The station roars with excitement. The room is buzzing with animation as the witnesses discuss the chaos that occurred on the square. What began as a small debate erupted into an all-out brawl. Local shopkeepers and their dozen or so patrons either witnessed the fight or had insight as to why it went down.
Officers dash around the station trying to stitch the evidence together, hoping to make sense of it all. Statements are shuffled around on the desk as tempers flare. The entire commotion comes to a complete halt when they hear scuffling in the hall. They collectively hold their breath as Jake is manhandled through the station. His arms handcuffed behind his back, his steel-toed work boots scrape against the wooden floor. With a communal shrug and a shake of their heads, everyone turns to the task at hand.
"I was home all night," Jake protests as he's being forced through the door.
Sneering, the officer mutters, "So you claim," as he pushes the suspect further inside. Boots stomp across the wood as they make their way to the back. The officer, still breathless from the struggle, asks, "Where do you want him, sergeant?"
Rachel looks up to find the suspect a disheveled mess. His hair is standing on end, and the saucers under his eyes make her believe he hadn't slept since this escapade with Millie began. "Take him to one; I'll be right there."
Jake's brows knit into a perfect unibrow as his eyes narrow into tiny slits. Through a clenched jaw he says, "This is harassment, and you damn well better know that I intend to sue."
"You've said your piece," the officer says, giving him a firm push to move him along.
Kirk hangs up the phone, shaking his head. If he had a nickel for every time a perp said that, he'd never have to work again. Sergeant, forensics just called and said they found a detailed list of victims in Jake's apartment. His cell vibrates across the desk before she can respond. Scooping it up, Kirk retrieves the message and then hands it to the sergeant.
Rachel quickly scans the text and finds the docket has their names, addresses, phone numbers, where they work, and what hours they keep. "It looks like the two of them have been planning this for a while."
Kirk grimaces. "Forensics also found a journal recording the day and cause of their demise. They said they didn't find anything in the trunk but believe it was recently cleaned; the carpet is still damp. They did find Millie's prints on the passenger side, center console, and in the back and said they were recent, within the past few days."
"So why did he clean the trunk but not bother with the front?"
"Maybe he thought he could explain it away?"
"Or, there was something in the trunk he didn't want us to find?"
"Are you thinning dead bodies, Sergeant?"
"Possibly."
"I'll let you know if I find more."
"Meanwhile, I'll hear what Jake has to say." Turning, she heads down the hall. It's one of the few places that remains untouched by time, with its dark mahogany walls dulled by years of neglect. Pictures of former captains aligned on either side. Occasionally, a faint hint of pipe smoke lingers in the air, letting them know that Berryville's first police captain is still watching over them, a promise he made to his men centuries ago.
Straightening her posture, the sergeant marches into the interrogation room. She slams a vanilla folder on the table, jerks the metal seat out, and plops down with force, using intimidation tactics she'd learned from Jerry years ago. Jake doesn't flinch. Tension thickens between them as they continue to stare the other down. Opening the file, Rachel leans in and says, "So tell me, Jake, why did you drive nearly forty miles to use a car wash?"
Jake shrugs. "I was visiting my brother and decided to get a car while I was there."
"So you drove nearly an hour to talk to your brother briefly and then drove home? That just doesn't make any sense to me."
"What I had to tell him was better handled in person than on the phone."
"And that was?" Rachel's tone is cold yet probing.
"I don't think that's any of your business."
Rachel leans across the table. In a firm, authoritative voice she says, "You're a suspect in a murder investigation, so where you go, who you talk to, and what you say are evidence."
"Wait, what? I'm a suspect now?"
"I warned you this would happen if you continue to help Mille."
"But I haven't seen Millie since I left her house two days ago," Jake protests.
"When you left with her, correct?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Jake says sharply. "I came over, secured the house, and went home."
"With her in the trunk?" Rachel presses, her voice unyielding.
"That's ludicrous."
"Is it now? Then why did we find her hair embedded in the trunk's carpet?" The sergeant fibs with a no-nonsense look on her face.
"She helps me carry groceries in sometimes."
Rachel's brows arch. "So explain to me why her prints were all over your car."
"I take her to dinner sometimes."
"That explains the ones in the front, but what about the ones in the back?"
"Steven goes with us when he's in town, so Millie sits in the back. I thought it should be the opposite, but she doesn't seem to mind." Jake rattles on.
Rachel leans forward; in a low, stern voice she says, "That would be a plausible theory if the prints were more than a week old, but they're not. After a pregnant pause she asks, "What about the blood we found in the trunk of your car?" Rachel lies, hoping to frighten him more.
Remembering the manikin, Jake nervously shifts in his chair.
"Normal cleaning only gets rid of the blood seen by the naked eye, not the residue left behind. So all the scrubbing you did at the car wash was a waste of time.
"I'd never hurt anyone, I swear." His voice cracked with every other word.
"Here's what I think: I think you and Millie got into a heated argument, and you became angry and killed her."
"I'd never hurt Millie, ever."
"Because you're in love with her, correct?"
"I love her as a friend."
"But you want more, and that's why you killed Steven, so you could have her all to yourself." The sergeant slides a picture across of Steven stabbed in his car.
Jake glances down. Bile rises in his throat as he glances away. "I'd never kill anyone."
"Millie found out and became enraged, possibly threatened you, so you killed her, put her in the trunk of your car, and then dumped her body somewhere."
Springing to his feet, Jake slams his fists on the table. "I didn't kill Millie. I didn't. I didn't."
"Then why did we find Millie's blood in the back of the car?"
"It's not Millie's, it's…"
"It's who? Jake? Who did you kill?"