AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ella didn’t buy it because nothing on Clarence’s channel gave the impression it was satirical. And the idea of misogynistic ramblings being labeled a genre made Ella sick to her stomach. She sidelined her personal feelings then said, “So how did she find you?”
“My real name is well documented online. She probably just searched my name and the wordpodcast.But listen here,” Clarence leaned forward. “Abigail didn’t mention anything suspicious to me, but I know a place you can look. A place that’s full of guys who actually believe this stuff.”
Ripley jumped in, “Buddy, there’s no shortage of places like that. I could walk out of here and find a hundred men who hate women within a mile.”
“Guys from Iowa, from Davenport,” said Clarence. “I have a message board. For local guys. Some of the stuff I read there scares me. Men talking about their abusive fantasies. Real extreme.”
Ella’s buzzing phone interrupted her train of thought. She grabbed it out of her pocket, held it under the table and went to cancel the call. She expected it would be the director calling her for an update, but her heart doubled in speed when she saw the name.
Robert Reed.
But Clarissa had said she was never going to talk about the case again.
Ella silenced the call and sent it to voicemail. Then she said, “I think we’re done here.”
Ripley said, “Anything else to add in your defense, Clarence?”
“Ask anyone who knows the real me. I’d never do this. I only kicked off at you for my audience. I had to keep up appearances.”
“Sure,” Ripley said. “Come on Dark, we need to talk.”
Ella was already on her feet. She didn’t know what the hell was going on, either here or back at home, but she knew something was wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Ella tried to sneak away from the interrogation room to call Clarissa back, but Grant cut her off.
“I don’t trust a word this guy says.”
She pocketed her phone and blinked herself back to the present. “I’m struggling with him. He doesn’t have an alibi which is the most important thing, but his microsignals were consistent with someone telling the truth.”
Ripley locked the interrogation room door behind her and slipped into the conversation. “I don’t know, Dark, I saw a few slip-ups. His nostrils were flaring like a twitching asshole. Did you see his feet? Constantly pointing at the door. If you ask me, the man was spewing whatever garbage he thought would save his ass.”
Ella hated to do it, but she was going to use Ripley’s foolproof tactic against her. “Mia. You saw it. Don’t tell me you weren’t looking.” Ella gave her partner two thumbs up.
“Yeah, okay, so the thumbs said innocence. They were pointed at us nearly the whole time. But you have to take thumb analysis in context.”
According to Ripley, the thumbs never lied. She was the pioneer of what she termed thumb-based psychological profiling, a technique that new agents were forced to learn during their interrogation training. Ella had gone through it herself during her crash course in field work, and at times it felt she was being forced to endure it at gunpoint. She didn’t think it was possible for someone to talk about thumbs for three hours straight, but Ripley’s lecture had done just that.
“Come on Mia, you saw the hurt in his face. Clarence is a slimy little shit, but can you really see him killing two, three women? He’s just a class clown who never grew up. He’s picking the low-hanging fruit.”
Ripley loosened her hair out of its ponytail then re-tied it. “Until he can verify his whereabouts, or until his apartment is swept from top to bottom, I’m leaning towards guilty.”
Ella hated to defend the guy, but all the evidence was saying otherwise. “Our unsub has strength and cunning. Vanessa and Abigail were both strangled with bare hands. Meanwhile, Clarence fell over when you blew on him. Do you think a guy like that could hold a woman down? He’s weak as hell, both mentally and physically. Our killer – or killers – aren’t.”
“Alright,” Ripley said, “I need a break to think things through. If anyone wants me, I’ll be outside.”
“I’ll see if my guys have found anything at Clarence’s place,” said Grant.
They dispersed, leaving Ella alone. She hurried around to a nearby corridor, nodded hello at two passing officers, then took her phone out.
One missed call. Clarissa Reed.
Ella returned the call, thoughts whirring. Maybe Clarissa had forgotten to mention something the previous night. Perhaps something vital that could lead her to Logan Nash’s location.
But through instinct – a human one, unrelated to her investigative prowess – she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
“Ella,” Clarissa said after the first ring. Her voice was hushed. “Can you talk?”
