Page 9

Jake gripped the metal door handle, feeling the cool weight of authority in his grasp as he pushed into the interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Portland. The air was static with tension, each breath hanging heavy like the fog that often blanketed the city. Fiona followed close behind, her presence a subtle reassurance against the unease knotting in his stomach.

Across from them, Calvin Rhodes sat caged by the stark, sterile confines of the room. His burly frame seemed to dwarf the flimsy chair he was perched on, muscles tensed and ready beneath skin etched with a web of spider tattoos. His eyes, hard and unyielding, fixed on Jake with a glare that could cut glass.

Jake remembered the moment Calvin's meaty hand had shot out towards him, a misguided attempt to shove past and escape questioning. That decisive shove had been all the reason they needed to bring him in. Now, cuffs replaced the possibility of further shoves, and frustration smoldered in Jake's chest. He hated bullies, hated those who used their size to intimidate. It reminded him too much of finding his mother, the way powerlessness had enveloped him that day.

"Rhodes," Jake said, his voice steady but edged with the irritation simmering just below the surface. He took his seat opposite the man, the table between them a thin barrier to the animosity that crackled in the air.

Calvin leaned back, a sneer curling his lips as he settled more comfortably into his defiance. His arms crossed over his broad chest, a silent fortress built of flesh and ink. Jake could nearly hear the unspoken challenge in the posture: 'Make me talk.'

"Let's not waste time," Jake pressed, meeting the other man's gaze without flinching. "We both know why you're here."

But Calvin remained silent, his sneer deepening. Jake's jaw clenched as he observed the obstinate tilt of Calvin's head, the casual spread of his tattooed arms. This was a man who reveled in confrontation, who wore his nonchalance like armor.

Fiona, ever the composed counterpart to Jake's mounting impatience, shuffled her papers beside him, undisturbed by the palpable hostility. She glanced at Jake, a silent signal to maintain control, before turning her eyes back to Calvin.

It was going to be a long interrogation.

Jake slid the glossy photos across the table, his movements deliberate. One by one, the images revealed the lifeless faces of Lena Chase and Jamie Lin, their eyes void of the strength they once held. Calvin's eyes flicked to the photographs, then back up to Jake, an icy detachment in his gaze.

"Never seen 'em," Calvin muttered, pushing the photos away with a calloused finger. His voice was as cold as the Portland winter outside, his indifference notable, considering the gravity of the images before him.

Jake's fingers tightened into fists at his sides. "You expect us to believe that? You're always at that smoothie bar where they hung out."

"Coincidence," Calvin scoffed, a scornful laugh escaping his lips. The sound grated against Jake's patience like sandpaper.

"Look closer," Jake urged, though he knew it was futile. He recognized that dismissive glint in Calvin's eyes, the same one he'd seen in countless suspects who thought they could bluff their way through an interrogation.

Calvin leaned back, arms still crossed, the tattoos on his skin shifting with his movement. The mockery in his expression was clear — he wasn't going to give them anything.

Fiona leaned forward, her red curls falling over her shoulder as she interjected with a calmness that seemed alien in the tension-filled room. "Your tattoos," she began, her voice steady, "they're quite intricate. Spiders, aren't they?"

Calvin's gaze shifted to Fiona, the sneer lessening slightly as he regarded her. She was an unexpected player in his mind games, her demeanor unflappable despite the hostility emanating from across the table.

"Got a thing for bugs, do you?" Calvin replied, the edge in his voice dulled by curiosity.

"Spiders are fascinating creatures," Fiona continued. "They can symbolize many things—power, control, fear. What do they mean to you?"

It was a dance of wits, and Jake watched as Fiona led Calvin step by step. She had a way of disarming people, of peeling back layers with her quiet intensity.

"Always hated the creepy crawlies," Calvin admitted grudgingly, his eyes darting down to his ink-stained skin for a fleeting moment. "Got these to show I'm not afraid of anything."

Fiona nodded, her face betraying none of the satisfaction Jake felt at this small victory. She was a natural, unraveling the threads of Calvin's facade with nothing but words and composure.

"Interesting choice," Fiona mused. "To brand yourself with something you fear."

"Life's about facing your demons," Calvin said, his voice low. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes before the walls came back up.

Jake watched as Calvin's fingers traced the outline of an intricately inked black widow on his forearm. His confession about the tattoos was subdued, far from the bravado he'd shown earlier. The room felt smaller somehow, the silence punctuated by the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

"Started when I was a kid," Calvin said, his voice a dull monotone. "I'd freeze up every time I saw a spider. Decided to get over it. Marked myself with them."

"Facing your fears head-on," Jake observed, trying to keep any judgment from coloring his tone. It was hard to reconcile this vulnerable admission with the man who had tried to barrel past him not long ago.

"Exactly," Calvin replied, but there was no pride in his affirmation, just resignation. He looked down at his arms as if seeing the tattoos for the first time.

Fiona leaned forward, fixed on Calvin. "Fascinating," she murmured, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "But you see, we found orb-weaver spiders at both crime scenes. They're not common in homes, especially during winter."

