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Jake leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. He felt the weight of his mother's unsolved case pressing down on him, fueling his determination. This was more than just an interrogation; it was personal.
"Go on," he prompted, his eyes never leaving Victor's face.
Victor swallowed hard, moisture gleaming at the corners of his eyes. "I didn't kill anyone," he insisted, desperation seeping into his tone. "But I lied because I was scared. I didn't want to be blamed for... for something I didn't do. I also didn’t wanna admit I went to one of those joints, and I sure as heck don’t want to be the guy responsible for bringing feds around asking questions about me to verify my damn alibi.”
"Scared or not, Victor, lying to federal agents doesn't look good for you. It makes you look guilty," Jake stated unequivocally. His heart pounded, a rhythmic drumbeat in his ears that matched the ticking clock on the wall. Every second counted in this dance of truth and lies.
"I know, I know," Victor stammered, wringing his hands together. "But it's the truth. I was at the club, but I never hurt those girls. I couldn’t."
"Being afraid of getting blamed isn't a defense. It's an excuse," Jake shot back. His mind raced with the possibilities, with the connections that seemed to be just out of reach. Fiona would've seen right through Victor's weak defense, just as he did now.
"Please, you have to believe me," Victor pleaded, his voice cracking under the strain.
Jake remained silent for a moment, considering the man before him. Victor Harmon wasn't what Jake had expected—a former entomologist turned smoothie bar manager caught up in a dark web of deceit and violence. But whether or not Victor was their killer, Jake knew one thing for certain: he would stop at nothing to uncover the truth and end this nightmare, for Fiona, for the victims, and for the ghost of his mother that haunted him still.
Jake slid the glossy photographs across the cold metal table, one by one. Erica Silverman's lifeless eyes stared up from the sterile surface, followed by Jamie Lin's still form and Lena Chase's muscular build, now forever slack. The room was silent except for Victor's labored breathing, his gaze darting between the images as if trying to decipher a code.
"Recognize them?" Jake asked, his voice devoid of warmth.
Victor shuffled in his seat, licked his lips, and looked at the photos again. "I—I told you, I saw them at the juice bar... but I didn't—"
"Save it," Jake cut him off. He knew the signs of a man drowning in his own lies. Fiona would have torn into this guy with precision, leaving no stone unturned. But here he was, doing just that, all while carrying the weight of her injury on his shoulders.
"Look," Victor started, desperation edging his tone, "there are lots of girls coming in and out of Power Juice. I can't be expected to remember every single—"
"Three women murdered, throats slit, orb-weaver spiders left at the scene. You were an entomologist, so you could easily have knowledge on where to get those spiders. We have multiple witnesses claiming you were strange with Jamie Lin. You lied about your alibi. And you expect me to believe you've got nothing to do with any of this?" Jake leaned in, his eyes locked onto Victor's, searching for that flicker of guilt, anything to pin this weasel down.
Victor wavered under the scrutiny, his hands trembling as they hovered above the damning evidence. "No, no, I swear—"
"Swear all you want," Jake said, standing straight, feeling the tight pull of his suit against his muscles, a reminder of the control he maintained over the situation. His mind raced back to his mother's unsolved case, the similar patterns gnawing at him. On impulse, he pulled out his phone and swiped to a photo—a smiling brunette woman in a firefighter uniform, her kind eyes a reminder of the cruelty of her fate. Jake’s mother, Cassandra.
"Ever see her before?" Jake asked, pushing the phone towards Victor.
Victor leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "I don't—I don't know her." Confusion and irritation flashed across his features.
"Are you sure?" Jake pressed, studying Victor's reaction intently. The slightest twitch, a rapid blink, any sign could be the thread he needed to unravel Victor's story.
"Positive. I've never seen her," Victor insisted, pushing the phone away with a shaky hand.
Jake retracted the phone, eyeing Victor with renewed suspicion. The man was hiding something; he could feel it in his gut. Maybe it wasn't about his mother—maybe it was—but either way, Victor Harmon was not walking out of that room without giving up the truth.
As Jake stared at him, he imagined if Victor truly was the one who had killed his mother.
Had this man stared into the eyes of his mother as the life drained out of her? Had this same man then turned his sick predilections to other strong, capable women, ending their lives just as brutally?
A swell of fury surged within Jake at the thought. He felt his fists clenching involuntarily, knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his composure. His gaze darkened. Control and raw emotion warred within him.
"So, you don't know this woman?" Jake asked again, forcing a calmness he did not feel into his voice. "You never met Cassandra Tucker?"
"No," Victor repeated, this time with a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. His weak defiance only served to fuel Jake's resolve.
"I'm not convinced, Victor," Jake retorted, the cold steel in his voice calculated for maximum effect. He had done countless interrogations, but this one hit too close to home. This was personal.
Jake felt a coil of rage tightening within him. He breathed out slowly, forcing a calm over himself as he met Victor’s eyes. “Look, Victor,” he began, his words edged with steel, “we’re going to find out the truth. Sooner or later, it will come out. You can make this easier for yourself… Or you can keep lying and make things worse.”
Victor seemed to shrink in his seat, his gaze darting between Jake and the incriminating photos scattered across the table. The room was silent except for the steady ticking of the wall clock and the occasional shuffling of feet outside the door. Time was ticking away, and with each passing second, Jake felt an urge to rattle the truth out of Victor.
He had to take a moment. He had to clear his head before he did something he’d regret.
