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That was when she noticed the whole thing had happened in front of Tyler’s live audience.
“I’ll get him in the car. Might want to shut his livestream down.”
“Dark, one question,” Ripley shouted.
“What?”
“How many bullets does it take to turn off a computer?”
***
Ella stared through the glass at the man in the precinct’s only interrogation room. Tyler Allen was obviously delusional, a remorseless narcissist who used true crime as a gateway to fame. This was the world now, Ella thought. Tragedies were an industry. If trauma could be monetized, someone would do exactly that regardless of who suffered.
“I can’t believe you shot his computer,” Ella said.
“He won’t be needing it in jail,” said Ripley. “They always say go out with a bang.”
“Quite literally.”
Ella had her doubts going in, but the little finding on Tyler’s dining table changed everything. She couldn’t wait to hear him try and worm his way out of this one, although there was always a chance someone as egotistical as Tyler would openly confess to everything. After all, a serial killer had to be caught to become famous.
“Let’s see what this numpty has to say for himself.” Ripley led the way into the interrogation room, which Ella found unusually comfortable compared to the other interview rooms they’d used in the past. They sat opposite Tyler, his light smirk already riling Ella up.
“You don’t have any reason to smile,” Ripley said.
“I don’t?” Tyler laughed. “I just got arrested by the FBI on livestream.”
“You also got your ass handed to you.”
Tyler lost his smile. “Whatever.”
Ripley turned to her partner and said, “I don’t know about you Dark but I’m going to watch that clip over and over again. The guys back at HQ are going to love it.”
“Followers are followers,” Tyler said. “My interaction rate is going to skyrocket.”
Ella didn’t have time for this stupid influencer nonsense. She threw the new piece of evidence on the table between them. “Explain yourself.” She sat back, folded her arms, and watched him squirm.
“It’s from the dead chick.”
“We know that, you klutz. Why is it on your dining table?” asked Ripley.
Tyler shrugged. “I snuck into the crime scene last night. Did some searching and I found that strand of hair. I guessed it was from the dead girl.”
“And you kept it? Put in a neat little plastic bag?” Ella asked. “Why would you do that?”
“Murderabilia, baby,” Tyler said. “Big money game.”
Ella had to pinch her temples. This guy was the walking manifestation of everything she hated. If not for professional courtesy, she’d have a hard time not punching him in the mouth.
“We’re going to be frank with you now. We think you had something to do with these murders.”
“Me? What gave you that impression?” he smiled.
“Cheri Jo Bates. The Black Dahlia. You’re very familiar with them, right?” Ella asked.
“Totally. Cheri Jo is kinda dull but the Black Dahlia is cool A.F.” Tyler pronounced the letters, like an Internet post come to life. This was what happened when children were raised on tablets, Ella thought.
“The murders around here mimic those very closely, wouldn’t you say?”
