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She scoffed. "Is that really the best you can do?"
"For now, yes."
She snorted at me. "Can't you just arrest him? So he won't harm the children too? He’s taken them away, you know. We don’t know where they are. And he’s been threatening toward me. He has threatened her before, too—to take her children away from her."
"I understand your worry, Mrs. Johnson, but you need to trust us to do our job."
She stood to her feet. "Well, I don't. And meanwhile, he is removing all the evidence, and he will get away with murdering my daughter."
I stared at her as she rushed toward the door. I was worried. I was very worried about Rachel and the children, but my hands were tied. I couldn't do anything as of right now. So far, Rachel could have just left. There were no signs of a crime being committed.
As I left the room, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Mrs. Johnson's evidence was flimsy at best, and I wasn't convinced that John was the killer. But I also knew I had to keep an open mind and consider all possibilities. My mind was racing with different theories and possibilities. Was John really the killer? Or was Mrs. Johnson just desperate to find someone to blame? I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off about John. She was definitely right about that. The way he had been acting since Rachel's disappearance was suspicious. I knew I had to dig deeper, but I also knew I had to be careful not to make any mistakes that could jeopardize the case. With a heavy heart, I left the station, determined to find the truth about Rachel's disappearance, no matter what it took.
That night, I couldn't stop thinking about the case. I reviewed the interviews I had conducted with John and his family, trying to find any inconsistencies or signs of guilt. But everything seemed to be in order, and I couldn't find anything concrete to tie John to Rachel's disappearance.But there was no alibi either for the time of her disappearance.
I decided to visit John's house early the next morning while Matt went into the station to be at the morning briefing. I was hoping to find something that would help me in the investigation. As I approached the house, I saw John outside, pacing frantically. He looked up as he saw me, and his face turned pale.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice shaking.
"I need to ask you a few more questions, John," I said, trying to keep my tone calm. "Can we go inside and talk?"
John hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I followed him inside the house and into the living room—his very clean living room. As we sat down, I couldn't help but notice how tense he was. His hands were shaking, and he was fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding mine. I decided to start with some basic questions to see if he would slip up.
"John, can you tell me about the last time you saw Rachel?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.
He swallowed nervously. "I already told you everything, Detective," he said, still avoiding eye contact.
"I know, but sometimes people remember things they forgot to mention before," I said, trying to coax him into talking more. "Did she say anything about where she was going or who she was meeting?"
He shook his head. "No, she didn't. She was going to work. That’s all I know. She dropped me off at my office, said goodbye, then drove off."
“Did anyone see you being dropped off? Any of your colleagues?”
“You know they didn’t. You’ve already asked them about it,” he said.
“Maybe someone else saw you get out of the car? An old friend or someone working at the restaurant next door?”
“The restaurant doesn’t open until five o’clock, so no one was there. You know this.”
“So, you decided to walk down to the beach. Was that because you and Rachel were fighting?” I asked. “Did you need some time to calm down?”
“No. We weren’t fighting.”
I could tell he was lying, but that was hardly enough. I decided to change tactics and see if I could get him to slip up in a different way.
"John, can you explain why you cleaned your house so thoroughly the other day?" I asked, watching hisreaction carefully.
His eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why were you cleaning so much when you've never done it before?" I pressed.
He hesitated for a moment, and I could see the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. "I just wanted everything to be perfect," he said, his voice trembling. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just felt like the house needed a good cleaning."
I didn't buy it. "John, you've never cleaned the house before. Why start now?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't know. Maybe I just felt like I had to do something."
"Something like what?" I asked, leaning in closer. "Something like hiding evidence?"
