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"Look," Bert said, his voice hoarse. "I didn't kill anyone. I reacted because I thought you were here to slander my farm again. There was this family who came by and got stung. It was an accident, but it cost me a lot of sales and tons of bad publicity."
Fiona's gaze softened slightly while Jake remained stoic, his arms crossed over his chest. She recalled the article, how the family had accused Bert of releasing the bees on purpose. But what if he didn't?"
"Is that why you threatened Jason?" Fiona asked,
"Jason... that punk kid with his girl. He was refusing to pay up, so I threatened up a little. I wasn't being serious. I'm just trying to protect my farm and my livelihood. Why does that make me a criminal?"
"Your farm means a lot to you," Fiona observed.
"Everything," Bert said, his voice breaking. "My father started this farm, and I promised him I'd keep it going. But it's been tough. Sales have been slow, and people don't trust me anymore."
"Mr. Collins, if your actions are truly out of desperation and fear for your livelihood, we understand," Fiona said, her voice filled with sincerity. "But if there's any connection between you and these deaths, we need to know."
Bert's eyes met Fiona's, and for a moment, there was a shared understanding between them. He knew she was doing her job, and she knew he was a proud man struggling to hold onto the only thing he had left.
"I swear," Bert whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't kill anyone. I'm sorry I ran. I just... I thought the worst."
Fiona nodded slowly, and Jake uncrossed his arms, a hint of sympathy flickering in his eyes. Then, she focused back on Bert. She observed the lines etched into his face, evidence of a life spent in the elements, nurturing bees and their hives. This man, who now sat before her, broken and scared, seemed at odds with the vicious killer they were hunting. As an entomologist, Fiona had a keen sense for detecting true passion for insects, and she couldn't shake the feeling that Bert was not their murderer but simply a troubled man trying to protect his livelihood.
"Alright, Bert," Jake said, bringing Fiona's focus back to the interrogation. "We need to know where you were last night."
Bert swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "My neighbor, Earl, and his wife--I was at their house, having drinks."
Fiona and Jake exchanged a look, both surprised by the answer. It seemed to check out, but they couldn't let their guard down just yet.
"And can Earl confirm your whereabouts?" Jake asked, his tone skeptical.
Bert nodded fervently. "Yes, of course! You can ask him. We were drinking until late last night. I passed out on his couch, and his wife made me eggs in the morning. I didn't go anywhere else."
Fiona leaned forward, her eyes scanning Bert's face. She was trying to find any sign of deception, but all she saw was fear and desperation. Could he really be telling the truth?
"Alright, Bert," Jake said, standing up from his chair. "We'll confirm your alibi with Earl.But you're not going anywhere. You still threatened arson and ran from a federal agent. You're in a lot of trouble."
Bert slumped in his chair as Jake and Fiona left the room.
***
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty briefing room. The dying light lent an eerie quality to the space as Fiona stood alone, waiting for Jake. He'd gone to confirm Bert's alibi, and she was sitting in here, waiting with her thoughts. Bert seemed like the perfect candidate, and yet even with his unhinged behavior, her gut told her he was innocent.
The door opened, and Jake came in, looking exhausted. With a heavy sigh, Jake broke the silence.
"His alibi checks out," he said.
Fiona nodded, feeling a strange mixture of relief and frustration. It seemed that her instincts had been right – Bert wasn't the man they were looking for – but it also meant that they were no closer to finding the real murderer. She stood up and paced the room as Jake leaned against the table. He scratched at his clothes, reminding Fiona that she'd gotten a first-aid kit from one of the officers working. She rushed over to the table and unzipped it, taking out some salve.
"Let me take a look at those stings," she said. "You've been shifting around like you're sitting on a cactus."
"Fine, but be gentle," Jake grumbled, pulling up his sleeve to reveal an angry constellation of red welts. He winced as Fiona dabbed at them with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic.
They both fell silent and on instinct, Fiona was in help mode, forgetting the tension between her and Jake. She hadn't been this close to him in so long.
"I should think you'd be used to pain by now," she teased, trying to lighten the mood. "After all, you're the one who always insists on kicking down doors and charging headfirst into danger."
"Hey, I wouldn't have to if you didn't insist on sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," he shot back, unable to suppress a smile. But as Fiona applied a soothing salve to his wounds, their eyes locked, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension.
"Thanks," Jake murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Fiona caught her breath, her fingers lingering on his skin for just a second too long before she pulled away.
"Of course," she replied, forcing her attention back to the task at hand. They both knew that whatever spark had ignited between them couldn't be allowed to grow into a flame.
