Page 24

Dewalt's handcuffs clinked softly in front of her and Novak as they walked, each with a hand on one of Dewalt’s arms, currently behind his back.

Rachel had insisted on them, despite his cooperation—too many years on the job had taught her that compliance could flip to violence in an instant.

Still, she kept her grip on his arm light.

No need to bruise someone who might turn out to be innocent.

The air inside carried that distinct mix of stale coffee, printer toner, and desperation that seemed universal to small-town precincts.

Different building, same smell. A wall-mounted HVAC unit rattled in protest against the late afternoon heat, pushing warm air around without actually cooling anything.

Rachel could feel sweat beginning to form at the base of her neck.

No sooner had they come into the building than they were met by a very large man.

He met them at the front desk, his massive frame filling the space between two support columns.

He had to be pushing six-foot-five, with shoulders broad enough to make his standard-issue uniform look custom-tailored.

But his face, with its ruddy cheeks and earnest eyes, belonged on a mall Santa.

A badge that looked tiny against his chest identified him A. Dunphy.

"Agent Gift? Agent Novak?" His voice matched his appearance—deep but gentle, like distant thunder without the threat.

"I'm Deputy Al Dunphy. I was told you called, and I have your room ready.

Follow me." He moved with the careful grace of someone who'd spent a lifetime being conscious of his size, each step measured and precise. He was a bear of a man for sure.

Rachel noticed how Dunphy's heavy boots barely made a sound on the floor, like he'd spent years learning to move quietly despite his size.

She appreciated that kind of attention to detail in a law enforcement officer.

It spoke to self-awareness, to conscious choice rather than just following procedure.

He led them past a row of desk clusters where three officers worked in various states of concentration.

One was speaking quietly into a phone, shoulders hunched as if to create privacy in the open space.

Another typed with two fingers, muttering under his breath at whatever report demanded his attention.

The third officer, a woman with steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, looked up briefly as they passed, her eyes sharp and assessing before returning to her work.

A dispatcher's voice crackled through someone's radio, all codes and static: "Unit 14, respond to a 415 at Carson and Main..." The rest faded as they moved deeper into the building.

"Watch your step here," Dunphy said, gesturing to a slight lip in the flooring where the old bank lobby met what must have been the vault area.

"Building's got character, that's what the chief likes to say.

" He chuckled, the sound warming the sterile space.

"Though between you and me, 'character' is just what we call all the things the budget won't let us fix. "

“Was it once a bank?” Rachel guessed.

Dunphy looked back to her, impressed. “Yeah, it did. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

The hallway narrowed as they approached the back.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, one of them flickering in an arrhythmic pattern that made Rachel's eyes hurt.

The walls here were cinder block, painted the same tired beige as everything else, but someone had made an effort to brighten the space with a corkboard full of community notices and children's artwork.

Rachel caught glimpses of crayon thank-you notes from a local elementary school, a flyer for an upcoming police charity basketball game, and what looked like a decades-old newspaper clipping about officer awards.

The temperature dropped noticeably as they entered the former vault area. The thick walls that had once protected money now served to contain suspects and secrets. Rachel felt Dewalt shiver slightly under her hand.

"Right in here." Dunphy unlocked a door that looked sturdy enough to survive a small explosion.

"Interview Room Two. Best ventilation, newest chairs.

" He gave them a proud smile, revealing a slightly crooked front tooth that somehow made him seem more trustworthy.

"Just holler if you need anything. Coffee machine's down the hall if you want it, though I wouldn't recommend it unless you're desperate.”

The room itself was small but well-maintained.

A metal table bolted to the floor dominated the center, with three chairs arranged around it.

The observation window reflected their movements like a mirror, and Rachel knew the recording equipment behind it was already running.

The room also held a chilly note, which was intentional.

The chill would help keep their suspect alert, uncomfortable enough to want to end this quickly.

Novak guided Dewalt into one of the chairs while Rachel took position opposite him.

She studied their suspect as he settled in, noting how his fingers drummed against his thighs, how his eyes darted between them like a spectator at a tennis match.

He was practically vibrating with the need to speak, but he was holding back.

Smart. The restraint suggested someone who thought before acting—not typically the profile of a killer.

Rachel let the silence stretch, watching Dewalt's reactions. His right hand kept moving to his left wrist, where he’d suffered a scratch and slight abrasion from Novak’s tackle.

It had been bleeding a bit when they put him in the car, but she’d tended to it with the small first aid kit in their trunk.

"Do you have any idea why we're here today, Mr. Dewalt?" Rachel kept her voice neutral and professional. The room's acoustics gave every word weight, bouncing them back from the concrete walls.

He shook his head, a quick, jerky motion that reminded her of a puppet on strings. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple despite the room's chill.

Novak leaned forward slightly, his chair creaking under the shift in weight. "Then why did you run when we showed up at your workplace?"

Dewalt's laugh was hollow, nervous. "Because you both look very ... official ." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I figured you were detectives or feds and I... I panicked and ran."

"Why would that make you run?" Rachel pressed. She could see Novak in her peripheral vision, his body language mirroring hers—both of them slightly forward, engaged but not threatening. They'd worked enough interviews together to fall into this rhythm naturally. “You had to have a reason.

Dewalt's mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, now flat against the table's surface. His fingers splayed wide, like he was trying to anchor himself.

Rachel decided to cut through the dance of it all. "Are you a murderer, Mr. Dewalt?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. His head snapped up, eyes wide with genuine shock, as if he’d been slapped hard across the face. The color drained from his cheeks so quickly that Rachel wondered if he might faint. Even his lips went pale.

