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“Milky Center,” I continue. “That’s what Bella had been eating. The contents of her stomach proves it, and the trace samples left on her fingers confirms.” I pause, then grin. “You worked the Milky Center line just hours before she was murdered.”
“So what?” he barks. “It’s just candy. Kids eat candy.” He looks to Franklin. “You can’t convict me because a kid was eating candy, Detective. There ain’t a jury in the world who’ll accept your evidence.”
“Oh, I bet there’s at least one,” I retort.
Over and over, I bring his attention back to me and prove he wants the girls to be weak. To be defenseless and coy. He thought he’d get that from me when I first sat down, but now he knows different, he’s no longer interested in me.
“The fact your work schedule lines up with the evidence we found inside those girls’ bodies will weigh heavily on a jury, Laramie. What did you do those days? Package the sweets and daydream about who you’d go home and rape?”
He swings his wild eyes to Franklin. “She can’t say that!” Then back to me. “You can’t say that. You can say you suspect something, but you can’t say I did the thing.”
“We’re not in court. There’s no judge for you to appeal to. I’m merely asking a question. Why don’t you have any hair on your body?”
“What?” He looks down into his lap, then back up to me. “Huh?”
“No eyebrows, no eyelashes.” I allow my gaze to flick from one feature to the next. “No facial hair. You’ve shaved your head.” Then I look down to the slight V in his shirt. “Nothing on your chest either?” I look at his arms, covered in navy sleeves. “Nothing?”
“My body is none of your business.”
“The photos they’ve taken of you upon arrest and incarceration include hair,” I push on. “That means you don’t suffer hypotrichosis. It’s not alopecia either, is it?” I move closer, resting my elbows on the table. “You have no medical history that would hint at an immune issue to explain the hair loss. So that leads me to think you wax it all off.”
“I don’t—”
“Your colleagues said you had hair just weeks ago. A decent amount of it, too. And your genetics, as proven by your parents, tell me you should have quite a lot of,” I pull back and point at my chest, “ya know,mess, here.”
“My grooming habits are none of your business.” He looks to Franklin as though to plead. “This is harassment.”
Franklin only shrugs. “You’ve waived your right to an attorney. However, should you change your mind, we’ll be happy to turn the record off and adjourn this meeting until you have adequate counsel. Just say the words.”
“Is it like a dormant hunger?” I ask. “A craving?”
I wait for Fentone’s eyes to come back to me.
“You hurt little girls, but it’s not analwaysthing. You’ve stayed pretty clean the last few months. Working. Enjoying your freedom. You probably even thought you could give the civilian life a fair go. But then you were evicted from your last apartment. You moved to where you are now, and that just so happens to be closer to an elementary school. Your home—hell, your kitchenwindow—overlooks a thoroughfare that has children passing twice a day, every single day. More often than that on the weekends, when those kids are heading to the park.”
His face hardens. “My living arrangements have nothing to do with you.”
“It’s like when there’s no temptation nearby, you can live a normal life. Like me and a chocolate bar,” I smirk. “If I don’t see one, I’m fine. I rarely even think about them. But place one in front of me, and suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about it. I want the sugar so bad. I want the sweet, delicious treat, and I want itnow.”
“Nope.” He lifts his nose and studies the ceiling. “This isn’t evidence that’ll hold up in court.”
“You were doing just fine without temptation,” I push harder. “You were finally living a normal life. But then your new view was too good to pass up. The hunger was building. You were going to work every single day, packaging that candy, and you had eight consecutive hours inside your own head. Fantasizing. Plotting.”
“Not true,” he says. He keeps his cool, his tone flat and controlled. “And not evidence that’ll hold up in court,” he repeats.
“The hunger became too much,” I snarl. “You salivated at the thought of what you’d do to Chelsea. You knew you couldn’t hold off any longer, so you made preparations. Waxed all your hair off. Removed every last strand, because you wanted that little girl, but you learned from last time that hair left at a crime scene can get you put away for a nice long stretch.”
“My grooming habits won’t convince a jury,” he protests. “Not in a million years.”
I look over to Franklin. “Mr. Fentone paid for his waxing services, no?” Then I glance down at the file on the table beneath his hand. “Waxed the whole lot off just five days ago.”
“Yeah.” The guy has no clue where I’m going with all this. Fentone isn’t wrong: none of this will stand up in court. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep tugging. Tugging. See what he eventually confesses to.
Taking out the invoice from a local salon, Franklin rotates it and slides it closer to Fentone. “The lady at the salon said you creeped her out. That she felt sick touching your old man balls, and she hopes she never has to wax your saggy old body again.” He finds his smile now and lets Fentone linger on it for a moment. “She told me she hopes whatever you did will have you put away for a long time.”
Laramie’s ears turn pink, but his lips peel back in a dangerous sneer. “Not very professional of her.” He tilts a little closer. “When I’m released,” he looks to me, “which I inevitably will be, considering my innocence and bulletproof alibi, I might visit that salon again and file a complaint with her boss. Ya know, since mysaggy old man bodybothered her so much.”
“Noted for the record,” I grin. “If she visits this precinct in the next few days to file a restraining order, I think we probably have enough evidence to tie that one up quickly. Besides,” I wink, “intimidation, harassment, and stalking are all direct violations of your parole.” I turn to Franklin. “Right? I can’t say I’m entirely versed in the conditions of a man’s parole. But I would have thought those were standard clauses in such an agreement.”
