The rain hadn't let up, hammering the station windows like a warning from the storm outside. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Scott leaned against the evidence board, jaw clenched, eyes scanning a photo of Allen.
"That scum set everything up real good," he muttered, flicking the edge of the photo with his thumb. "He knew we were closing in, so he staged this whole damn circus."
Stephanie stood nearby, arms crossed, rain still dripping from her jacket onto the floor. "Jesus... this is insane," she breathed. "We're getting played."
"Yeah," Ray grunted, tossing a file onto the desk. "And he's loving every second of it."
Scott's eyes snapped up. "Did you check Allen's whereabouts like I asked?"
Ray gave a sharp nod. "We did. He was hitting up a bar at night three days before his wife was found dead. And get this—he tailed her for days leading up to the murder. Real lowlife."
Scott's jaw tightened. "I knew it…"
Frank stepped forward, tapping his phone. "We've got more than suspicion now. We've got the smoking gun."
Scott's brow furrowed. "What kind of smoking gun?"
Frank held out his phone. "CCTV footage. Hotel lobby. You'll want to see this."
They crowded around the screen. The video played out in gritty black-and-white—the date stamped February 10th, 11:32 AM. Ms. Allen and Mr. Peter walked into the hotel, laughing, unaware of the shadow that followed. Seconds later, Allen strolled in behind them, all nerves and fake confidence. He approached the front desk, flashed something, whispered threats.
Scott narrowed his eyes. "He impersonated a cop?"
"Yep," Ray said. "Receptionist says he threatened her with obstruction of justice. She cracked. Gave him the room number."
Stephanie shook her head in disgust. "They fired her?"
"Yeah, and the hotel erased the CCTV files," Frank added. "Claimed a 'camera malfunction.' But we dug through their system logs—turns out someone made a backup before erasing the original. We threatened the CEO with accessory charges. He folded."
Scott let out a low whistle. "Damn, Frank. You're getting good at this."
Frank smirked. "Appreciate that, boss."
Scott reached into his coat and pulled out his recorder, pressing play. The tinny voice of Jeff Annie crackled from the speaker. Pain. Regret. Years of silence bleeding through.
"She said he was forced to study the Bible... beaten for it," Scott said.
Ray rubbed his chin. "So that's why he leaves Bible verses at every scene. It's not just a signature—it's a sickness."
"Fear turned to obsession," Stephanie said, her voice quiet. "And now he's projecting it onto his victims."
Scott nodded grimly. "We've got enough to bury Allen. But I want his confession—clean, direct, no loopholes."
They marched back to the interrogation room. Inside, Allen sat cuffed, slouched in the chair like he didn't have a care in the world.
"What now?" he sneered. "Did you come to waste my time again?"
Scott slid a photo across the table. "We found your guy. David Parker."
Allen's face stiffened. His hand jerked upward, tugging at his hair. "I—I don't know him."
"You're gonna go bald at this rate," Scott said with a dry smile. "You nervous, Allen?"
Allen's voice cracked. "What're you talking about?"
"You're covering for Parker, aren't you? He killed your wife and Peter, and you're taking the fall."
"I already told you—I did it! I killed them both!" Allen slammed his fists on the table.
Scott stayed calm. He slid another photo over—this time of Richard Smith.
"Recognize this guy?"
Allen squinted. "Maybe... I nearly got him once. Slippery bastard."
"Wrong again," Scott said. "He was killed after your wife and Peter. Parker silenced him. And you didn't even know. Because you're not the killer."
Allen's voice cracked as he screamed. "You're lying! I killed them all!"
Scott stood slowly, hands flat on the table. "You're willing to die for this lie... but what about your daughter?"
Allen's face darkened. "Leave her out of this."
"She's staying with your grandfather, right?" Scott's voice hardened. "You want her to grow up with the headline: 'Psychopath murders his wife'? You want her to live her whole life as the daughter of a killer?"
Allen's lip trembled. "Don't you dare... don't you bring her into this!"
Scott stepped toward the door. "I can bring her in right now. Let her see her father in cuffs."
Allen dropped to his knees. "Please... don't. I'll tell you everything."
From the observation room, Ray shook his head. "Guess even scumbags got a soft spot."
Scott leaned in close to Allen, voice low and cold. "Start talking."