Authors: Alexa Grace
A suggestion of annoyance mixed with distrust hovered in his eyes as he spoke. "I grew up in Francis, Utah. Yeah, my father was the town drunk. He was a mean, merciless man who took pleasure in beating up his family, among other things."
"What other things?"
"Never mind."
"What other things did your father do?"
Ryder hesitated for a moment. "When he got drunk, he came home and raped my sister repeatedly while she screamed her lungs out. There. Are you satisfied? Is that the kind of dirt you wanted to hear?"
"I'm sorry that happened," Carly said with sincerity. "I'm sorry for Erin. What did your mother do to help your sister?"
"Not a goddamned thing."
"That must have been tough for you, to listen to her cries for help when you were too young to do anything to help her. That must have made you feel very weak."
"Weak? You don't know what you're talking about."
"I only meant you were too young at the time to stop your father."
"Oh, I was young, but that didn't hold me back from putting a permanent stop to his abuse. One of the best things I ever did was to plunge that butcher knife into the old man's chest." Ryder flashed a cold smile, as if remembering how the violence gave him pleasure.
Disgusted, Carly swallowed back the bile rising to her throat. "And your mother?"
"She could have stopped the old man from beating us, from raping Erin again and again, but the bitch did nothing. The mother-of-the-year asked for it. She had it coming to her. She made me kill her."
"So you're admitting you killed your parents?"
"Do you think you tricked me into admitting I killed my own parents with your superb questioning techniques, Special Agent Stone?" Ryder ripped out the words impatiently. "What do I have to lose by telling you I murdered those two losers? I'm not stupid. I'm in prison for the rest of my life. Am I sorry about killing my parents? Hell, no. They're my favorite kills."
"The girls you caged in your basement. Were they weak like your mother? Did they ask for it? Did they make you kill them?"
"Hell, yes, they did. Weak little bitches. All they did was blubber and beg me to stop. They made me kill them."
Carly gritted her teeth to prevent lashing out at him. He was such a sick, evil bastard. Just sitting in the same room with him made her want to vomit.
She heard a knock at the door, which was a signal to stop the interview for the day. A guard opened the door and waited.
Forcing herself to be polite, to play to his narcissistic personality, she said to Ryder, "Thank you for talking with me today."
"Always a pleasure, Special Agent Stone," he answered sarcastically.
"I'll be back to talk to you again."
"Check with my staff for appointment availability."
<><><>
Cameron stood before the window of his office. He'd received a call from Detective Burton, who said she'd be in Morel within fifteen minutes to interview their suspect.
She
didn't mention that their "suspect" was the youngest of the Chase brothers.
He
didn't mention that she was about to interview for a murder a man he would give his life to protect. That was the part that gave him the most angst. He couldn't protect Gabe in this thing. It wasn't like the time the school bully bloodied Gabe's nose as he stole one of his Matchbox cars in the playground. Cameron had chased the kid seven blocks after school before he finally reached him and tackled him to the ground. Nobody messed with his brothers. Not back then. Not now.
He wondered what this female detective would look like. She was probably tough as nails and had the body of a quarterback. Law enforcement was hard on women. The ones who succeeded had to be as tough and as smart as their male counterparts. If this detective was a shining star, rising in the ranks, then she had to be very effective at what she did. He just hoped she was fair-minded, and that her questions were objective. Gabe did
not
murder Abby Reece. It wasn't in him to kill anyone, especially not a woman.
A white Indiana State Police car pulled into the parking lot and took a space in the third row. A couple of seconds passed, and then a dark-haired woman in a navy pantsuit emerged from the car and headed toward the building. Wearing her dark hair in a serious bun at the back of her head, she carried a black leather pad-folio, and slipped her keys into her jacket pocket.
Cameron looked her up and down. He couldn't help himself. His weakness was curvy women, and this one had luscious curves in all the right places. The kind of soft-as-sin curves she couldn't hide under her business suit. And he was a bastard for mentally undressing this woman when his brother could be in so much trouble.
Cameron raced to the lobby and met her at the door.
"You must be Detective Chase," she said.
Cameron forced his attention away from her full, sexy mouth." And you must be Detective Burton."
