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“That’s right,” Jacqueline said. “Would you be willing to answer a few questions for me?”
Rankin nodded, and Jacqueline was content knowing she had scaled her first obstacle. Like Alex, she too was suspicious of the Reece Rankin development. It would be something much greater than coincidence that a random pervert from Maryland happened to rape and kill a girl who was about to unleash an explosive story that would rock the lives of more than a few powerful people.
“The police claim that you’ve confessed to killing Laura McAllister. Is that true?”
“Yeah, I signed the papers even. But that was only ’cause they said they believed me when I told them somebody paid me to kill her. They said if I signed a confession, it would help them with the rest of the investigation and I’d do less time.”
“But you did kill her?”
“Just said as much.”
“But it wasn’t your idea?”
“Shit no. Didn’t even know who the bitch was.”
Jacqueline paused at the man’s crassness but decided to ignore it and moved on. She needed to keep him on track.
“So why did you do it? Why did you kill Laura?”
“ ’Cause they gave me a bunch of money and promised I’d get more after I did it.”
“Someone paid you money to kill Laura McAllister?”
“You got some kinda hearin’ problem, lady? Why you keep repeatin’ what I say?”
“You told this to the police? That someone paid you?”
“Yeah. They said if I copped to killin’ the girl, I’d get off easier ’cause I was paid.”
“Did they ask who paid you?”
“Nah, we didn’t get into that yet. They said I had to sign the papers first, the confession, then we’d get into the details. But I signed those papers a long time ago and ain’t never seen a cop since. Figured maybe that’s why you showed up out the blue.”
“Do you know the name of the man who paid you to kill Laura McAllister?”
“Nah. I just saw a bunch of cash and they told me what they needed. I didn’t ask no questions.”
“They? There was more than one man?”
“Yeah. A kid did mosta the talkin’, but there was another guy with him. He never talked, though. He just sort of stayed in the background.”
Jacqueline opened her folder and removed a photograph of Matthew Claymore. She slid it across the table.
“Is this the kid you spoke with?”
The man looked at the photo for a moment and shook his head. “Nope. That ain’t him.”
Jacqueline retrieved another photo. This one was of Duncan Chadwick. She slid it in front of the man and waited.
“Yep,” the man said, nodding his head and smiling with his yellowed teeth. “That’s him. Real arrogant sumbitch.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure as shit.”
Jacqueline slowly pulled the photo of Duncan Chadwick away and replaced it in her folder, along with the photo of Matthew Claymore, then slipped the folder back into her bag.
“The other person,” Jacqueline said, “was it someone his age? Another student?”
