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Ella began to type a message to him but then thought better of it. It was over and no amount of text messages would change that. Instead, she navigated to the FBI database and searched for Chris Murphy’s details. She had sudden flashbacks to the day she searched Ben’s name on here, because Chris Murphy’s name was listed in the criminal archives.
But before the thought could turn into action,Ripleyemerged fromthedoorway, shoulders slumped in dejection. “No sign of anything being stolen,” she said. “Upstairs hasn’t even been touched.”
“We need to go and speak to the victim’s ex-husband,” Ella said, nose-deep in her phone. She navigated to his criminal record, then jolted the phone away from her face when she spotted Chris’s charges.
“I agree, but the report doesn’t list his name.”
“Don’t worry about that. I already got it.”
Ripley closed the door behind her and unlocked their cruiser. “How?”
Ella flashed the screen to her partner. “Not only have I got his address, but look at this.”
Ripley peered closer, squinting. “Well, what are the odds? I guess we need to have a few words with him.”
Yes they did because Chris Murphy was a wife beater.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In less progressive times, the other agents at HQ would immediately joke “it was the husband” whenever a dead woman landed in their laps.
Ripleyrappedherknuckles againsttheolddoor of ChrisMurphy’shome. The placewasafar cryfrom thesuburban palacehisex-wife had lived in, and looked like it had seen better days. Itwas situatedon the ground floor of asmall building, nestledin aquiet neighborhood aboutthree miles from Joanne’s house.Ripley waited patiently foraresponse, her knuckles still pressed againstthewood.
On the way here, Ella had told her about Joanne’s situation, her sudden personality change, her apparent inner demons. Whether or not it was relevant to her death remained to be seen, but if anyone knew the finer details, it would be her ex-husband. Not to mention the fact that over twenty women were killed by their husbands every single day in the United States, one of the few murder statistics that actually increased each year. The doorcreaked openand a facepeered throughthegap, its pale complexion illuminated bythedim light ofthehallway. Ripley’s distorted reflection stared back atherfromthelenses ofthe man’sglasses.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Chris Murphy?” Ripley asked.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Agent Ripley and this is Agent Dark with the FBI. We’re investigating…”
Chris pulled the door wide open, stepped back, and beckoned them inside. “Come in. This is about Joanne, I presume.”
The gesture took Ripley by surprise, but she always welcomed a willing interviewee because they were easy to read. Either their innocence was plastered across their face or their angelic facade was a clear front for their guilt. As with everything in this game, the devil was in the details.
The agents steppedintothe apartment,taking inthesmall space. It was far fromlavish, butmore thanlivable with its beige walls and sparse furniture. Chris led them into a front room and leaned against the wall, offering the two-seater sofa to the agents.
“Please take a seat. I’ll stand.”
Ripley sat but Ella remained upright. She always did that. The rookie thought it was a psychological trick to maintain dominance during interviews, but it was only true in certain situations, and it especially wasn’t true if you were half the size of the interviewee. Ella’s five-foot-nothing paled in comparison to Chris’s lanky stature. The man worea pair of rectangularglassesthat were slightly too big forhisface,and his hair wasa bit of a mess,short andunkempt.Despite histall,long-limbedframe,he wasalarmingly thin,and hisclothes hung off him like a flag in the wind.
“We’re sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” Ella said. “We’d like to talk about your ex-wife.”
“I understand. I already told the police everything I know, though.”
“You’ve been separated a while, is that right?”
The sudden dive into the deep end caught Ripley off guard. She prepared to interject but Chris’s expression told her that he didn’t mind getting right into the details of his relationship. Both of these victims had been divorced or separated, so Ripley guessed Ella was zoning in on that connection.
“Yes. I left Joanne a year ago.”
“Do you mind if we ask why?”
Chrisstared in astonishment, taken aback bytheremark. “Uh, why do you want to know? I’m not a suspect here, am I?”
“Everyone’s a suspect,” said Ella. Good line, thought Ripley.
