook off his fatigue. 'Really? Who said it?'
'Old friend of minenamed Manson. We're going to stick around here until we've confirmed youralibi, alright?' she said.
Frank nodded. ‘Beforeyou go. Rebekah... did she suffer?’
Ella paused, reluctantto divulge the horrors she knew well, yet compelled by the raw need in Frank'seyes. Ella went to give a response, but Ripley placed a hand on her arm.
'I knew an old sailoronce,' Ripley said. 'Fell overboard. Got tangled in the sails. They pulled himout, but it took him five minutes to cough. He said it was like going home.When you read about Rebekah's death in the news, just remember that.'
Ella watched theexchange, the disappointment within her growing, out of both frustration withthe case and from the raw human emotions that these moments unearthed. Thereality that their presence often heralded sorrow, that the answers they soughtsometimes brought little solace to those left behind.
'Come on, Dark, Let'sgo. Thank you for your time, Mr. Harlowe.'
With a final nod atFrank, Ella turned and followed Ripley back down the staircase. Thedisappointment was a familiar ache, a silent companion in her line of work, buttoday it felt heavier than ever.
She had a hundredquestions running through her head, but the one plaguing her the most was - whycouldn't she figure this killer out?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ella tapped animpatient rhythm on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the gym's front door.They had to wait for officers to arrive to check Frank Harlowe’s alibi, andElla wasn’t about to leave a potential suspect unwatched.
