SIX
AXEL
We’d found him. It was Tuesday, one week after Stella had visited me at the pub for the first time, and we’d found him. His full name was Braden Lance Doucet. He was forty-two years old, divorced with no kids, worked as a pharmaceutical sales rep, and traveled a lot.
When he wasn’t traveling, he worked from home. It was a three-story townhome that Vince and I were just pulling up to.
Once I’d found him, I had asked the guys what our best course of action would be. We’d all agreed that the smartest move would be to have some words with him and inform him that he needed to stay away from Stella. How he reacted would determine what our next steps would be.
“You ready?” Vince asked as we parked on the street, three units down from Doucet’s.
“Yes. I want to see his reaction,” I told him.
Vince was going to be the talker, and I would be behind him, watching his body language and subtle physical cues.
Walking up to his front door, I noticed everything was clean and precise, but there was also nothing personal. No patio furniture, no plants, nothing to make it look like someone lived here.
Vince knocked, and a few moments later, the door opened a little as Doucet peeked out.
“Braden Doucet?” Vince asked, but Doucet didn’t respond.
His eyes widened as he took in our appearance. Vince and I were both tall and muscular. Doucet was not. He was just under six feet, with a lanky build, and had salt-and-pepper hair with a fairly deep receding hairline.
Vince was trying to give off an easygoing vibe, while I was supposed to be the stoic one.
“We’re just here to ask you a few questions about Stella Nielsen. Do you mind if we come in for a moment?” Vince asked, trying to keep his tone neutral but pleasant.
“Stella?” Doucet asked, his face changing from wary and nervous about us being on his front porch to concerned and worried on Stella’s behalf. “Is she okay? Are you cops? Did something happen to her?”
There was genuine concern in his voice, so this man definitely had some kind of feelings for her, which rankled me.
“Stella is okay, but we’d rather not discuss it loudly for all your neighbors to hear,” Vince told him, guiding him into believing we were here on friendly terms.
“Oh yes, of course,” he replied, opening his door and allowing us to come in.
We walked into an open-concept living space with the kitchen and dining space just beyond toward the back of his building.
The inside of his place was very modern, with minimal contemporary furniture and no real decorations anywhere—no picture frames, books on the shelves, nothing. It looked as though he had recently moved in and just hadn’t taken the time to unpack everything, but I knew that wasn’t it. From my search, he had lived here for over five years, having moved in just after his divorce.
“What happened? Is she okay?” he repeated.
“Stella is safe, and we’d like to keep her that way,” Vince said. His body language was still relaxed and inviting, but his tone was changing. “How often do you visit her bakery? Have you ever seen her family there, or a boyfriend or partner, perhaps?”
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend because she is too busy taking care of her sick father and running her business,” he told us.
“She’s been getting some threatening letters at her work lately,” Vince continued.
“Letters? Someone is threatening her? Or do you mean someone just wrote her letters and said that they were concerned for her?” he asked, his answer conveniently matching what Archer had said about the legality of the threats in the letters. “Wait…Do you think it’s me?”
“A few people have mentioned that you have stopped by on occasion and asked her out. Is that correct?” Vince asked.
That was when Doucet’s entire body language changed. Gone was the semi-concerned man who displayed a willingness to cooperate.
“Look, I may have asked her out once or twice, but that was becausesheflirted withme,” he shot back, and I had to stop myself from grinding my teeth at his answer. “I may have asked her out more than once because she’s beautiful, but I’m not desperate. I…I…I’ve moved on.”
That last line was complete bullshit, but I wasn’t going to call him on it.
“I’d like you to leave,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “I’m very sorry about what is happening to Stella, and I hope you cops figure it out, but I can’t help you, and I…uh…need to be going. I have a very important work phone call coming up.”
