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"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.
CHAPTER NINE
Erica Silverman laced up her sneakers, the snug fit a silent promise to her dedication. Outside, Portland's winter chill nipped at exposed skin, but she wouldn't be deterred. A kickboxer by trade and tenacity, she knew the value of an unbroken routine. The streets welcomed her with sparse company; lone pedestrians bundled in coats, their faces half-hidden against the wind. Car headlights pierced the encroaching dusk, brief companions to her solitude.
