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She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand her ground, but found her knees were trembling. Connor, made of sterner stuff, banged on the door again, his jaw clenched.
"If you don't open up, right now, we're coming in."
There was silence.
“Stand behind me,” he muttered to Cami. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the back up cops had their guns at the ready, primed, and ready to fire, with the safety catches off. Both cops had their weapons firmly aimed at the door. Cami felt anxiety surging. She edged behind Connor, dreading the next few moments, knowing how fast a situation like this could turn deadly.
Then, Cami heard heavy footsteps approaching, treading swiftly over the floorboards. She took a deep breath and pressed her hand together to try and stop them shaking with tension. What would happen now? Would he open fire on them? Would he even get the chance to try?
She heard the click of the latch unlocking.
A moment later, the door was flung open.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cami flinched as the door swung open, so fast and violently that it banged back against the wall. And there was Nick Walker, standing in the doorway.
He was armed. But not with a gun, Cami saw, feeling astounded.
In one of his pudgy hands, Nick held a large remote control. He stared at Connor, and at the cops beyond, and his angry expression turned quickly to shock.
Cami guessed the expression on her face was the same. She felt utterly blindsided as she peeked over Connor’s shoulder. He was nothing like his social media persona. Nothing at all.
For a start, he was about a hundred pounds heavier. His face was pale and moon shaped, with small, blue eyes slitted into it. He had an untidy mop of mouse brown hair that was starting to recede. She guessed that he was in his thirties.
Cami's nose wrinkled as he stepped forward. It seemed like it wasn't the first day he'd worn his gray, stained T-shirt. Maybe not even the first week. From this first whiff, she didn't think that Nick Walker was on close terms with his washing machine if he even owned one.
He regarded them, with his belligerence returning. "What's this about?" he demanded.
"FBI," Connor said, showing his badge. “We have questions for you regarding recent crimes in the area."
"Why should I answer anything?" Nick retorted, standing his ground and fiddling with the remote buttons.
Connor stared at him thoughtfully. "Depends on how much trouble you want to be in. And how long you want to spend away from home."
"What do you mean?" Now Cami thought Nick looked taken aback.
"There have been three murders in the local area.”
“Well, I know that, of course,” he said defensively as Connor plowed on.
“You interacted in a threatening way with all three victims on a community group online. If you're innocent, you'd better prove it to us, because we already have sufficient cause to bring you in for questioning and hold you until we've cleared you. That might take a while.”
At that, Nick's hand tensed, and Cami saw his finger press down inadvertently on one of the buttons on his remote control. Immediately, that loud, pump-action sound filled the air again. Cami jumped, and all three cops tensed. Connor's hand flew to his gun grip before, with a resigned sigh, he moved it away again.
"Let's talk inside, now. And for heaven’s sake, get your hand off that remote control before someone gets hurt," he advised him sharply.
The sound had been a recording. This guy was a total weirdo, Cami decided, following Connor in and staring around the house. Nick led the way straight to a small living room that was occupied by a single, well-used couch, and two small chairs that looked seldom or never used. The cavalier approach to hygiene extended from Nick himself to this room. It was dusty and dirty. The floor was scattered with crumbs. A half full bowl of popcorn gave the room a strange, oily smell that cut through the pervasive stink of body odor.
Nick flopped down on the sofa without bothering to ask them if they wanted to sit down too. It creaked under his weight.
Cami and Connor sat on the two chairs. Cami felt creeped out by this place, but already, she was starting to doubt whether this was their killer. He was large, unfit, and seemed to rely on smoke and mirrors for his intimidation, rather than being someone who escalated things to real life.
Looking around his home, Cami was starting to think that he wasn’t a retired Navy SEAL at all. She couldn’t see any of the backgrounds in the house that she’d seen displayed on his social media. This house was tiny. Where was the wall of guns over the leather couch she’d seen online?
He’d created his own alternative reality, she concluded, with pictures and information from the internet. He seemed to be reliant on his remote control and special effects, rather than real life weaponry. That was what she suspected, anyway.
Cami glanced at Connor and saw that he was looking at Nick intently. She realized that he was checking him out for any sign of knife wounds. The killer had bled a lot, and there would be evidence. Nick didn't look to have any visible cuts or scratches on his arms or hands, but perhaps there were bandaged cuts under that loose, grimy, gray shirt.
