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Turk remained quiet and disinterested. That was very much not a good sign.
He didn’t look like the man Faith saw on the street. That was a worse sign. He resembled that man superficially, but his features, although soft, were decidedly not effeminate, and his hair, though long, was not wavy.
Still, she had only glimpsed the man on the street, too busy struggling to control Turk to pay close attention to him.
"Can I help you?" Kevin asked, his voice tight with tension.
Faith nodded. “Can we come in?”
The man sighed. “You haven’t identified yourself. You have to identify yourself.”
His voice was agitated, which could be a good sign or could simply be a natural reaction to the presence of two, armed law enforcement officers and a large German shepherd, “I’m Special Agent—” she began.
Kevin interrupted. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. If you don’t have a warrant, we’re done here. Do you have a warrant? You need a warrant to speak to me.”
“Did you learn how to be a lawyer in prison?” Michael asked.
Faith knew Michael intended to goad him into a mistake, and for a moment, she thought it would work. The man’s hands curled into fists, and she saw his jaw tense, and he ground his teeth together. He recovered, though, and said in a tense voice, “Show me a warrant or get off my property.”
Faith said, “A number of people have been killed in the area.”
The man shook his head. “Oh, so now I’m responsible for all murders?” He chuckled bitterly. “Why not? Pin one on me, may as well pin all of them, right?” He offered another nervous laugh and lifted a trembling hand to scratch his forehead.
“We’re not so sure you’re the poster child for rehabilitation you pretend to be,” Michael said, pushing a little harder.
Again, Faith thought it would work. The man resisted, though. He said with what Faith believed to be herculean effort, “I can’t help you. I’ve told you I won’t talk to you, and without a warrant, you’re not coming in. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”
“Did your wife make you repeat yourself?” Michael asked. “Is that why you killed her?”
At this, the suspect flew into a rage, rushing at Michael until he was inches in front of his face. “How dare you?” he shouted, his face turning red. “How dare you?”
Michael, his face perfectly calm, said casually, “Why so angry? Do you have a rage problem, Kevin?”
The suspect’s self-restraint disappeared. He took a swing, which Michael anticipated, of course. A second later, he lay flat on his stomach on the concrete path in front of the porch. He shouted and struggled as Michael fastened the cuffs. “I didn’t kill my wife!” he shouted. “Goddammit, get off of me! You need a warrant!”
She expected denial, of course, but not denial of the original murder. She didn’t expect the vehemence, either. More than anything, though, she didn’t expect Turk to stand placidly by as though nothing important occurred at all.
The doubts she had suppressed earlier resurfaced in Faith’s mind. Michael looked questioningly at Turk, then at her. She met his eyes, and he must have guessed her doubt by her face, because his lips thinned grimly before he stood up, lifting Kevin.
Kevin immediately tried to headbutt him, and Michael pushed him at arm’s length, slowly but surely dragging him down his porch steps. Around the corner, Faith could see Travis and Derek pull their car in front of Kevin’s house.
“Let go of me!” Kevin shrieked. “Help! I’m being kidnapped! They’re taking me away! Help me!”
The few neighbors who were home in the middle of the workday looked out their windows, but not surprisingly, no one wanted to help their crazy, wife-killer neighbor. He struggled and pulled on Michael, and when Michael transferred him to Travis, he wrenched free and started to run.
Finally, Turk reacted, sprinting toward him and tackling him a few yards past his house. Kevin shrieked, and when he looked at Turk, Faith was encouraged to see the same wild, crazy expression she saw from the man on the street earlier.
Maybe he was their guy. She could only hope so.
Travis and Derek picked him up off of the ground, and Faith called Turk off. They dragged him, still screaming and struggling, and threw him into the back of their cruiser. Travis turned to the two agents and nodded. “Good collar,” he said.
Michael and Faith nodded acknowledgment and headed to their own car. On the way to the station, Michael asked, “Are you still sure it’s him?”
Faith took a breath and then said reluctantly. “No. I’m reasonably sure but not completely. Not anymore.”
Michael sighed heavily but didn’t say anything. Faith felt a pang of hurt and guilt and silently prayed that she was right. If this turned out to be another waste of time, she doubted Michael would trust her again.
***
