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Lucas's gaze flicked away, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘That's ancient history. Yeah, we had a falling out, but that's life. People fight, they move on.’
‘But did you move on, Lucas?’ Ella pressed gently. ‘Or did those old wounds stay open?’
Lucas's stance shifted noticeably at Ella's probing question. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, his face contorting into a twisted mask – perhaps the mask these victims saw in the moments prior to their deaths.
‘Move on? You have no idea what it's like,’ he spat, his voice rising in volume. ‘You think it's easy? To just forget everything and move on?’
The bar's atmosphere tensed, patrons pausing to glance at the unfolding scene. Ella remained seated, her expression calm but alert. Ripley subtly shifted her stance, taking a few steps back, ready to react.
‘Lucas, we're just trying to understand,’ Ella said, her voice a steady contrast to his agitation. ‘If there's more to the story, now's the time to share it.’
‘You cops, always poking around in things you don't understand,’ Lucas sneered, his fists clenching at his sides. ‘You think because you read a file, you know someone's life? You don't know anything about me or Demi or any of it!’
Ella observed his body language - the tension in his muscles, the way his breaths came quicker. It was clear she’d struck a nerve, but she needed to tread carefully. She wouldn’t put it past Lucas to be concealing a weapon.
‘Lucas, we're not here to judge. We're here to find the truth,’ Ella insisted, maintaining a non-threatening posture. ‘If there's something that's been weighing on you, something that connects to the current situation, it's important that we know.’
Lucas's fury suddenly boiled over. With a grunt, he grabbed his empty glass and hurled it across the bar, shattering it against the wall and raining shards down onto a row of bottles. It silenced the whole bar, drawing the attention of everyone within gawping distance.
‘Go to hell, both of you,’ Lucas yelled as he prepared his exit. Ripley, quick to respond, stepped in front of Lucas as he tried to storm past her.
‘Not so fast,’ Ripley said as she placed a hand on his chest.
Lucas, unrestrained and seething, shoved Ripley back, knocking her off balance. Ella saw the next few seconds play out in her mind before it happened, because starting a fight with an agitated Mia Ripley only ended one way.
Lucas's shove was met with Ripley's swift and calculated response. Regaining her balance, she pivoted on her heel, her extensive training as an agent coming into play. She faced Lucas, her stance grounded and ready. Lucas, clearly sensing that he’d begun an altercation he was obliged to finish, lunged towards Ripley. But Ripley was prepared. With a deft move, she sidestepped his charge, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back, using his momentum against him. Lucas grunted in pain, struggling against Ripley's firm grip. But Ripley was unyielding, her technique flawless. She pushed Lucas forward, pinning him against a table. Ella had never seen the fifty-six-year-old veteran move so deftly.
‘I’m not in the mood for any bullshit,’ Ripley shouted. The patrons of the Iron Horse all kept their distance, drinks forgotten, eyeballs lodged on the unfolding drama. Lucas struggled beneath Ripley’s arm lock, but Ella knew that Mia Ripley’s grip – the second most stubborn thing about her – was as close to unbreakable as it got. ‘Don’t make me embarrass you in here,’ Ripley said.
Ella swiftly moved to Lucas’s side, pulled out her handcuffs and snapped one around his free wrist. One cuffed wrist had no function, but it was symbolic of capture. Ripley loosened her grip so Ella could finish the cuffing process.
‘So much for not making a scene,’ Ella said.
‘Gotta roll with the punches,’ Ripley said as she pulled Lucas up to a standing position. ‘Or throw them.’
Ella gestured for the sea of onlookers to part so they could escort Lucas outside. She nudged Lucas forward as everyone returned to their seats, the moment fading into a new story to tell.
‘Come on, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do,’ Ella said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Inside the interrogation room at the Stamford precinct, Ella went through a mental checklist of why the man opposite her, Lucas Trent, might be the man responsible for three murders in the past three days.
Lucas Trent was a school friend of all three victims, and reportedly got into a fight with the most recent victim, Miles Rampell, just after their graduation. He had a clear history with the first victim, Demi Hart, and a relationship marred by domestic violence. Lucas had moved away from the area, but recently returned for reasons Ella was yet to find out. He had a capacity for violence judging from his behavior at the bar, not to mention a criminal history. Lucas also had a visceral reaction to mentions of the victims' names, suggesting he still harbored a deep emotional resentment.
'Lucas,' she began, her voice calm yet assertive, 'let's talk about the last time you saw Demi Hart. What was your relationship with her like after the... incident?'
She watched him closely, looking for any telltale signs in his reactions, ready to delve deeper into the mystery that Lucas Trent presented. With his haggard appearance and scrunched face, he looked right at home in chains.
‘I don’t know. I had to leave. She turned everyone against me.’
‘How so?’ asked Ripley.
‘Everyone thought I was a woman beater.’
‘And were you?’
‘No. Demi knew I had a nest egg, and she wanted a part of it. Bitch took six figures off me.’
