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I crane my neck, peering across the room. “Do you think something’s wrong?” I ask apprehensively.
“It is rather odd for him to be holed up in there for so long, isn’t it?” he says, his voice betraying a hint of worry.
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite my rising fears. “It’s probably nothing,” I say lightly, though with little conviction.
The door to William’s office creaks open. Behind him are two men in black suits. The three of them exchange hushed words before William comes towards us.
“Who are they?” I ask, my voice a murmur as I grip the edge of my desk.
David shakes his head, perplexed. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he murmurs back in response.
As William approaches, my heart races. Both David and I stand up, uncertain of what is about to happen. I quickly survey the room, noticing some of the other employees stealing curious glances at the boss’s office and in our direction.
“There’s some federal agents here,” William says, leaning closer. “They want to interview people.”
“About what?” David inquires.
“The murders that have been happening around here,” William answers without hesitation.
Blood rushes to my head. Normally, I’m meticulous about covering my tracks. But between that fucking detective harassing us at the funeral and these clowns showing up at my workplace, I can’t afford to slip up. Nor can I afford to continue postponing my plans.
“Fuck,” David mutters. “Do they have an idea who the killer might be?”
William shrugs. “They haven’t said, probably because they don’t want to compromise their investigation. But they want to talk to all of us, so I suggest you both cooperate.”
I stiffen at the thought of being interrogated by federal agents. David must have noticed my reaction because he puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “We just need to answer their questions honestly, and we should be fine.”
I fasten on a mask of stoicism and rise from my chair. “I’ll go first.”
“Remember your rights,” William says.
I nod and walk past him. As I head for William’s office, I feel everyone’s eyes on my back, which only further serves to twist my stomach into tighter knots. My mind races with possibilities. They must suspect something. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here asking questions. All I can do now is steel myself for whatever comes next—and hope there will be no unpleasant surprises.
I take a deep breath as I walk into William’s office, where the agents sit at a table. “I’m Blake Sullivan,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “My boss said you wanted to talk?” One of them motions for me to sit. I do so, taking a seat opposite them, bracing myself for what’s coming.
“I’m Agent Carter,” the taller, slimmer one greets. He reaches over the table to firmly shake my hand, then indicates his partner with a tilt of his head. “And this is Agent Stone.” Stone gives me a critical once-over as Carter adds, “We have some questions for you.”
If I act hostile, it could only make things worse. And even if I had a knife, those guns strapped to their sides would make quick work of me. “Okay,” I say, maintaining a neutral expression.
“Mr. Sullivan,” Carter begins as Stone pulls out a notepad. “You came into work pretty early. Are you always this overly punctual?”
“I try to be. I have pride in my work,” I answer, folding my hands on my lap. “My mother always said the early bird catches the worm.”
“And where is your mother now?” Carter asks.
Six feet under, if I had my way. “Back home, in New York,” I lie. “My father died when I was young.” I do not know if he’s alive, nor do I give a shit.
“You went to college there?” Carter probes as Stone scribbles down a few lines in the notepad. I nod, and Carter follows up with, “Where at?”
“River Valley University,” I reply. I need to feed them controlled nuggets of truth—because too little information will make me look suspicious. But I must be careful not to implicate myself. “Major in writing, minor in journalism.”Not a complete lie.
“Interesting,” Carter says. Though his face remains impassively polite, there’s an aura of intimidation just underneath the surface. He’s fishing for information—what exactly, I’m not yet sure. “So what brings you down here, to Fallbank?”
“I wanted a fresh start, and a small town down here in Pennsylvania seemed like a good place for that,” I answer, keeping my gaze trained on him.
Their eyes bore into me, searching for any opportunity to poke holes in my story. Stone writes something down, flips a page, and waits for his partner to continue the interrogation.
