“So, you knew the deceased well, Ms. Gellar?”
“After the abduction attempt, Amy and I kept in touch for about a year. She was in therapy. We both were.”
“But you lost contact?”
“Amy stopped calling and didn’t respond to my messages. We both were in dark places and trying to find our way home. In Amy’s case, I think I served as a constant reminder of what happened. She needed distance.”
Ames rocks back in his chair and taps a pen on the armrest.
“But that changed.”
“When the stalking began, yes. She believed Michael Rivers escaped and was following her.”
“At the Smith Town residence.”
“That’s correct.”
“How close is Bronson Severson to your son?”
The line of questioning stuns her into silence.
“The kids only met Bronson a few weeks ago,” says Darcy.
“But sometimes he’s alone with Hunter and they talk.”
“Bronson drives Hunter to school or back from football practice when he has time. I don’t understand what this has to do with a murder implication.”
“Does Hunter spend a lot of time in Smith Town?”
“I know where you’re going with this. The two villages interconnect. It’s not unusual for residents of either village to spend time in the other.”
“Witnesses have seen Hunter in Smith Town.”
“Walking, I’m sure. It’s not a crime to clear your head.”
“What does Hunter need to clear his head of, Ms. Gellar?”
“Save it for the court case. I studied the Full Moon Killer for a year before the FBI captured him. And I just visited Michael Rivers, but I gather you knew that too. Hunter is not your killer. The man you seek patterns himself after Rivers, right down to the branding. That he’s targeted Amy and me suggests he’s motivated by revenge.”
“Because you put the Full Moon Killer away.”
“And since it’s personal, he must serve Rivers. He’s either a crazed fan or an accomplice.”
His elbows on the desk, Ames rubs his face and groans.
“This is fascinating. But it’s all conjecture, not fact. At eight o’clock this evening, a boater discovered the body of Amy Yang at the cove, two blocks from your house. Shortly after, we received an anonymous call claiming Hunter argued with Amy moments before the boater found her. Now, pretend you’re still an agent with the FBI. Would you pursue Hunter?”
“An anonymous caller. It could have been the killer. He seems intent on destroying my family. You believe Hunter did this, so that means my son wants to ruin me and his sister to serve Michael Rivers. That’s illogical.”
“You know better than me. After all, you profile serial killers. But I have a theory.”
“You better have more than a theory when we go to court.”
“Stay with me for a moment. Hunter’s early life was traumatic after the death of his father. Then he reached his teenage years, and Michael Rivers tried to murder his mother. The case garnered worldwide attention. That’s a lot for a boy to swallow.”
“Don’t shame me for capturing a murderer.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But your son doesn’t live in a vacuum. These events traumatized him.
“It doesn’t make him a killer. Your theories are half-baked and grounded in conjecture.”
Ames crosses his arms.
“Hunter saw the crime scene photos in your closet.”
Darcy’s heart skips. She’d hidden the notes and pictures from her children, understanding the negative psychological effect they would have on Hunter and Jennifer. She was a fool not to lock them in the safe.
“He told you this? You weren’t supposed to interview Hunter yet.”
“Hunter is an adult. If he divulges a fact or two without his attorney present, that’s his prerogative.” What else did Hunter tell Ames? “Hunter studied the Full Moon Killer’s methodology using your own notes, and tonight he murdered Amy Yang.”
“I think we’re finished here. Make sure you share this ironclad evidence with Hunter’s lawyer.”
Breck Appleton hustles into the station when Darcy rejoins Bronson and Jennifer. The lawyer is younger than she expected, a fit forty-something wearing a gray pressed suit and carrying a black briefcase. His introduction is short, then he strides down the hallway and through the locked door.
“You want something to eat?” Bronson asks Darcy.
“Maybe something for Jennifer. I’m not hungry.”
While Bronson runs across the street to a deli, Jennifer snoozes, her head on Darcy’s lap. Darcy brushes at her daughter’s hair, reminded of times she soothed her children to sleep on the couch: Jennifer’s crayons and coloring books scattered on the carpet, Hunter’s cars and trucks jumbled beneath the coffee table. And Tyler in the recliner sipping coffee and watching the game or reading a book. Tyler. He’d know what to do now. Darcy wipes a tear off from her eye.
A woman slides onto the bench beside them. The crone stinks of cigarettes and sweat, a tattered scarf clinging to her long, frail neck. Her smile displays decayed and missing teeth as she peers down at Jennifer.
“Pretty, pretty girl.”
“Thank you,” Darcy says, wishing Bronson would come back from the deli. Though the woman seems harmless, Darcy frets over how Jennifer will react if she awakens and sees the thin face leering down at her.
“This is no place for a little girl. Did she get into trouble?”
“We’re just waiting for someone.”
“That’s good, because if you get in trouble, my boy will get you.”
“Excuse me?”
“My son.”
The woman digs into her pocket and removes a crumbled muffin inside shrink wrap. Extending her hand, she almost shoves the muffin into Darcy’s face.
“This is for the girl. She’s hungry.”
“I can’t take your food.”
Ames jogs into the waiting area and gives an exasperated sigh.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
Detective Ames’ mother? He locks eyes with Darcy for a moment, and an apology passes between them. Worse yet, his mother has pulled him out of the interrogation room with Hunter and Appleton.
“I brought you a snack,” Ames’ mother says, shifting her open hand toward her son. “You work all day and never eat. It’ll make you sicker than this poor little girl I met.”
“You shouldn’t have walked here by yourself. It’s not safe in the village.” Interesting Ames would say the village is dangerous. With the supposed killer trapped inside the interrogation room, the community should breathe a sigh of relief. “Let Milligan drive you home.”
“Not until you have something to eat. You’re thin as a rail.”
“Okay, Mom. But you need to leave. I’m in the middle of an important meeting.”
“Always saving the world,” she says, half-limping, half-shuffling to Ames. She drops the plastic wrapped food in his hand. “That’s my boy.”
Ames gives her a half-hearted hug and tilts his head at the officer named Milligan behind the desk. Milligan rounds the desk and takes the woman’s arm before walking out of the station.
Awkward silence passes between Darcy and Ames before he spins on his heels and hurries back to the interrogation room. Jennifer stirs, lifts her head, and asks what happened. While she explains, Bronson returns with two white paper bags redolent of condiments and onion. He’s brought sandwiches for the three of them.
“What was Ames’ mother doing here?” Bronson hands Darcy a bag. “Changing her kid’s diaper?”
“You know her?”