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If Dillon did kill those girls, he had to be stopped. But despite the apparent evidence piling up, she still couldn’t believe he did.

Maybe that was her defensive brain trying to write reality for her, like it always did.

“Someone will contact you tomorrow about the next steps,” Winslow said, turning toward the screen door. “Goodnight. And be careful, please.”

With Winslow gone, Claire shut the door and locked it behind her. Finally alone, her emotions smothered her. She pressed her back to the door and crammed her palms into her eyes, then sank to the floor. Her chest retched as she sobbed.

None of it felt real. Her whole world had been knocked off-axis. She hadn’t been lying—this was one of the worst days of her life.

But tomorrow, once her dad woke up and heard the news, would undoubtedly be worse.

SEVEN

Seth had to admit, the guy looked like he was right where he belonged.

In the light of the interrogation room, Dillon Beamish’s face had a deathlike pallor. Agitated, he sat across from Seth and rattled in his handcuffs. A necessary precaution, considering Dillon had attempted to assault every officer who’d tried to move him.

It’d been over ten hours since he was brought in now, though, and after what must’ve been a restless night in a holding cell, he’d burned himself out. Even still, his rage simmered, oil in a hot pan with each glare sent Seth’s way.

With his briefcase spread open in front of him, Seth tapped his pen on the notebook nestled inside it, next to the face-down photographs he hoped to show Dillon during the interrogation.

“Do you understand why we brought you in, Dillon?”

Dillon, once again, was quiet. He hadn’t said a word from the moment Seth walked in. The violent, wrathful Dillon Beamish had become silent, scornful.

In control, until he loses it.

“We wanted to talk, but then you assaulted the officers who came to your house. And you haven’t been playing nice inside, either. We can hold you for those charges alone.”

Dillon shot him a fiery glare, his nostrils flared. The scrappy facial hair along his jawline twitched, like it was taking everything in him to keep his mouth shut. But he hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet either. That was the good news.

Now, Seth just had to get him talking.

“I’m trying to figure that out,” he went on. “When I went to your house yesterday, you weren’t thrilled to see me, but I ended up recording a good conversation between us. You cooperated, answered my questions… so why’d you assault Officer Morgan when he and Officer Jacobson went to talk to you later? Did something change?”

“Yeah, something changed,” Dillon spat. “Two chuckleheads woke me up in the middle of the night and tried to get me in their car, saying something about a dead chick I know nothing about.”

“That’s right, there was a homicide last night. Your girlfriend, Claire, found the body. We had her at the station and thought you might want to come down and talk about what happened, then take her home.”

Dillon sniffed and shifted around in his seat. “They didn’t make that clear to me.”

Officer Morgan’s bodycam footage said otherwise.

Dillon was much calmer now, though, and Seth needed to build rapport. He could handle the risk.

“That’s rough. Sorry that happened to you, man.” He dug a handcuff key from his pocket and jangled it. “Are you gonna hit me if I uncuff you?”

Grumbling, Dillon shook his head. Seth cautiously moved behind him and uncuffed him, releasing his arms. He shook them out and began massaging his own wrists as Seth retook his spot in the chair across from him.

“You sure you don’t need anything? Water, a sandwich?”

“No. I just want out of here.”

“Okay, no problem, man. I just need you to answer a few questions, then we can sort this whole thing out. Can you do that for me?”

Once more, Dillon sniffed and shuffled in his seat. He crossed his arms. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Great.” Seth took out a printed-off record of Kelsey Campbell’s message history, then placed it on the table. Dillon’s username was at the top. “Is this your username, Dillon?”