"My Lord... no!" The words exploded from him, bouncing off the walls. "I've never killed anyone! Why would you think that?" His hands pulled back from the table, curling protectively against his chest.

Rachel caught Novak's eye and gave him a slight nod. They'd practiced this dynamic enough that he knew to take the lead. Good cop, bad cop was amateur hour. They preferred to work more subtle angles.

"Mr. Dewalt, we are in town working on a case that now involves three very gruesome murders," Novak said, His tone was matter-of-fact, almost conversational.

"All of these murders are connected to New Horizons Cryonics.

.. which we know your church has openly protested.

Have you ever taken part in one of those protests? "

Dewalt's shoulders slumped. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once. He understood where this was headed and he did not like it. "Yes, I have, but so have a lot of others." His voice had gone quiet, defeated.

"Yes, but those others weren't following New Horizons employees home," Novak countered.

“I suggest you explain yourself quickly,” Rachel said.

Rachel watched as realization dawned on Dewalt's face. The betrayal was evident in his eyes—Pastor Thorne had revealed his secret. His next words came out in a rush, like a dam breaking.

"After Sarah—my wife—died, I..." He paused, collecting himself.

Rachel could see him struggling to order his thoughts.

"I became interested in Not just cryopreservation, but all of it.

Every experimental treatment I could find about life extension research, anything that might.

.." His voice cracked. "Anything that might have saved her. Even though I knew she was gone and there was no bringing her back…that’s where my mind went.”

Rachel felt a familiar twinge in her chest. She knew that desperation, that willingness to grasp at any possibility, no matter how remote. Her own brush with death had left similar scars. She pushed the memory aside, staying focused on Dewalt.

"I followed them because I wanted to see," Dewalt continued. "Just... see their lives. Their homes…where they lived. I knew it was weird…wrong. But I thought I could maybe work up the courage to talk to one of them outside of New Horizons and ask questions I couldn't ask inside."

"Why outside of New Horizons?" Rachel asked, though she suspected she knew the answer. The fluorescent light flickered again, casting strange shadows across his face.

"The church," he said quietly. "If anyone from Christ's Hope saw me there, asking questions..." He shook his head. "They'd never understand. They barely understood when I started asking questions about Sarah's treatment options."

“You spoke to Thorne about this?” Rachel asked. “About following these people?”

“Yes. I asked for prayer because I knew it was stupid and maybe even sort of illegal. I needed help.”

Novak leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking slightly. "You have to understand how this sounds, Mr. Dewalt. Following people home isn't normal behavior."

"I know." Dewalt's voice was barely above a whisper. "I know how it sounds. But I only did it twice, and I didn't even know their names. I made sure to only follow men when they left for the day—following women seemed..." He gestured vaguely. "Wrong. Creepy."

“How did you choose who to follow?”

“I didn’t really choose. Everyone usually left at the same time, so there was usually a pretty big group. It let me sort of wave into the traffic with them without anyone even noticing me.”

Rachel studied him carefully. There was a raw honesty in his grief that rang true.

She'd interviewed enough killers to know the difference between genuine emotion and performance.

Still, they needed to be thorough. And she again knew that using the very recent murder of Peter Wells as a start for their timeline could either eliminate Jason Dewalt as a suspect or pin him down.

"Where were you yesterday between five in the evening and nine at night?" Rachel asked.

"Working." The response was immediate. "Double shifts, yesterday and the day before. Both nights, I was at the warehouse until eight, then went home."

"Any stops between work and home last night?" Novak asked.

"Just the grocery store. Green's Market on Madison.”

Rachel did the mental math; it was far too easy.

Peter Wells had been murdered between 6:05 and 6:45 PM.

If Dewalt's alibi checked out—and she was certain it would—he couldn't be their killer.

In her experience, murderers rarely lied about easily verifiable details like work schedules.

They typically constructed more elaborate alibis, ones that were harder to prove or disprove.

But something Dewalt had said a few minutes ago suddenly caught her attention.

Something about employees leaving New Horizons at the same time and how he’d chosen who to follow.

She remembered the sign-in sheet they'd seen both times at New Horizons.

A new possibility began to take shape in her mind quickly.

Rachel exchanged a look with Novak, and she gave a very quick shake of the head. She could see he'd come to the same conclusion and was certain his alibi would check out.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Dewalt," Rachel said, standing. "We'll need to verify your whereabouts for last night, but assuming everything checks out, you'll be out of here shortly."

It looked like he wanted to say something else but he closed his mouth over it. He saw freedom just ahead and decided to be happy enough with that.

When she and Novak were back out in the hallway, Rachel took a few steps toward the central part of the building and took out her phone. "I think I have another idea," she told Novak. "It may pan out to nothing, but if I'm wrong, it will only waste half an hour or so."

“Care to share?” he asked. She really liked the fact that he was already interested, already tuned in. Given time, they were going to be a very successful pair of partners.

“There’s a sign-in sheet at New Horizons, right there the desk. I remember it because I thought it seemed sort of basic and out of date for how modern the place is. And if our killer somehow got their hands on the sign-in sheet…”

“It could basically be a checklist,” Novak finished.

“Exactly. That, or it could show us if our three victims have ever been there at the same time. And if they have, any other names there at the same time instantly become very important to us.”

She was already three steps ahead, plotting out their next move.

They'd eliminated one suspect, but in doing so, they might have stumbled onto something much more significant. She sighed and said, “Do you mind checking Dewalt’s alibi? I’m going to call ahead to New Horizons.

I’m sure Ms. Fenway will be very excited to see us again. ”