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“She told me to.”
“You helped make her who she was then.” She tossed out the sentiment, building on one of his earlier statements, tagging on a smile in an effort to lure his pride.
“I don’t know about that. Maybe I helped.”
Modest rejection, but it struck Amanda as shallow. And if anyone was helping anyone, it was the other way around. Kristopher Black had told them Sheldon sought advice from Felicity on his own book idea. “You said she lived in Triangle?”
“Yes. In a nice, historical two-stor—” He stopped talking and snapped his mouth shut.
Amanda tensed. “By all means, continue.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
“Huh. See, her home—that ‘nice, historical two-story’—is right where we found her body.” She took a photo of Felicity’s face, as taken at the crime scene, out of the folder and slapped it onto the table. Good Cop was gone.
“No!” Sheldon cried out, and tears pooled in his eyes but didn’t fall.
“How does it make you feel seeing her like that?” Amanda resisted the urge to say, faced with your own work. There was a reason Sheldon ran, and it was obviously dark enough he hadn’t wanted to tell them why.
“Heartbroken… devastated.” He rubbed his cheeks with the back of one hand, while the other continued to hold the image of Felicity’s lifeless face.
Amanda wasn’t buying his bereavement act. If the picture was so upsetting, why did he keep hold of it? An innocent person wouldn’t look a second longer than necessary. She’d had suspects flip pictures of victims over and push them back across the table to her. “Is there something else you want to get off your chest, Mr. Lowe?”
“About?” His voice was hesitant.
“Her death. Is it why you ran from us when we wanted to talk to you about Felicity Kelley?” She purposely didn’t say murder, not wanting to spook him into silence. To catch this gopher, she had to employ a tactful strategy.
He lowered the photograph but continued to stare at it.
She snapped her fingers, and he flinched and dropped the picture. “Did you hurt her, Mr. Lowe? Even by accident? You didn’t mean to do it…” It took all her acting ability and patience to pull this off. There certainly had been nothing accidental about Felicity’s murder scene. It had clearly been premeditated.
“No, no, I’d never harm a hair on her head.” He ran his hand over the photo as if caressing Felicity’s face. “Who did this to her?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.” She let that statement sit, expecting he’d get the implication that she and Trent deemed him responsible.
Sheldon remained silent and shook his head repeatedly.
He was clearly uncomfortable, but she had to figure out if it was for the reason they suspected. “What were you doing this past Tuesday between five thirty PM and midnight?”
“I was…” He swallowed roughly, his Adam’s apple temporarily bulging.
“It’s all right, you can talk to us,” Trent prompted, stepping in and taking position as Good Cop. “Just tell us whatever you can remember.”
Sheldon traced a finger around the photo where it sat on the table. His gaze was set on the image. “I was watching her.”
Goosebumps sprouted down Amanda’s arms. He knew where she lived, as he’d confessed just moments ago. Had he watched her house and then killed her? “From where?” she asked, calmly, levelly, impressed by her ability to remain cool, given the circumstances.
“I should probably get a lawyer.”
“No need for that,” Amanda said. “We’re just talking.” Let him think that anyway… Though the cuffs and their conversation should have made the reason for their interest in him abundantly clear. Their chief concern wasn’t the fact he led a car chase through the streets of Woodbridge onto the highway.
“It won’t look good for me… What I have to say next.” He sniffled and rubbed a finger under his nose.
“As my partner said, you can talk to us.” Amanda’s tolerance for this man was quickly waning. He was twitchy and certainly looked guilty enough. And if Sheldon Lowe did kill Felicity, she wanted to lock him up as soon as possible. He didn’t deserve another second as a free man.
“Sometimes, I sneak into her backyard.” He spoke quietly, almost in a near whisper as if it made his stalking less creepy.
She stuffed down her discomfort, focused on the job. Whatever was necessary to get this guy to talk. “What would you do there?”