The mention of the spiders made Calvin stiffen. He glanced up at Fiona, then away quickly, as if caught off guard. Jake could see the change in him; the tough exterior was cracking, crumbling like a wall after a relentless siege.

"Orb-weavers?" Calvin's voice was barely above a whisper, and he swallowed hard.

"Yes," Fiona continued, relentless in her calm way. "We're looking for someone with a particular interest in spiders. Given your... unique tattoos, you can understand why we need to ask these questions."

Calvin's sneer had vanished, replaced by a growing realization of the gravity of the situation. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the metal cuffs clinking as they restricted his movement.

"I didn't do anything to those women," he said, but there was a tremble in his voice that hadn't been there before. The certainty, the defiance, all that had evaporated under the weight of evidence he couldn't ignore.

Jake watched Calvin's facade crumble like the last vestiges of a storm. The man’s broad shoulders slumped, and his eyes, which had held a spark of defiance, dulled.

"Look, I didn't hurt anyone," Calvin muttered, his gaze dropping to the table. It was as if the weight of his tattoos anchored him there, in that moment of vulnerability.

"Didn't you?" Jake countered sharply. He leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the cold metal table. "Your rap sheet tells a different story, Rhodes. Assault against women isn't something we take lightly."

Calvin's head snapped up, a flash of anger in his eyes before it was doused with something resembling shame. "I was a different guy back then," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I've changed. I don’t drink anymore. I went to rehab.”

"Rehab doesn't erase the past," Jake said flatly. His brown eyes bore into Calvin, searching for the truth beneath layers of regret and ink.

“These women frequented the juice bar you attend,” Fiona pointed out. “Why lie about recognizing them?”

“I don’t recognize them.”

"Where were you last night, Calvin?" Jake's question sliced through the tension between them. "From midnight to this morning. Where were you?"

Calvin looked away, his jaw clenched. When he spoke, his words were reluctant, each one dragged out from a place he wanted to keep hidden. "I was out of town," he said finally. "Met a woman on a dating app. I stayed over at her place."

"Convenient." Jake's tone was laced with skepticism. He exchanged a glance with Fiona, eyes reflected the same doubt shadowing his thoughts. They both knew the importance of an alibi, especially one so flimsy.

"Her name?" Jake pressed, watching Calvin closely.

"Doesn’t matter," Calvin grunted. "I was there. That’s all you need to know."

"Everything matters when a woman is dead," Jake said coldly. "We'll find out who she is, and we'll see if your story checks out."

Calvin's eyes met Jake's, a flicker of desperation passing through them before he looked down again, nodding slowly. Jake took note of this reaction, adding it to the mental file he kept on Calvin Rhodes. Whether or not the man was their killer, he was hiding something. And Jake was determined to uncover what that was.

Jake leaned forward, elbows resting on the metal table that separated him from Calvin. "The town," he said, voice firm. "Name it."

"Ridgefield," Calvin mumbled, looking anywhere but at Jake.

"Activities?" Jake prodded.

"Met her for dinner, went back to her place, watched a movie. The usual stuff." Calvin's voice had a rehearsed edge to it.

"Which restaurant? Which movie?" Fiona interjected, pen poised over her notebook.

"Uh, some Italian place. Don't remember the name," Calvin said, scratching his head. "And we watched 'Night of the Living Dead.' She likes old horror films."

"Did you go anywhere else?" Jake asked, gaze steady.

"Nope."

"Receipts? Messages coordinating this rendezvous?" Jake was skeptical. His gut told him Calvin was grasping at straws, but evidence would tell the true tale.

"Didn't keep receipts. And the app—we didn't message much. It was spontaneous," Calvin responded, his eyes flicking up to meet Jake's before darting away.

Fiona scribbled down every word while Jake stared at Calvin, trying to read between the lines etched in the man's face. Calvin shifted uneasily under the scrutiny, but Jake could only guess at the reason.

"Alright, Calvin. We'll be checking into your story," Jake said as he stood up, signaling the end of the interrogation. "Every bit of it."

Calvin's eyes followed Jake as he moved around the room. "I'm telling you, I've changed," he insisted, his voice almost pleading. "I didn't hurt those women."

Jake paused by the door, turning to look at Calvin one last time. He wanted to believe in redemption, to think that a man could outrun his past and become something better. But the taste of bile lingered in his mouth—a reminder of the too many times he'd been wrong before.

"Change is hard, Calvin. Proving it is even harder," Jake said. He caught Fiona's eye, seeing his own doubt mirrored there.

"Good luck with that." With a final nod to Fiona, he stepped out of the interrogation room, leaving Calvin to stew in his own words.

Outside, the sterility of the hallway did little to clear Jake's thoughts. He wasn't sure what to make of Calvin Rhodes. A piece of shit, certainly. But their killer? That remained to be seen. He glanced at Fiona, her red curls a bright spot in the dim corridor. She was already on her phone, following up on Calvin's alibi.

"Let's find out if our spider enthusiast spins truth or webs of lies," he said, though part of him dreaded the answer. They walked side by side, each lost in their own thoughts about the case that had brought them here.