“I… I suppose not. I don’t worryabout it. I’ve never had a problem with waking up on time,” Baker said. He wasfully red in the face now, his eyes still wide, trying to grapple with thequestions that were being thrown at him like barbs.
Zoe watched Flynn carefully. Hewas starting to lose it, she thought. With every question he inched forward onhis seat, until he was almost off it; a few more words and he’d be springing upinto the air, yelling at the man, maybe shaking his fist or getting into hisface. It wouldn’t be pretty. She could have left him to it, let him dig his ownhole. Maybe get an official complaint put in against him.
But that wasn’t going to help theinvestigation.
“All right,” she said, standing upfrom the sofa and smoothing down the front of her jacket. “Thank you very muchfor your time, Mr. Baker. Your cooperation has been appreciated.”
“What?” Flynn stared up at her,his neck swiveled around thirty degrees to fix her with that same accusatorystare. “We’re not done.”
“Yes,” Zoe said, leaning down andtaking him by the elbow, a gesture which thankfully prompted him to stand up. “Wevery much are. We will be in touch again if we need to ask any furtherquestions, Mr. Baker.”
She strode for the door, pushingFlynn in front of her, not letting him have enough time to argue his case withher. He needed to be out of the room—out of the house—away from these people.Baker was sitting frozen in his seat, watching them with wide open eyes. Zoecouldn’t read his expression, but she didn’t need to. Baker was irrelevant.
Zoe had been able to see for along time that they were in the wrong house. The man’s feet were too small—whichwasn’t a problem in itself, because he could have been deliberately wearing alarger pair of shoes, but he was certainly too heavy to make the imprints thatshe had seen at the riverbank. And she had already ascertained that there wasonly one culprit involved in these killings. He wasn’t an accomplice. He didn’tknow a thing.
“What are you doing?” Flynnhissed, as Zoe bundled him out onto the pavement and toward the car.
“Get in,” Zoe snapped at him,refusing to talk out in the open where anyone could overhear. Not while theBakers and all of their neighbors were listening in.
Once they were in the car, whichrocked slightly under the force with which Flynn slammed his door, Zoe turnedto him with all the sharp-angled fury she could muster herself. “You werehounding him,” she said. “He gave you an alibi, corroborated by a witness.There is nothing else you can ask from him.”
“It’s not enough proof,” Flynnsaid, sullenly, stubbornly. “His wife could have been lying.”
“Any agent with a shred ofexperience could see that they were not lying,” Zoe told him. “And you cannotreasonably expect him to have proof that he was home all night. But it does notmatter. He is not our man.”
“How can you even tell?” Flynnshook his head, his voice rising in volume. “Just because he says it’strue—”
“That is not the only reason,” Zoecut him off. She hesitated, then; of course, she couldn’t tell him what shecould see—that Baker didn’t fit the numbers, and therefore he didn’t even needan alibi. She knew he was innocent just from looking at him. But there wereother ways to know whether someone was lying or not. Ways that she had learned,little by little, from Shelley. “You will learn to see the signs in time. Now,just drive. Back to the station. We need to liaise with the sheriff.” She endedher argument lamely, knowing it wouldn’t be much help. The equivalent oftelling someone that they would understand when they were older. But what elsecould she say, when she didn’t really understand how she understood it herself?Shelley had been a good teacher. Zoe had never claimed to be the same.
Flynn stared at her for a longmoment, Zoe counting the seconds as she refused to look back: six, seven,eight, nine. When he started the car, Zoe dared to look at him. His face wasred, a vein pulsing ominously at the side of his forehead. Zoe counted hisheartbeats in it, saw how elevated the rate was. He was probably too furious tospeak, which was a blessing. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to winany further argument.
As they drove away, the carjerking violently around a corner as Flynn viciously attacked it, Zoe couldn’thelp her thoughts from straying to just how very different he was from herprevious partner. Shelley had been softness and light, and an excellentinterrogator. Flynn couldn’t even tell when he was being told the truth. It wasgoing to be an uphill battle from here to work this case into something thatcould actually be solved, and all the while Zoe knew the clock was ticking—everysecond he was free, the killer had the chance to strike again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Shacora looked down at heruniform, brushing imaginary bits of fluff or dust from the front and makingsure that her name badge was straight. It held her full name, Shacora Maxwell,right under the embroidery designating her as an official park patrol officer.
Officer. Huh! That was putting ashine on something that needn’t have been polished. She was a glorifiedsecurity guard, with not even that level of power. Not that she really neededit. Nothing happened around here—nothing that required anything more thanyelling and shining her flashlight at whichever kids or drunkards were tryingto get into the park after dark. Usually a combination of both. Teenagerstrying to have a party somewhere their parents wouldn’t catch them.
“All right.” Tony, the park rangerwho always did her handover, nodded to her. “I’m off. You good?”
“All good, T,” Shacora told him,flashing him her trademark toothy smile. She enjoyed flirting with Tony alittle when they did their handovers. He was older than her, maybe by tenyears, and married, but it was still fun to watch him squirm a little. He didn’tknow what to do with the attention.
“All right, then.” Tony gave her afinal nod, hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, then set offwalking toward his
