“We all would, but it's the price we pay for being alive.”
“You must be very proud of yourself for catching him. I'm sure you'll be in line for a commendation for this.”
“Those things don't matter to me. I don't do this job for the medals, or the money. Heck, I don't even do it to say I take bad people off the streets.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Honestly, I do it because I like knowing I outsmarted someone who thought they could get away with murder. The fact of the matter is that it's easier to do than you would think.”
“I'm sure you're exaggerating.”
“I'm not. People get away with murder all the time. There aren't enough cops in the world to care enough to solve every single case that comes our way. When there isn't public outcry or a family that's demanding we do everything humanly possible, these cases get thrown under the rug.”
“That's depressing.”
“It certainly can be, depending on how you look at it. At least in this case it's not something you have to worry about. George Hobbes' killer is going to be brought to justice.”
“I'm glad to hear it.”
“Me too.”
Anna looked up into Detective Knox's eyes, trying to measure how much he believed the words he spoke. He was a difficult man to read, and required her undivided attention to decipher. Distracted, she did not notice Detective Knox reach for her hand, locking a handcuff around it. She was too shocked to resist as he grabbed her other hand, completing the matched set. She looked down at her wrists, and her head shot upward, her eyes once again locking with Detective Knox's.
“I don't understand.”
“Like I said, George Hobbes' killer is going to be brought to justice.”
Chapter 31
A Coiled Snake
Anna Summers was a different creature in captivity, no longer a timid soul afraid of confrontation, instead a coiled snake ready to lash out and strike. She studied her surroundings, her mind trying to devise an exit strategy. No escape was obvious, the room secure enough, the walls stained with ample quantities of blood. She knew she was trapped; her only option was to convince Detective Knox he had made a terrible mistake. She was well-trained in lying, her mind could spin whole webs of fiction, delicate and ornate. No man had ever been able to stand straight as she bent their will to hers, all of them succumbing to the carnal appetite of her charms. There was little satisfaction in the art of conning those who were glad to be taken in, but Anna was not in the game for the intellectual victories. Men were tools she used to get what she wanted.
Detective Knox entered the room, calmly sitting down opposite Anna. He made sure to dull his response, to not let on how satisfying this arrest had been. He knew Anna was an egoist at heart, and that she would be distraught as much over being caught as knowing it was business as usual. Detective Knox could see in her eyes that what Anna desired most of all was to be praised for her ingenuity, for almost getting away with the perfect murder.
Anna could not understand what had gone wrong, how her plan had been uncovered. She had been careful at every step, meticulously planning her moves, leaving no trace behind that was not intentional. The puzzle was supposed to be unsolvable, the key piece missing from the set once it had been fully assembled. Detective Knox was supposed to throw his hands in the air in frustration, admitting defeat and closing the case without a conviction. Something had gone terribly wrong, Anna knew, feeling the same sense of helplessness she had intended to cause in him.
Detective Knox sat for a moment without speaking, letting the moment hang. They were now locked in a battle of wills, neither wanting to give the other the satisfaction of being the first to give away what little was left cloaked in mystery.
“Detective, I don't understand. Why did you arrest me?”
“Because you killed George Hobbes.”
“I did no such thing. You just got a confession from his son, so why are you harassing me?
“I'm glad you enjoyed that show.”
“Show? What are you talking about?”
“That was what you might call a ruse.”
“I don't understand.”
“It wasn't real. It was fake, because I knew you would be here watching.”
“And just how did you suppose to know that?”
“You had made it clear that the killer I was looking for was proud of herself, that she relished the attention that came along with outsmarting us. She would not have been able to resist the urge to stand here and watch as we made someone else confess to the crime.”
“You keep using that pronoun, she.”
“You are a woman, aren't you?”
“Yes, but I am not your killer. I can't be. I don't have the kind of skills needed to do any of that. Not like Emerson, who did.”
“That's where you went wrong. He doesn't have any skills.”
“But he said he had taken pre-med classes. George had told me before that he was going to be a doctor.”
“I'm sure he did, but it wasn't true. You were talking to a father who was embarrassed by the path his son had chosen. It was easier for him to say his son was trying to be a doctor than admit the truth.”
“Which was?”
“That Emerson Hobbes spent his college years in drama school. He's an actor. And judging by the look on your face, he's a pretty good one.”
Anna's shoulders slumped as she fell against the back of the chair. She had never considered the possibility that she had been lied to. For as long as she had lived near George Hobbes, he had never given her a reason to think he was anything but a good, honest man. Understanding people was a difficult enough task for those who were normal, and nearly impossible for those who were not. Anna realized, as she sat shackled to the table, that she had made too many assumptions about the nature of people.
“Even if he didn't do it, what makes you think it was me?”
“You do. I didn't notice it at first, but your behavior isn't consistent with what I would have expected.”
“That's a flimsy argument.”
“It wasn't a coincidence that you happened to show up here just after I got a letter from the killer. You were here because you had sent it, and you wanted to see how much it upset me. It only became clear once I started thinking about you as a suspect.”
“A suspect? You were grasping at straws.”
“Perhaps, a bit. But the thing is, you made a big mistake with your plan.”
“Not that I'm admitting anything, but I'm curious, what would that be?”
“The whole staged abduction. If the killer was someone in the family, they would have been able to find a much simpler way of killing him. The fact that you went to such extremes eventually led me to the conclusion that the killer couldn't have been a family member. It had to be someone on the outside, trying to cover their tracks. That left you as the main suspect, because you popped up too often.”
“So far, everything you've said still sounds like a theory, and not like evidence. Do you have anything to prove I actually did this?”
“I have your confession. Or, I will.”
“You're crazy if you think I'm going to confess to a murder I didn't commit.”
“Do you really think that if we tore apart your life, we wouldn't find a single hair, or fiber, or speck of DNA to tie you to this? I've been around a long time, and I know all the tricks, and there isn't a way to avoid leaving a trace behind.”
“Have you ever sat across from a gambler?”
“I have, and what I can tell you is that even a gambler knows when to throw down their hand. Maybe we find the evidence, maybe we don't. If you don't confess, the stakes become higher with each passing day. Right now, you can get all the attention you've ever wanted, and you'll live to see the sun shine again. If you don't, let's just say no one will ever notice when you die.”