Lambert rapped his knuckles on the door.
“Hopefully, she’ll see the light after we’re through here.”
Someone set a spatula down on the stove. Footfalls crossed the downstairs. Suzanne Tillery’s eyes widened at the sight of the two deputies standing on the stoop.
“Yes?”
“Is your husband home, Mrs. Tillery?” Aguilar asked, peering around the woman.
It was too dark to see past the entryway. Suzanne covered her mouth.
“Oh, God. What did he do?”
“Is he inside the house?”
Without answering, Suzanne spun on her heels and stomped up the stairs. Her voice carried back to the deputies.
“What have you done this time, Garrick? You’d better drag yourself out of bed.”
A grunt came from the second floor.
“Will you stop yelling? I’ve got a goddamn headache, and you’re making it worse.”
“The sheriff’s department is here. Put something on.”
“The sheriff’s department? What do they want?”
“Probably to arrest you for whatever fool thing you did last night.”
Suzanne rushed down the stairs.
“He’s on his way,” she said, leaning in the doorway.
“May we come inside?” Aguilar asked, her hand close to her gun, just in case Garrick owned a weapon.
Suzanne shot an uncertain glance over her shoulder. Her mouth quivered as she turned back to the deputies.
“I guess so. You won’t arrest him, will you?”
Aguilar didn’t reply as she followed Lambert inside. Dots of spilled paint marred the wooden staircase, and the steps ended at a darkened landing. The television played a talk show in the living room. A popping, splattering sound emanated from the kitchen, and Suzanne hurried away.
“I’m sorry,” she said over her shoulder. “If I don’t turn the stove off, I’ll burn his breakfast.”
Lambert took a cautious step into the living room and lifted his chin at Aguilar.
“Kinda late to eat breakfast.”
“That’s what you get when you spend the night at Hattie’s.”
The steps groaned. Garrick Tillery’s shadow touched the wall before he appeared. Aguilar steadied herself. Something about Garrick Tillery threw her off. When the hungover man stepped into the entryway, Aguilar met Lambert’s gaze. Garrick’s shirt was a smock of blood. It looked as if someone had splashed him with scarlet-red paint. The liquor stench made Aguilar’s eyes water.
Suzanne, who’d returned from the kitchen, dropped her mouth open.
“When I told you to put something on, I meant something presentable.”
Tillery scratched his head. His eyes drifted to his shirt, as though seeing it for the first time. As the rotund man shifted his feet, Aguilar spied the laceration across Garrick’s hand.
“What happened to your hand, Mr. Tillery?”
He lifted his injured hand and stared in confusion. With his free hand, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Oh, that. I did it fishing.”
“What about the blood on your shirt? That happen fishing, as well?”
“I…I don’t remember.”
“Must have been one helluva fish.”
“Didn’t I tell you to throw your shirt in the garbage?” Suzanne asked. “It’s ruined. Why would you wear it again?”
“Mr. Tillery,” Lambert interjected. “Were you at the river at six-thirty last night?”
Tillery wobbled on his heels. His pallid face took on a green tinge, and for a second, Aguilar worried Garrick would vomit on them.
“Yeah, I was there.”
“And was Cecilia Bond at the river?”
Suzanne swung her glare to Garrick and said, “I knew it. You’re cheating on me. But why Cecilia Bond? Don’t you know the poor woman is ill?”
Garrick’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“What? Cecilia? I’m not cheating on you. And if I was, I wouldn’t with a seventy-year-old.”
“She’s not seventy.”
“Mrs. Tillery, please,” Aguilar said, shutting Suzanne out of the conversation. “Mr. Tillery, answer the question.”
“What question?”
“Did you see Cecilia Bond at the river?”
“Uh…I might have.”
“Yes or no.”
“Yeah…yeah, she was there.”
“Explain how you hurt your hand fishing.”
“The hook. I was drunk, and I got the hook caught in my hand.”
Aguilar shared a look with Lambert. Her partner wasn’t buying the explanation.
“Garrick, I need you to come with us to the station.”
Garrick ruffled his hair. He still appeared half-asleep.
“Now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“I should change first.”
“No, sir. You’re fine dressed as you are.”
A grave expression fell over Suzanne’s face.
“Why did you ask Garrick about the blood? Did he hurt Cecilia? Oh, God.”
* * *
Standing beside Sheriff Gray outside the interview room, Thomas peeked through the window as Aguilar and Lambert questioned Garrick Tillery. The drunk slumped against the table, wrists cuffed behind his back, straggly hair hanging over his eyes. Aguilar had taken his shirt, and Tillery sat bare-chested during the interview.
“What are you going to do?” Thomas asked.
Gray blew out a breath.
“Unless Aguilar gets something out of him, I’ll have to let him go. I don’t have anything on the guy, except a local on a kayak noticed Tillery fishing while Cecilia Bond walked along the river. Hell, I can’t definitively say she didn’t tumble off the platform on her own.”
“So you’re letting him walk?”
Gray played with his mustache.
“I’ll keep him overnight. Give him time to work off his bender. But I can’t justify holding Tillery unless we find evidence implicating him.”
“You’re testing the shirt for Cecilia Bond’s blood, right?”
“Hell, yes. But it will be days before we get the results back.”
Inside the interview room, Garrick shook his head, swinging his hair back and forth as Aguilar pressed him with questions.
“He lives five doors from the Ramsey house.”
Gray swung around to Thomas and gestured at Garrick with his thumb.
“You think that idiot murdered Lincoln Ramsey?”
“The daughter swears someone was inside the house when Lincoln died.”
“Yeah, and none of you found a shred of evidence supporting her claim. Look, I see where you’re going with this. Don’t jump to conclusions. Garrick Tillery might be a lot of things. But a serial killer?”
“Serial killers are chameleons, Sheriff.”
“That guy is too stupid to hide a crime.” Gray’s phone rang. Virgil Harbough’s name appeared on the screen. “That’s the medical examiner. I’ll take this in my office.”
While Gray spoke to Virgil, Thomas watched his fellow deputies interrogate Garrick Tillery. Tears streaked the man’s face, and snot crusted his nose. A minute later, Gray strode back to the window.
“Virgil has Cecilia on the table. I need to be here when Aguilar
