But the similarities were too great to ignore. Rory was furious no one had seemed to notice or care.
When the detective finally appeared in the lobby, Rory wanted to rant at him. But she kept her cool. Better not to put him on the defensive. He would go there fast enough when Chance threw the first question about the other cases at him.
“Come on back,” he said, looking somehow older and wearier than he had this morning.
Rory had no sympathy. She was tired too. If he had done his job the right way two years ago, they wouldn’t be here right now.
This time he led them to an actual office. Maybe he’d gotten a promotion, or he’d borrowed someone else’s space. At least they weren’t in that awful interview room. Many of her nightmares over the years had revolved around that room where the detective had tried every possible tactic in his playbook to make her confess.
When they had all taken seats, he regarded first Rory, then Chance. “If you’re looking for answers about the house, you’ll have to wait until I have the report from the fire marshal. Right now, you know as much as I do.”
“We’re here,” Chance said, “about the Whitmore and Allston case.”
Fowler exhaled a big breath. “That case was not the same as yours,” he said to Rory. Then, turning back to Chance, he continued, “the cases were different. If you did your research, you know the one in Henagar was primarily a hate crime.”
“The man who was caught and charged,” Chance countered, “Rick Hill, where was he imprisoned?”
“Limestone Correctional Facility. I only tell you this because I know how easy it is for you to find out on the internet. And because,” he turned to Rory again, “going to see the perv involved is a waste of time.”
“It’s possible that it will be a waste of time,” Rory agreed, frustration and anger building inside her way too fast. “The two intruders in that case may or may not have targeted the victims specifically. It may have been about the coin collection they stole.”
“Don’t forget the hate crime part,” Fowler growled.
“Which means,” Chance interjected, “that Rory and her husband were likely the targets rather than anything they may have had in their possession at a rented house.”
Before Fowler could find whatever he wanted to say next, Rory pressed on, “There was another very similar case in Fort Payne just five months before the one in Henagar. Again, one victim was sexually assaulted. Both were drugged and things were stolen.”
Why did the man not see the similarities? The obvious connection!
“But,” Fowler argued, “as you have already discovered, there was significant property stolen in both.” His gaze settled on Rory. “If—big, fat if—there was even any evidence someone else came into that cottage the way you suggest, the only items taken were your cell phones and car fob—but not the car. A very different scenario. And we all are acutely aware that there was no evidence to support your claim.”
“What evidence was found in the other two cases?” Rory demanded, her anger building. “No prints for sure. The DNA you were able to retrieve at the Henagar home was an accident. If that one thing hadn’t been found, would you have insisted nothing happened there either? That there were no intruders? That the victims stole their own stuff?”
Fowler glared at her, his mouth shut tight.
“Perhaps what you’re not taking into consideration,” Chance said, “is that the Harris case was meant to look that way—different from the others. Because the White Cottage attack was not about property but about the people there that night.”
Fowler shook his head. “Mr. Rader, I can appreciate how this all looks to you and to Rory. But we went over all that. I interviewed Rick Hill myself—twice. He knew nothing about the Harris case. You’re both ignoring the most glaring difference in the other cases.No one was murdered.And there was no supporting evidence whatsoever in your case,” he railed at Rory. “Both of the other homes showed obvious signs of breaking and entering. Both had been ransacked. There were footprints found at one. Bodily fluids at the other. There was no—let me repeat,no—evidence at yours.”
“There’s this thing,” Rory snapped, “called escalation.” She and Chance had discussed the term and its meaning in cases like this. “Someone died in my case and then the two intruders backed off their crime spree. In the attack where Hill was caught,he was working alone. Things had changed maybe because of that escalation.”
“Not to mention,” Chance said, “even if we set aside the possibility that Pete and Rory Harris may have been targeted, most repeat offenders learn from their previous mistakes. When they broke into the cottage where Rory and her husband were staying, they had at least two events to their credit. So they made sure there was no sign of breaking and entering and no evidence left behind. The murder was likely because one of the two got carried away—escalated—then the team split apart. Hasn’t that been your experience over your lengthy career, Detective? Criminals often escalate. Those working together often go their separate ways.”
“I suspect,” Fowler countered, ignoring Chance’s question, “the backing off was about one of the intruders being caught and—”
“Which didn’t happen,” Chance cut him off, “until after the attack on Rory and her husband. And only then because he attempted to assault another woman whose boyfriend came home just in time.”
“As I said,” Fowler repeated, “I interviewed Hill myself. He and the partner he refused to identify had nothing to do with the Harris case. We know what happened in the Harris case.” He set his gaze on Rory. “The only evidence in the whole place showed us what happened.”
Renewed fury roared through her. He would not be swayed. They were wasting their time. He intended for her to go back to prison whether she had committed murder or not.
“You’re saying,” Chance argued, “that Hill had an alibi.”
“He did. I confirmed it just to rule out exactly this. Someone coming along trying to tie that case to the Harris case.” He shook his head, his expression lifting a little with the triumph he felt.“No connection whatsoever. No evidence that anyone other than Pete Harris and his new wife were in that cottage.”
“What about the unidentified partner?” Chance asked. “Did he have an alibi too?”
“As if I could know that.” Fowler threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I can see that I’m not going to be able to convince you.”
