Let Her Run, page 10
Still, they needed to speak to him.
"Owen," Fiona said softly, her voice barely audible above the storm. "We're not here to take you back to jail. We just want to know if you've seen or heard anything that could help us with our investigation."
"Nothing!" The word came out as a choked sob, and Owen's eyes darted between them, his body swaying slightly as if he might lose balance at any moment.
"Okay, okay," Jake said, taking a step back. "Let's all just calm down for a minute."
Fiona couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Owen. She knew he had been through hell in prison and that his mental health had suffered as a result. Watching him fall apart before her very eyes, she found herself questioning their approach. Was this really the way to find the truth?
"Owen," she tried again, her voice soft and steady. "We're here to help. Can you let us do that?"
But her words seemed to have no effect. Owen's gaze remained distant, and his breathing grew more and more labored. It was as if the mere mention of their investigation had caused him to retreat even further within himself, leaving Fiona and Jake standing helplessly in the pouring rain. They had to decide. Fiona turned to Jake because she didn't know what to do. He was the agent--he had to make the call.
Jake took one last look at Owen and then met Fiona's gaze. He sighed as if he had reached an internal conclusion.
"Let's get him out of here," Jake said firmly. "We can talk to him somewhere else." Jake held out his hand towards Owen, who looked up at him warily.
"Come on," Jake said softly, his voice coaxing yet gentle. "It'll be alright."
"No!" Owen shouted, staggering back, just as a crack of thunder boomed over their heads.
Fiona and Jake exchanged a look of concern. They couldn't force him to do anything, and the storm was only going to make things worse. They needed to find another way to get through to him.
"Owen," Fiona called out, her voice just above a whisper. "We're not here to hurt you. We just want to help. Can you tell us what's going on?"
Owen's eyes flicked back and forth between Fiona and Jake, his body tense with fear. His hands shook uncontrollably, and Fiona could see the whites of his knuckles as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
"I...I can't," he stammered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. "You don't understand. They're...they're watching me."
"Who's watching you?" Jake asked, his tone gentle. "Who do you think is after you?"
"I can't say," Owen replied, his voice trembling. "I can't...they'll know. They'll find me."
Fiona's heart sank. It was obvious that Owen was suffering from severe paranoia, and there was no way they were going to be able to get any useful information out of him in this state. They had to get him somewhere safe, where they could talk to him properly. As much as she felt for the man, she also knew that it was entirely possible the murders were a side-effect of his condition.
If that were the case, it didn't matter who he was or how bad she felt; all that mattered was that people were dying, and she had to stop it from happening.
"Come on, Owen," Jake said, "I need you to come with us."
"No... no..." Before they could react, Owen dropped to the ground, landing in a puddle. He curled up in a ball and began rocking back and forth.
Jake looked at Fiona. It was wrong, but what were they supposed to do? They couldn't just leave him here.
"Come on," Jake said to Fiona, "help me help him up. Let's take him to the station."
***
The sterile fluorescent lights of the precinct flickered overhead as Fiona and Jake escorted Owen into the small interrogation room. He shuffled in, his eyes cast down at the floor. Fiona couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked, like a wounded animal caught in a trap.
"Sit down, please," Jake instructed, his tone firm yet gentle. Owen sank into the metal chair without a word, his gaze still fixed on the floor beneath him.
"Owen, can you hear me?" Fiona tried, leaning in closer to catch his eye, but his attention remained elsewhere, lost within the recesses of his tormented mind. He hadn't resisted when they'd tried to lift him into the car, and he also hadn't said a word since. They hadn't cuffed him, of course--he wasn't under arrest. But they needed to talk to him.
"Let's just get this over with," Jake muttered to Fiona. She could tell by the look on his face that he didn't like this either. "Owen, we're here to discuss your possible connection to the recent poisonings in Portland. Do you understand why you're here?"
A faint mumble escaped Owen's lips, incomprehensible and barely audible. It was unclear whether it was an attempt at communication or merely a reflexive sound.
"Owen, we need you to cooperate with us," Fiona pleaded, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to try and break through whatever barrier his mind had erected. "If you didn't do anything, we need you to tell us that."
"Didn't..." Owen finally whispered, his voice cracked and hollow. "Didn't do it..."
"Good, that's a start," Jake said, his brow furrowing as he continued his line of questioning. "Do you know anything about the poisonings? Have you heard anything that could help us find who's responsible?"
Owen's eyes seemed to glaze over, and he retreated further inward, the weight of the situation too much for his fragile psyche to bear. Fiona clenched her jaw, her frustration at their lack of progress warring with the guilt she felt for putting him through this ordeal.
"Enough!" The door to the interrogation room swung open violently, and a tall, authoritative woman stormed in. She had a stern look on her face, and her body was tense with righteous indignation. Her commanding presence filled the room, her blue suit immaculately pressed, her stride purposeful and direct. Fiona might think she was a lawyer, but she recognized her from a portrait seen earlier today.
