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“Dark, I’ve got a feeling this guy is going to haul ass,” Mia said.
“You read my mind. How should we play it?”
“You found this guy. You did the hard work. You take the lead. What do you want to do?”
A surge of new confidence overcame her. She appreciated the gesture. It was nice to be gifted authority once in a while.
“I’ll knock on the door. You stay farther down the driveway. If he runs, bag him. If he yields straight away, then just come up and join us.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Ripley said. She positioned herself at the bottom of the driveway, slightly out of view. Ella walked up to the surprisingly lavish residence and knocked on the door. She gripped the Glock in her holster for reassurance.
It was closing in on 3pm and the sky had turned overcast already. It was Sunday so the chances of the suspect being home were pretty high, plus there was a silver Toyota parked on the driveway.
But no one answered. Ella knocked again and pressed her ear to the door. Nothing. She pressed her eye to the peephole and saw a blurry interior, but a blur that was in motion.
Someone was in there.
She hammered on the door and went for broke. “Eric Martin. I’m with the FBI. Please open up immediately.”
She suppressed the initial adrenaline rush, saving it for a more crucial time.
Then the door opened, slowly and hesitantly. A face peered around the door, almost exactly like the one she’d pictured in her mind’s eye.”
Skinny, tall, scraggly brown hair down to his shoulders. Was this the demon?
“Hello?” the voice said, soft spoken and fearful. “Who are you?”
“Are you Eric Martin?” Ella asked. The man was wearing baggy pants and a plain black t-shirt. He looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in forever and had bulging eyes like an exotic fish.
“I might be. Why?”
“I’m Agent Dark with the FBI. I need to talk about a series of homicides in the area. Can I come in?”
Eric barely stopped to think about it. “Sure, come in.” The gesture shocked Ella a little. This wasn’t how suspects usually behaved. She turned around and motioned for Ripley to join her.
She stepped into a grand hallway, carpeted with the plushest flooring her soles had ever sampled. Ripley came in behind.
“This is my partner, Agent Ripley. Can we take a seat?”
“Right this way.” He took them through to the living room and offered them the giant sofa. Eric perched himself on a stool in front of them. “Do you want a drink? Tea maybe?”
“We’re good,” said Ella. She didn’t like how chummy this guy was acting. Did he think they were dumb and he could charm his way out of this? Or was he oblivious to the reason why they were there? She scoped the room and found nothing out of the ordinary. No true crime books, no serial killer films. Then again, this didn’t seem at all like a place for an unemployed 28-year-old to live.
“What can I help you ladies with?” Eric asked as he leaned into their space. He was a little too close for comfort, but it was better than him being out of reach.
“There’s been a series of homicides in the area over the past week. Do you know anything about them?”
Leave the question open-ended. That was the trick.
“A series? I know Cheryl was stabbed a few days ago. I don’t know of any others.”
“Did you know Cheryl?” asked Ella.
“Yes, I knew Cheryl.”
“Closely?”
“A bit too closely,” Eric laughed.
