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Hank shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hands fidgeting. “I was nervous,” he confessed, his voice strained with emotion. “I didn’t know what to say, and… and I didn’t want Danika to find out I met with my ex. It’s complicated.”
Sam nodded slowly, understanding the human complexities of such situations. “I get that, Hank,” he said, his tone softer but still firm. “But you have to see how it looks from our side. Lying about meeting April, especially under these circumstances, doesn’t reflect well on you.”
Hank’s face crumpled, and he buried it in his hands, his body language exuding distress. “I know, I know,” he muttered, his voice muffled and filled with regret. “That’s why I came down to tell you the truth. I swear, she was very much alive when I left her. I wouldn’t hurt her. I just couldn’t.”
Sam’s next question was pointed. “Why did you meet her?”
Hank’s discomfort was palpable. “I still have… had feelings for her. But she’s changed. It was… disturbing.”
Sam’s gaze narrowed slightly as he assessed Hank’s demeanor. “Disturbing enough to kill her?”
Hank’s agitation spiked visibly. “No! I didn’t kill her,” he insisted, his voice rising in a mix of desperation and indignation. “Why would I come here to tell you I did meet her if I killed her?”
Sam remained calm, methodically piecing together the timeline. “Where did you meet her?”
“At that old diner outside of town,” Hank replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
“And what time was this meeting?” Sam continued, his questions deliberate.
“Nine p.m.,” Hank answered.
“How long were you there with her?”
“Around forty minutes, give or take,” Hank said, his gaze flickering away momentarily before returning to Sam.
“Where did she go after?” Sam asked.
Hank shrugged. “No idea. Said she had another meeting.”
“That late at night?”
“That’s what she said.”
“And did you follow her?”
Hank shook his head vehemently. “No, I didn’t follow her.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to my friend’s bar, O’Malley’s in Lincoln. Stayed there, had a few too many and slept it off in his apartment above the bar.”
Sam observed Hank’s body language closely. The nervousness, the eagerness to provide details—it all painted a picture. But was it the truth?
“Seems odd then that Danika said you were at home with her all night,” Sam said.
Hank chewed his bottom lip. “I know. I was surprised when she said that. I guess maybe she was trying to protect me. Or maybe she got the nights mixed up.”
Sam remained silent.
After a few beats, Hank looked up at him. “Chief Mason, you have to believe me.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Is there anything else you can tell me, anything that might help point to the killer?”
Hank thought for a few seconds then shook his head. “No. But you can check with my friend. His name is Bud O’Malley. He’ll tell you I was there all night.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
Hank stood. “Thanks, Chief.”