This was Dr. Eleanor Jensen, Owen's therapist. An apologetic-looking officer was behind her, who had clearly failed to stop the woman from getting in.
"This is immoral!" she shouted. "You have no right to subject this man to this kind of torment! As his emergency contact, I demand you let him go."
"Dr. Jensen," Fiona began, trying to maintain her composure, "we're just trying to get some answers—"
"Owen is not faking this!" Eleanor interrupted, her voice shaking with anger. "He's genuinely unwell, and you're only making it worse by continuing this farce of an interrogation. He suffered a traumatic brain injury in prison and is incapable of hurting anyone. He's not the same person who once sold illegal poisons or whatever it is you think he did."
"Dr. Jensen, we understand your concern," Jake said, his tone placating, "but there are lives at stake—"
"Let him go," Eleanor demanded, her eyes locked onto Fiona's. "You can see he's in no state to be here. He cannot help you."
Fiona hesitated, her gut telling her that Eleanor was right, but the weight of their responsibility still pressed down on her. She exchanged a glance with Jake, who gave a barely perceptible nod. As much as it burned, Eleanor was right.
"He's free to go," Jake relented. "He was never under arrest, but he collapsed in the street. we couldn't just leave him."
"So you took him here?" Eleanor fired back. "I don't care who you are--this is wrong."
As Eleanor led Owen out of the room, his unsteady gait and vacant expression driving home the point that they had been chasing a ghost, Fiona could only wonder who the real monster was. Someone had killed Glen Hartwell and Sharon French, and if it wasn't Owen, then who?
The door clicked shut behind Owen and Dr. Jensen, leaving Fiona and Jake in the sterile interrogation room. The walls seemed to close in around them, the silence heavy with the weight of their fruitless pursuit. Fiona's chest tightened as she considered the implications of their actions, her conscience gnawing at her like a persistent itch.
"Maybe we were wrong about him," she whispered, avoiding Jake's gaze. "Maybe he really isn't capable of—"
The shrill ring of Jake's cellphone cut through her words, startling her. She watched as he swiftly pulled it from his pocket and answered, his face a mask of professionalism. "Agent Tucker."
Fiona's heart pounded in her chest, her gut telling her that this call would only bring more bad news. She studied Jake's face for any hint of what he was hearing, but his expression remained impassive. Moments stretched into an eternity as she waited, her breath caught in her throat.
"Understood," Jake finally said, his voice tight. He ended the call and looked at Fiona, his eyes dark with concern. "They've found another body."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fiona stood at the edge of the police tape, the rain pelting her face as she surveyed the small home. It was considerably smaller than the two homes they'd visited previously; with its unkempt garden and shanty windows, she got the sense this victim was truly different from the other two. She hugged herself over her clothing, the damp seeping into her bones and only heightening the chill that ran down her spine. Jake was beside her, a somber expression etched on his face.
"Roger Gray, sixty-eight," Jake muttered, glancing over at Fiona. "Another homeowner killed in their own home."
"Poison again?" Fiona asked, unable to keep the unease from her voice.
"Seems that way." He nodded grimly.
Fiona bit her lip, trying to piece together the puzzle that lay before them. What was the motive? Why were these people being targeted? Each layer of the case seemed to reveal another enigma to be solved. Each victim was so different from the last, and this sixty-eight-year-old man posed so many new questions.
"Let's take a look," Jake said, leading her under the police tape and toward the house.
Inside, the scene was somber. Officers moved with practiced efficiency, cataloging evidence and gathering information. In the midst of the activity, Roger Gray's body lay still on the floor, just outside his pantry. His lifeless form looked almost peaceful, if not for the unnatural angle of his limbs, splayed out across the bubbling linoleum floor. Fiona noticed a trail of ants along the edge of the room, moving through the grout. If he had called an exterminator as the other two victims had--had it been for these?
Fiona crouched near the body, examining it closely. There were no visible signs of trauma, but something about the position of the victim's throat made her pause. "I think there might be some trauma to the throat," she murmured to Jake. "The other two victims had it too. We'll need the coroner's report to confirm."
Jake's brow furrowed in thought. "Why him, though? What's the connection?"
Fiona glanced at the ants, subtly nodding at them. "Maybe he called pest control."
"Maybe," he said. "Let's take a look around."
The rain pelting against the windows of Roger's home filled the air with a drumming beat, echoing through the rooms. Fiona and Jake moved further into the house, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpets. The scent of something musty hung in the damp air, mixed with the sharp tang of cleaning chemicals from the police investigators at work.
"If the killer was here, how did he get in?" Jake said as they approached the open back door. Cool air drifted in from outside, carrying the scent of wet earth and crushed grass.
Just then: "That door was left open."
They turned to see a young woman in a police uniform, her expression. tight.
"Neighbor found him this morning, called it in," she said. "It seems he was killed during the night, as the neighbor said they saw Roger watching TV through his curtains at eight p.m., very much alive. Then, this morning, she saw the back door was open and decided to look into it. A damn shame."
