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Fiona glanced at her watch. She sighed, knowing that time was against them. Catching Eric and interrogating him had taken longer than anticipated. Not to mention, this man--David Finch--lived on the outskirts of Portland, and it had taken them some time to get here.
"Another late night, huh?" Jake said, his voice heavy with weariness as he parked the car.
"Seems that way," Fiona replied, her mind already racing ahead to their task. She couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency, like every second they spent here was a second wasted. Glen Hartwell, poisoned and left for dead, haunted her thoughts, along with Sharon French. Eric Alvarez had seemed like the perfect suspect, but Martha's statement had confirmed his alibi. They'd confirmed it even further with footage obtained from a neighbor's security camera that showed Eric's van never leaving Martha's property.
Now, they had to look into Pest Control Pros. Only this company wasn't certified to use Cyphaclide.
"Let's get this over with," Jake said, unbuckling his seatbelt. Clearly, his morale had lowered too.
Fiona got out of the car into the warm evening. Jake followed suit, and together, they approached the exterminator's house. The shack-like structure loomed before them, dark and foreboding, its windows like blackened eyes peering out into the night. It seemed almost fitting that someone involved in such a grisly profession would reside in a place like this. Fiona understood the need for pest control in some cases, but as an entomologist, senselessly killing insects still rubbed her the wrong way. She wished there were easier ways to relocate them.
Jake knocked on the door and waited for an answer. Footsteps echoed from within, and soon, the door creaked open to reveal David Finch himself. He was a tall, wiry man with a gaunt face and hollow eyes—eyes that betrayed no guilt or fear at their presence. But even still, he smiled a hint of warmth on his face.
"Evening," he said, his voice smooth and accommodating. "What can I do for you?"
Jake held up his FBI badge, prompting a frown from David. "David Finch? I'm Agent Jake Tucker with the FBI. This is Fiona Red. We're investigating the death of Glen Hartwell. We understand you were scheduled to work at his house but never made it."
"Ah, yes," David replied, nodding solemnly. "Terrible tragedy, that. I was supposed to be there, but my car broke down. Never could get it started again, had to buy a new one." He gestured to the pick-up truck in his driveway. "Next thing I knew, my work let me know the client's wife had canceled. A few days later, we found out why."
Fiona took a step forward, studying David's face carefully. There was something off about him, something that didn't quite add up. His posture was too relaxed, his tone too practiced. It was as if he had rehearsed this story a thousand times before.
"Can you tell us more about your company's policies?" Fiona asked, her eyes fixed on David. "Specifically, your use of pesticides?"
David's smile faltered slightly, but he maintained his composure. "Of course. Pest Control Pros only uses pesticides that are approved by the EPA, and we always follow safety guidelines to ensure that no harm comes to our clients or their families."
Fiona nodded, but she wasn't convinced. "What about Cyphaclide? Do you use that?"
David's eyes flickered, and Fiona could see a glint of fear in them, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "No, we don't use Cyphaclide," he said, his voice steady. "In fact, we're against it. It's just too dangerous."
It was. And although David said the right thing, his reaction also confirmed to Fiona that he had some knowledge of the chemical.
Behind David in the house, she caught sight of a deer head on the wall and other hunting memorabilia. He definitely rubbed her the wrong way, but at the same time, that didn't make him a killer. And so far, he was cooperating.
"I don't suppose you were ever questioned about the death," Jake said.
"No, of course not," David said. "I never even met the guy or got to his house." He frowned, crossing his arms and leaning back. "I'm starting to think you folks might be accusing me of something here."
Fiona swallowed. David had an intense energy, one that put her on edge.
"We aren't, sir," Jake said, "we're just running down every possible lead. We believe two people, including Glen Hartwell, have died of Cyphaclide poisoning. Both of the victims called exterminators--one of them, another company, and Glen, well, he called you."
David's eyes widened for a split second before he composed himself. Fiona noticed the slight twitch in his cheek and the way his hands clenched at his sides. There was something he wasn't telling them.
"I can assure you, I'm not involved in any way," David said, his voice tight. "I'm just a simple exterminator trying to make a living. I told you, my car broke down. I never made it to Glen's house."
Fiona wasn't sure if they should believe him, but at the same time, David seemed hellbent on convincing them.
She thought back to the day Glen was allegedly killed. According to the file, his wife and children had seen him alive that morning; then, when they got back that afternoon, he was dead. But David was scheduled to go to Glen's house a week before that date and never showed. But where was David on the day Glen was murdered?
"Where were you on July 6th, David?" Fiona asked. "Between the hours of nine a.m. and six p.m.?"
David's eyes narrowed, and Fiona could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. "I already told you I never made it to Glen's house. I was here, trying to fix my damn car."
Fiona studied him closely, searching for any signs of deception, but all she could see was a man who was rattled and agitated. There was something about him that didn't sit right with her, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"Can you prove that?" Jake asked, his tone firm.
David hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I have receipts and witnesses. My neighbor, Jon, helped me with the car, and I went to AutoZone to buy some parts. I'm assuming you don't have any real evidence or right to arrest me because I know damn well I didn't do this. So go ahead, confirm what you've gotta confirm--but I know my rights as an American citizen."
