“See you in the morning, princess,” I call out to her. Her signature middle finger is her only response.
Chapter Five
Katie
The second interview had only reinforced my gut feeling that I don’t think Connor Maddox committed this crime. It was a crime of passion, pure, unadulterated rage. And the man I’m watching through the glass mirror is tired, frightened. Hell, he’s devastated. He keeps talking about his girlfriend, rocking in his chair. The police haven’t let him speak to her, but I know his lawyer passed on a message to her because I overheard them talking in the corridor as they entered the room. His wide eyes sagging when her name was mentioned.
Jonesy and I are shoulder to shoulder in the viewing room, sipping on shitty coffee that at least blocks the smell of the minty scent of his skin threatening to soften my resolve around him.
I shake my head slightly, blinking away thoughts of Jonesy pressed against me and focus on the task at hand. Connor Maddox doesn’t look like a killer. I understand from a forensicpoint of view that that’s not a particularly scientific assessment. However, what I mean to say is, he isn’t calculating, cold, or overly charming. He doesn’t seem like the typical person I meet in these situations, not that I’ve been properly introduced yet, but I will. It won’t be long until the police move forward and officially arrest him for the murder.
Unfortunately for Maddox, there is CCTV footage of him committing the crime. Although the footage is dark and a little grainy and we can’t see his face. But the clothes are undoubtedly his. The baseball cap is the home team he’s supported since he was a kid. No one else on base is from that town. But the real kicker? Maddox has no alibi. He’s claiming memory loss. Doesn’t remember a damn thing about the night out that he and his fellow soldiers were on after eating Skallywags’s signature chicken wings.
In the report Jonesy and I received this morning, it was confirmed that the suspect left the bar at around 12 a.m., reportedly going home to get somelovingfrom his girlfriend. He had been screaming at the top of his lungs that he was planning to propose. Six soldiers had been interviewed in total. All of them said that they couldn’t believe the person in the footage was Connor Maddox.
He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
He loves his girlfriend too much.
He’s happy. Why would he mess that up?
The only thing that stood out as a concern was from one soldier, about ten years older than the other men, who said Maddox was a good soldier but clearly in over his head. The officer interviewing him didn’t ask him to elaborate, so it’s something I’ll tuck away, ensuring I ask him about it when we conduct our friends and family interviews.
“I would not want to be in that kid’s shoes,” Jonesy sighs, rubbing his face as he leans his elbows on his knees.
I’m still not entirely sure where I stand with Jonesy being here. Sure, his expertise is invaluable. Professionally, I can’t fault him. He’s an excellent psychologist. We used to compete for the best grades at Elwood University, which started our rivalry. We used to play by the rules then, but not anymore. Over the years, the jibes have gotten nastier, the retorts meant to slice rather than pinch. I wasn’t even sure if I could trust him with my opinion on Maddox. Would he try to manipulate me into changing my mind?
My own lack of confidence recently hasn’t helped. Some days, I question whether I should be doing this job at all. The past year has been...difficult. Since the case withThe Poser Killer, my judgment has been all over the place. I’m nervous, unsure...I can’t commit to an opinion and feel like I’m constantly battling my own mind. It’s as if all those hours I interviewed Thomas Vale, really, he was interviewing me.Weaseling his way into my mind and spreading like rot in a foundation. Eventually, I’d need to demolish and restart. But how do I do that with my own mind? The one thing I’ve been trained to study in others. I can’t even control my own.
“Me either,” I reply, and Jonesy looks at me, frowning.
“Hey, Katie. Are you o—"
“Katie,” Detective Williams interrupts. Was Jonesy about to ask me if I was okay? I need to pull it together if I’m going to keep the upper hand. “I have the recording for you and a transcript.”
“Good morning, Detective,” Jonesy chirps as Anthony ignores him.
Anthony has been a good friend to me this past year. We’re close, closer than most colleagues. And it helps that he understands the toll the Thomas Vale case took on me. He’s got my back and doesn’t question my professional opinion in spite of how nervous I’ve become. He takes my word for it. He could be a good boyfriend. I’ve thought about it a lot. He’s handsome, and as Jonesy said, has biceps you could bounce a quarter off. But I just don’t know if he can give me what I need. I don’t think anyone can. And the worst part is I can’t just outright ask someone because I’m almost certain they’ll run for the hills and think I’ve gone certifiably insane.
“I’ll leave it on your desk when you’re ready.” He smiles, and I feel the guilt slipping throughthe cracks in my sleep-deprived state. I shouldn’t make him wait any longer; I know he can’t give me what I need.
“Thank you, Detective Williams. Dr. Jones and I will review it later.”
His eyes narrow, flicking one look of disgust toward Jonesy and leaves the room.
“He really doesn’t like me. Like,really,really. What’s that about?” He smiles like he knows damn well why. Leaning back in his chair, he rests his polished boots up on the small table they keep in the viewing room, which, of course, I know is just to irritate me.
We could relocate to my office, but it’s far too small to have his hulking frame in it. We’d be shoulder to shoulder, and that’s been happening far too frequently in the last three days.
I take a deep breath and reluctantly propose that he come to my house instead. At least there we won’t have the bustling noise of phones ringing, perps being dragged through the two interview rooms, and certain overly eager detectives interrupting us.
???
“I’ve never been to your house before.”
“I’m aware.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd? In fifteen years of knowing each other, I’ve never been to yourhouse.”
