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After forcing down half of her muffin and enduring a few more tense questions for Missy Truly, a call from Cruz had Mia and Chet sitting in the break room at the police station. Empathy made leaving Missy with her worries and questions difficult, but Mia had nothing to offer the older woman to ease the burden on her shoulders. At least Mrs. Truly had been pleased to watch Wrigley while they made their unexpected pit stop at the station. Hopefully the dog would give her a small amount of comfort for an hour or two.
Now, she sat beside Chet on a hard folding chair that had been brought in to accommodate the cluster of people working the case. The station didn’t boast a conference room, and the two offices were way too small to fit everyone. Instead, the crew gathered chairs in a circle on the white linoleum floor. The buzz of the overhead lighting competed with the hum of the old refrigerator, the smell of microwave popcorn heavy in the air.
“Thanks for stopping by so quickly,” Cruz said. He’d shoved the small table against the wall, his chair tucked up beside it. File folders were stacked one on top of another. “I’d like you both to meet Elizabeth Gilmore, former FBI profiler.”
The woman who stood in the corner with straight, blonde hair that barely skimmed the top of her shoulders offered a stiff smile. “Good afternoon. I asked Cruz to gather everyone here so I can get a better understanding of what we’re working with. I’ve poured over the case files, current and past ones, and now want to learn from you all.”
Chet shifted in his seat.
Nervous energy practically vibrated his skin. Mia rested a steady palm on his forearm, wanting to comfort him despite her own nerves dancing in her belly.
Tucker sat at Elizabeth’s side. He leaned back in his chair with an ankle hooked over his knee. Otto laid on the floor by his chair. “We appreciate you coming, Elizabeth. And to everyone else, I know I’m no longer an officer of the law, but I appreciate you letting me sit in today. I want to help in any way I can, even if it’s by chauffeuring Lizzie around town.”
A light blush stained Elizabeth’s pale cheeks. She pivoted, showing more of her back to Tucker. “So far, the only clear-cut connection between our known victims is that both Janie Simpson and Laurie Black attended the same university, and both had taken a class taught by Professor Leonard Lipton.”
Chet’s entire body tensed at the name. “Has anyone talked to him?”
Lincoln nodded. “I did.”
“And?”
Lincoln met Chet’s stare head on, his jaw set tight under his scruffy jaw. “No alibi for the night Janie Simpson died.”
Mia scooted to the edge of her seat. “What about when my tires were slashed, or the ropes were tied in the tree in our yard?”
Lincoln shook his head. “Nothing concrete.”
Deflated, Mia slouched against her chair as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. Having or not having an alibi didn’t make Professor Lipton a serial killer, but it didn’t look good. A mixture of emotion swelled like a giant wave inside her. She had sat in this man’s class twice a week for three months. Could she really have read him so poorly?
Shoving a hand through his hair, Chet shot to his feet. “Damn it, arrest him. Haul his ass here. What more do you need? A signed confession? If you let me talk to the sonofabitch, I’ll get him to confess. I promise you that.”
“You know you can’t talk to him,” Cruz said, cradling a paper cup in his hands. “And you know that yes, we need more than just not being able to verify his whereabouts to charge him with murder.”
Chet lifted his hands and muttered under his breath.
“Gentlemen, please,” Elizabeth said. “I understand there are a lot of moving parts to any investigation, but for this moment, I would like to focus on motive. On patterns. On asking questions about the victims so I can get inside this man’s head.” She crossed through the makeshift circle of chairs. Her heels clicked across the floor. She smoothed her slender hands over the black jacket she’d paired over a classic white shirt then swiped the top file from the stack on the table. “Mr. Black. I’d like to ask you some questions about your wife’s case.”
Staying on his feet, Chet crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine.”
“I understand that Laurie left the house the evening she was murdered in order to turn in a paper to Professor Lipton. A paper that was due the day before, but the professor had granted an extension because of extenuating circumstances.”
“Correct.”
“And you were out of town that night?”
Chet nodded.
A ball of anxiety sat in Mia’s gut. Chet had confided the basics of what had happened to his family, but she didn’t know the details. Heck, she didn’t really want to know the details. Especially not like this, with him answering questions thrown at him by a stranger in a group of people in a cold room. But she didn’t have a choice except to sit and listen and hope that whatever came from this conversation brought a new perspective.
“Did Professor Lipton know you were out of town?” Elizabeth kept her face a smooth mask as she peppered Chet with painful questions.
“I don’t know.”
She scanned the file then used her pointer finger to mark her place in some unseen spot. “According to this, your wife left the house around 5:45 pm in the evening, after speaking with you on the phone, taking your daughter with her. She turned in her paper, which is supported by Professor Lipton. At that point, no one else spoke with your wife or daughter or saw them, until you returned home unexpectedly and found your wife and daughter bound in your bedroom.”
Bile slid up Mia’s esophagus. She wanted to run from the room, to cover her ears, to turn away and not hear the horrible truth that was Chet’s nightmare.
Nodding, Chet worked his tightened jaw back and forth.