"Call me Robynn," she replied, as she glanced around the lobby.
"I'm Cameron." He shook her hand, inhaling a wisp of her perfume and noting the deep hunter-green color of her eyes. A man could get lost in those eyes. He knew he could.
"Has your suspect arrived?" Robynn sounded all-business.
"Yes, he's in the interview room."
"You put him in an interview room?"
Cameron paused for a moment, thinking this was a strange question. Of course, Gabe was in an interview room. Wasn't she here to interview him? Where else would he be?
"Come this way." He led her through the lobby, and then down a long hallway to the observation room where they could see his brother through the one-way glass window.
Gabe had his hands behind his head and his feet on the metal table. He looked angry and impatient, making Cameron wish he'd spent more time calming him down. Emotions were not going to help him. Robynn would be looking for emotional responses, and could view Gabe's anxiety as a sign of guilt.
Holding her folder to her chest, Robynn gazed at Gabe for several minutes before Cameron asked, "Are you ready to interview him?"
"I like to take things slow."
"Good to know," Cameron offered with a suggestive grin. What was it about this woman that had him wondering what she'd look like without her clothes, under him in his bed?
"I meant I don't like to hurry interviews." Robynn's face colored to a rosy blush.
"Duly noted."
"Do you have a conference room here?"
"Yes, we have two of them. One is large with a long, oval conference table; the other is a lot smaller, with a round conference table."
"Is the smaller one available?" Robynn asked, as she turned her attention back to her suspect.
"Let me check." On his cell, Cameron checked the conference room's availability, and then reported back. "Yes, it's available. Why did you want to know?"
"Please reserve it. That's where I will interview Mr. Chase."
"But our interviews are usually held—"
"I imagine your interviews
are
usually held in that room. But mine aren't done in interview rooms ever," she began heatedly. "I'm not one of those
Law and Order
interviewers where there is a lot of yelling, and I threaten to kick my suspect's ass. I don't think that kind of aggressive interview style works well. It's probably the best way to get a suspect to clam up and give you absolutely
no
information you need or want."
Cameron simply nodded. There was no way he was getting into a debate with this detective over interview styles. He could care less how she interviewed his brother, as long as she cleared him and got him off the suspect list. "One small conference room it is."
"Would you please show me where it's located?"
"Sure. Follow me." Cameron led her back down the long hall until they reached the conference room. Opening the door, he followed her in. "Will this suit your needs?"
Scanning the room, she replied, "Yes, quite nicely." She took a seat, pulled out her folders along with a small tape recorder.
"I'll get Gabe."
"Not so fast. Sit down, I want to talk to you first."
"Not a problem." Cameron sat down across from her. "Fire away."
"Tell me about your victim, Abby Reece."
"It's early in the case, but here's what I know," Cameron began. "Judging from her Facebook page, she was a bit of an exhibitionist. She's got about sixty photos of herself in various stages of undress."
"So you think she asked for it?"
"Hell, no. There is no victim, ever, who deserves to be murdered." Cameron shot her a glare and continued, "I'm saying that by posting all those photos of herself, she was making every sexual predator on the Web aware of her. Not the kind of attention any woman would want."
"What evidence do you have?"
"She was wearing a shoe that did not belong to her. I sent it to your state police crime lab. Maybe you could push that along, so we get the results sooner rather than later."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Other than that, we have a partial print and an email from the killers."
"I read the email you provided. How do you know Mr. Chase didn't send that email to himself?"
"Because the email's IP address was traced back to Abby Reece's laptop at her apartment."
"Any witnesses?"
"None that have come forward. Like I said, it's early. We haven't had much time to conduct our investigation."
"I see. What evidence do you have that indicates Mr. Chase may have committed this murder?"
"His name is Gabe, and you can drop the 'Mr. Chase' bit. You know he is my younger brother."
"I meant no offense. Let's try this again. What evidence do you have that indicates your brother, Gabe, may have committed this murder?"
"We have no evidence whatsoever that Gabe is involved."
"Then why am I interviewing him?"
"He dated the victim and they'd broken up weeks before she was murdered," said Cameron. "He wants his name cleared."