‘We’ll see about that.’Ella pressed her knee into his spine, then reached behind her and pulled out her handcuffs.She'd left her gun in the car, but she never went anywhere without these.‘Then why were you watching us?Why'd you run?’
‘I can explain.Let me explain.’
Ella snapped the cuffs around his wrists, then stood.She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.
‘Save it for the interrogation room’ she said.‘You’re coming with me.’
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Ella lowered the temperature in the interrogation room to the coldest setting to ensure that the man on the other side of the table was uncomfortable enough to spill every last detail.Discomfort was a great motivator, Ella knew, and it reminded the suspect that they were no longer in control of their environment.This as-yet-nameless suspect had so far said nothing; they’d made the whole journey back in complete silence, which was always for the best considering police could only submit taped testimonies into evidence.Abrupt confessions in the heat of the moment were sometimes inadmissible.
She sat down, switched on the voice recorder, and gave the date and time.Ripley sat beside her.
‘Name?’Ella asked.
The suspect, still chained, leaned forward with both elbows on the table.‘Todd Williams.’
‘Well, Mr.Williams, would you mind explaining what you were doing at the St Augustine Church therapy group?’
‘Yes,’ Todd spat.‘I’m a journalist.I work for the Sentinel.I swear it.’
Ripley sniffed and said, ‘The Sentinel ain’t no newspaper I ever heard of.’
‘We’re small but real, I assure you.I can show you everything.My credentials are in my wallet, and my n…’
Ella raised one eyebrow.‘Your what?Go on.’
Todd sat back and glanced around the room, as though searching for an exit that didn’t exist.‘Mynotes,’ he said.‘They’re on my phone.’
Ella maintained a firm stare.She mentally sifted through his layers while searching for the subtle tells that spoke louder than any word ever could.‘Your notes on what?’
Todd shifted uncomfortably in his seat.He tried to scratch the back of his neck but his chains wouldn’t let him.‘Look, I thought I’d hit the jackpot, alright?’
‘You’re gonna need to start making sense, Mr.Williams,’ Ripley said.
‘Okay, so I joined the support group two weeks ago.I’m writing a hit piece on group therapy, Alcoholics Anonymous-type things, you know?Places that lure you in and then give you the Jesus spiel.’
Not out of the realm of possibility, Ella thought, but she wasn’t going to ignore the obvious red flags yet.‘Right, and?’
‘I had to lie my way in.I told the others I had a fear of crowds, so it gave me a reason to keep my distance.I hadn’t even begun writing and – boom – one of the members is on the news, dead.It was almost too perfect.’
Ella side-eyed her partner, his expression mirroring Ella’s thoughts.She wished she’d have punched this guy when she had the chance.‘Perfect, huh?’she said.
‘Sorry, notperfect,but you know what I mean.A day later, another one of our members shows up dead?It was a gift from the journalism gods.’
Ripley unlocked his arms and moved closer.‘You think this is funny?’
Todd’s hands twitched as he leaned back from his interrogators.‘No, I don’t mean it like that.As a journalist, I thought this was a story that needed telling.Two members of a phobia group winding up dead?I couldn’t sit on this one.I had to investigate.’
Ella processed the details, weighing up the probable against the potential lies.Looking his wiry figure up and down, she couldn’t be sure if this man was a desperate vulture or a good actor.Her instincts told her the former, but she needed to be sure.‘So, you took it upon yourself to investigate these deaths?Without informing the police?’
‘I know, I know it sounds bad.But as a journalist, you look for stories, for truths that others might miss.The deaths of Julia and Thomas, they didn't sit right with me.The group, the therapy...there was something more there.I knew it.’
‘Believe us, we know,’ said Ripley.‘But it seems too much of a coincidence that a new person joins this group and then two members get killed.’
Ella stayed quiet.You couldn’t learn anything by talking, she always told herself.Todd’s story, while plausible in the world of journalism, was laced with convenient coincidences that she couldn't overlook.
‘On my mother’s grave,’ Todd said.He patted himself down.‘Look at me.Do I look like a killer?’
