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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.”
