“A detective. He’s been here before. Can’t remember his name. Roberts or something like that.”
“Robinson?”
“That’s it.” The guard motioned for him to enter his cell and then quickly removed his shackles. “You’re the only one in this section right now, so there’s no reason you can’t have official visitors here. Your brother will have to be in the designated area though.”
He wondered why Detective Robinson would come to talk to him now. They’d said everything that they had to say during the other visits. The detective had done everything he could to uncover the truth back then. Quinten knew that. Just like he knew the evidence had been against him from the start, especially when they found his DNA all over the shack where they’d concluded the five college girls had been killed. He hadn’t had a hope in hell.
The sound of the gates opening gave him chills, and the sound of them closing and the locks clicking into place made his heart race with fear. It was yet another reminder of what his fate held.
“Quinten,” Robinson greeted, moving into his line of sight.
“Detective. It’s been a while,” he commented and watched as Robinson tried not to fidget.
Quinten narrowed his eyes and took an assessment of the man. He’d always been professional, cool even, and was always courteous. He’d been confident, a man that knew his convictions and held firm to them. Today, the large man was different…he seemed…rattled.
Detective Robinson pulled a chair close to the cell, and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees before he met Quinten’s gaze. “My truck blew up yesterday.”
Quinten’s eyes widened in surprise before he started to wonder what that had to do with him. There was no way he could have done it, so why had the detective come to the prison. He never wished the detective harm even when it was clear that he would be charged.
“That isn’t why I’m here.” Robinson paused. “I’m rattled, which you noticed.”
Quinten lifted his chin in acknowledgement, sitting on the bed.
“When did you last have contact with Jocelyn?”
After a long pause, Quinten shook his head. “I’m not sure why you’re here asking questions about her, but I haven’t seen her since the day I was sentenced, and I haven’t heard from her since then. The divorce was handled by the lawyers.” He frowned. “What’s this about, Detective?”
“A body was discovered yesterday morning.”
Quinten watched the other man but nothing showed even though he knew what was coming.
“At the moment, we are go
ing under the presumption that it’s Jocelyn Peterson. What remained of breast implants had a partial serial number on them and that partial matched Jocelyn. These”—Robinson pulled three evidence bags from behind him—“were found on her skeletal remains.”
Quinten flinched at the detective’s words. Everything he’d ever felt for Jocelyn had died long before his life went to hell, but he hadn’t wanted her to be murdered…and it had to have been murder or the detective wouldn’t be here.
He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Let me see them.”
Detective Robinson moved closer under the watchful eye of the guard.
“Make sure he can’t grab them,” the guard rumbled.
The minute the detective held the clear plastic evidence bag up with the charm bangle, he knew that it was hers. He hated the thing and often wondered whether one of her many lovers had given it to her.
“That was hers,” Quinten snapped. “And so were those. The wedding band had been her mother’s, and the other ring had belonged to her sister. They both died along with her father in a car accident...about fifteen years ago now.”
“I’m sorry, Quinten.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. You know that I hated the woman, more so after the lies she told when I was first arrested, then on the stand during the trial. I didn’t want her dead, just out of my life.”
“I get that. What I don’t like is that someone made sure we found her, after seven years of being buried.”
“Seven...years? She’s been dead for seven years?” Quinten shook his head. He should have realized when Robinson had said skeletal remains that her death wasn’t recent.
“Yes.” Robinson continued, counting off on his fingers, “It isn’t a coincidence that your warrant for execution was signed. Then your ex-wife’s body was found…Saige Lockwood came to talk to me yesterday morning. And, to top it all off, my truck exploded in front of the police station yesterday.”
“Saige?” Quinten heard what the detective said, but it was her name that grabbed his attention.