Something about the way the officer looked around the room was tense, as though she'd been here before. "Did you know this man?" Fiona asked.
The officer hesitated, her gaze flickering to the body on the floor before returning to Fiona. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I grew up next door to him. He was quite the curmudgeon, had a reputation for being cranky with the kids, especially, but he was always nice to me."
Fiona nodded, taking note of the officer's personal connection to the victim.
"Did he have any enemies?" Jake asked, his eyes scanning the room for any clues.
The officer shook her head. "Not that I know of. He mostly kept to himself and didn't really interact with anyone much. I figured this was a clear heart-attack case until my boss informed me of the other murders that have been happening in town." She looked down at Roger's body across the room. "I hope you find who's doing this."
Fiona nodded in agreement, her heart pounding with anticipation. They would find the killer. But when? A man had already senselessly lost his life while Fiona had been dreaming. It wasn't right. They needed to move faster.
As she scanned the room, something caught her eye--a flier on the kitchen counter. Something about the vibrant green and red graphic caught her eye, sparking familiarity. She stepped up to it and grabbed it--only to see a familiar name across the page.
"Jake, look at this." She held up the flier, her hand trembling.
He took it from her, scanning the text quickly before looking back up at Fiona. "Insect Away Home."
Fiona bit her lip, her mind racing. They had initially suspected Eric Alvarez from the company but had cleared him. Yet here was another victim with a connection to Insect Away Home. Was it just a coincidence, or were they somehow involved? After all, Glen Hartwell hadn't called Insect Away Home--he'd called Pest Control Pros. But Sharon did call them, and it was looking like Roger did too.
The connection was too strong to ignore.
"Could we have been wrong?" she whispered, voicing her fears. "Is Insect Away Home not as innocent as we thought?"
Jake's face was grim, his eyes locked onto the flier. "I don't know, but we need to look into them again."
Fiona nodded, her mind already working out a plan of action. They needed to act quickly before anyone else fell victim to this killer's twisted game.
***
Raindrops raced down the car window, blurring the world outside as Fiona and Jake settled into their seats. The cool gray clouds set a dull filter over them, and Fiona watched Jake's face as he dialed Anderson's number, biting his bottom lip. Fiona held her breath. Part of her had wondered earlier if Anderson, the owner of Insect Away Home, had been hiding something from them, but now it seemed even more possible.
"Hello, Mr. Anderson, it's Agent Tucker," Jake began, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have a few questions about one of your clients, Roger Gray."
Fiona held her breath, straining to hear the conversation through the speakerphone. She could sense the tension in the air, thick like the clouds overhead.
"Ah, yes, Roger Gray," Anderson replied, his voice smooth but guarded. "He did call our company recently, but he canceled the appointment before we could send someone out. Our employee, Mike, was supposed to visit Gray's home."
"Mike, you say? Not the same person who went to Sharon French's house?" Jake asked, his tone sharp.
"No, Agent Tucker, that was another employee. Is there a problem?"
"Maybe," Jake said tersely, then hung up without another word.
Fiona frowned. "Wait--why did you hang up?"
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. "Because I realized we're not gonna get anything out of him on the phone. But he did confirm Roger called them. We need to look deeper into them. I'm gonna get a warrant so we can search their warehouse and computers."
Fiona chewed on her bottom lip, her heart pounding in her chest. Every new piece of information seemed to lead them further away from the truth, and she couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"There's something about them that doesn't sit right with me, and I don't trust Anderson," Jake murmured.
Fiona nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean. And we still haven't figured out the connection between the three victims yet. But even if Glen never called the company, Sharon and Roger did. And the fact that they're Cyphaclide certified..."
The thought made Fiona's stomach lurch. They had initially been looking into Insect Away Home, but did they clear them too early?
Did Roger Gray die because they'd chased down the wrong lead?
Fiona's palms were suddenly sweaty, a sense of panic surging through her. She had done well to keep her anxiety at bay, but something about this flooded her with so much guilt that she felt incompetent.
"Jake, did Roger die because of us? Because we didn't act fast enough on Insect Away Home?"
Jake's eyes landed firmly on hers. "Red... we can't get caught up in questions like that, not in this field. We looked into Alvarez, who we thought was our guy, and he wasn't. It's our job to chase down other leads, and Pest Control Pros could have been the guys too. We had to look into both."
Fiona nodded, her eyes cast downward. He was right. She couldn't let her guilt consume her, not when there was still work to be done. She took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. They needed more evidence, something concrete that could link Insect Away Home to the murders.
"I know, I know. But we need to find something, Jake. Anything that can link them to the murders."
"We will." He held up his phone. "Let me just make some calls. If these guys think they can hide something, they're dead wrong."
Fiona hoped he was right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jake drew a breath, prepared for anything. The door to Insect Away Home's office slammed open, the sharp sound echoing through the room as Jake stormed in, his eyes narrowed and jaw set, Fiona following just behind him. The air was thick with the smell of chemical repellents. This time, it seemed Anderson had been expecting him because he stormed out in front of the reception desk.
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