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“Oh, nowhere really. I just wanted some time off. I took walks to the Potomac. Slept in. Watched movies. Ate out. Things I never take the time to do.”
Sosa began making notes. “Where all did you eat?”
Nyles shrugged. “Different places around the city.”
Sosa made more notes. “I’m sure that can be verified if we check your credit card receipts.”
Nyles folded his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. “I like to pay cash when I can. Too many thieves stealing credit card numbers these days.”
Sosa made more notes. “So, when we check your credit card purchases, will we find purchases for a metal detector or any camping gear?”
Nyles’s heart skipped, but he was still in full-on lie mode and answered without a hitch. “Oh. Yes, you would. I did do a bit of metal detecting down by the river on my days off. Didn’t find anything, but it was something I’d always wanted to try. I might do it again one day soon.”
“And how do you explain the camping gear?” Sosa asked.
“I thought about a camping trip, but it kept raining and I’m not much of a woodsman, so I ruled that out. Also, something to do for another day.”
Sosa was still making notes.
“Have you ever been to Kentucky?” Sosa asked.
Nyles frowned thoughtfully. “No, I don’t believe I have. I’ve been to Georgia and West Virginia, though. Specifically, the Appalachia area with some archaeologists when I was in college.”
They kept throwing questions at him, and Nyles seemed to have an answer for everything, until they got a return email from Sheriff Woodley.
The prints match!
Detective King elbowed his partner, then pointed to the laptop screen.
Sosa read the message, then looked back at Nyles.
“We’re going to need you to come with us,” he said.
Nyles felt the blood draining from his face. Wearing the shock he was feeling was a hard thing to hide.
“This is ridiculous! Why?” he cried.
“Because your description fits the man in the security footage, and your fingerprints match the prints the police have on file of the man who shot a boy and left him for dead on a mountain.”
“Fingerprints? What fingerprints?” Nyles shouted.
“The ones all over an old journal found in a parking lot there.”
Nyles laughed. It sounded a little maniacal and he knew it, but he couldn’t let them see the panic he was feeling.
“What’s so funny?” Sosa asked.
Nyles waved his hands. “Look around you! Think where you are! I’d bet my entire retirement fund thatmy fingerprints could be found on a thousand books here, maybe tens of thousands. I’ve worked here for over twenty-five years. If a book came through here, I probably touched it. That’s what I do. I’m a cataloger for the Library of Congress, for God’s sake.”
Sosa’s voice softened as he leaned forward.
“I never said the journal came from this place. Is this where you found it? We’ll be checking to verify that it is, indeed, part of the library’s collection. What’s in that journal that led you to bring it with you to Jubilee, Kentucky? What the hell were you doing up on that mountain that made it worth killing for?”
It was all getting away from Nyles and he knew it! It was time to go on the defensive.
“You’re obviously trying to pin a crime on me that I didn’t commit, and I’m not saying anything more until I get a lawyer.”
“Fine with me. In the meantime, we’re taking you in for further questioning. Stand up,” Sosa said, and cuffed him.
