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'How do we know forsure?'
‘Because he's at theprecinct right now, asking to talk to whoever's leading the investigation.’
A surge of shock racedthrough Ella. She hadn't expected that.
'What? Lawler's at theprecinct?'
'The chief is sittingwith him right now, but he won't say anything.'
‘Do you think...’ Ellapaused, grappling with the implications. ‘Is he there to confess?’
‘We won't know untilwe get there.’ Ripley was already heading back to the car.
Ella followed, herthoughts a whirlwind. The game had shifted once again, and as much as shewanted to pry open the doors of Chester Lawler's home, the truth might bewaiting for them elsewhere. Ella slid into the passenger seat, buckling up asRipley fired up the engine. They pulled away from Rochelle Street, the housereceding into the darkness behind them, its mysteries left unspoken for now.
***
Ella swung open theprecinct door with a clamor that cut through the murmurs of duty officers anddetectives hunched over their desks. Her boots thudded against the linoleumfloor, her strides eating up the distance to the waiting area. The air wasstagnant with the scent of stale coffee and printer ink.
Her eyes quickly foundher target. A young man sat perched on the edge of a chair designed fordiscomfort, its metal frame cold and uninviting. His leg jittered rapidly in asilent metronome of anxiety. Chester Lawler looked up as she approached, hisface pale, his wavy brown hair concealing his forehead. She recognized himimmediately.
‘Chester Lawler?’Ella's voice was firm as she towered over him.
He nodded, the motionsharp, an involuntary twitch. ‘Yes, that's me. I'm Chester.’
‘Why are you here?’She watched him closely, every flicker of his expression, each micro-movementbetrayed more than his words ever could.
Chester swallowedhard, his Adam's apple bobbing. ‘I heard about Penelope Olson,’ he said, eachword laced with a tremble.
Ripley came up frombehind. 'Heard about?'
'Yes. I know she'sdead.'
'How do you knowthat?'
'A friend saw you guysoutside her office. Word moves fast.'
'I'm sure it does,'Ella said.
‘And I know who killedher,' Chester finished.
Ella's pulsequickened, the shock of his declaration sending a surge of adrenaline throughher veins. She glanced back at Ripley, who had closed the distance and blockedany chance of Chester making a quick exit.
‘You know who killedher? Who?’ Ella asked.
‘Paul Olson,’ Chesterblurted out, the name falling from his lips like a heavy stone into stillwater. ‘Penelope's husband.’
His gaze clungdesperately to Ella's, seeking some kind of absolution in her reaction. ButElla could only feel the whirlwind of implications spinning around them, eachpotential lead branching out like cracks in a shattered mirror.
Ella circled him, theyoung man's form nearly dwarfing in the chair as if trying to disappear intoits threadbare cushion. The precinct buzzed around them, a hive of murmuredconversations and clattering keyboards, yet the air between Ella and this suspectedlover of the deceased felt vacuum-sealed.
‘Penelope's husband?’she began. ‘Why would he do that?'
‘Because he's jealous.He hated what me and Penelope had,’ Chester responded, a quiver in his voice.’
‘And what exactly didyou have, Chester?’ Ella prompted, skepticism laced through her words likebarbed wire. ‘Were you and Penelope still... together?’
‘No,’ he admitted,gaze dropping to his hands, which knotted together in a display of distress.‘She cut me off. Completely. Months ago.’
