The bright TV-lights are shining directly in my eyes as I stand across from Hana at the blue oval table in the studio. We’re meant to sit on black plastic barstools, but given my huge belly, that’s not a possibility for me. Hana is occupying hers, swiveling left and right like a kid.
Luckily, the bright lights shining in my eyes are hiding the cameras, but they’re hotter than I expected them to be. I can feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck and my palms aren’t just clammy, but downright soaked. Hopefully, I’ll remember not to do something stupid like dry them by rubbing them on my belly once we’re live. I also hope sweat doesn’t start running down my forehead next. There’s a reason I don’t do live interviews. Something about a camera being trained on me causes me to freeze like a deer in the headlights.
The host approaches the desk and smiles at each of us in turn. “Are you ready?”
“More than ready,” Hana tells him in an even cheerier voice than what she used for the assistant, and I just nod and wipe my palms on my jeans.
“Great,” the host says and turns to face the cameras.
Someone I can’t see in the darkness counts down from three and then the host uses his on-air voice to give a short run down of the case we’re investigating and introduces us.
“Ms. Lah, my first question is for you,” he says and turns to me. “Many are skeptical that this killer, this Riverside Reaper, as he’s been dubbed by the press, actually exists. Can you tell us why you’re so certain that he is, in fact, real?”
It’s news to me that anyone remains skeptical about this being real, and the question paralyzes me for a couple of seconds because of that.
“There is no doubt that the same man, or woman, has killed thirteen young people by the river over the last twenty years,” I say. “The deaths could easily be construed as random stabbings, sure, and they initially were. But once we looked at the evidence more closely, there was no doubt that all the deaths were the work of the same killer.”
“Then why did you just ignore the letter, huh?” Hana cuts in. Her eyes are angry, but there’s a half-smile on her face. An unsettling combination. “It’s because it doesn’t fit your theory, isn’t it? Your precious theory is everything, isn’t it?”
The host is trying hard to hide the glee on his face as he turns to me.
“This letter Ms. Pate is referring to came from the killer,” he says. “Tell me, Ms. Lah, why did you discount it so easily?”
“I didn’t discount it,” I say in as calm a voice as I can manage. “The letter will be properly processed and its source investigated. But I do have my doubts that it is genuine, which is why it was agreed that it would not be made public yet.”
“Doubts? What doubts?” Hana says indignantly. “You said it was genuine. But you just wanted to take all the credit for finding it. Like always.”
“Yes, my doubts also stem from the fact that it was sent to you,” I say and watch her reaction very closely. The expression on her face changes from one thing to the next so fast I can’t clearly read any of it. Finally, it settles back on anger in the eyes and a smile on her lips, which are slightly parted since she’s breathing heavily through her mouth.
“In other words, you’re just jealous that I got the letter and not you,” she says in a much calmer voice than I expected to hear. “You enjoyed being in the spotlight as an expert on serial killers and didn’t want to share that spotlight with anyone. If you ask me, the letter is just a hoax, because there is no killer.”
The host turns to me expectantly as she stops talking. How the hell do I even respond to that?
“This killer exists,” I say, stammering a little. “A whole team of detectives and forensic specialists are working around the clock to catch him.”
“Headed by Mark Novak of Europol, right?” the host asks. There is something very predatory about the smile he’s giving me. It makes me think of a wolf about to pounce on his prey.
“Yes, as well as several detectives at the National Police Bureau.”
“Mark Novak is also your partner and you have worked on several very high-profile serial killer cases in the past, haven’t you?” the host says.
“That is correct,” I answer.
“Cases that you uncovered and then turned into bestselling books once they were wrapped up,” he says. “I must say, that sounds very convenient.”
I’m having trouble fully grasping the direction this interview has turned. And what’s worse, I have no idea how to respond. Everything I can think of will just make it worse.
“Eva Lah is no expert,” Hana says cheerily. “At best, she rides on the coattails of investigators much better than she, and at worst, she fabricates evidence and theories that have no basis in fact. It’s all there in my article. I spoke to many sources who know her well and they all confirmed this.”
“What sources?” I ask before thinking it through. “You mentioned no one in your defamatory article about me.”
“Anonymous sources,” she says. “No one wanted their name in print for fear of retribution from you, since you’ve been known to destroy and shame anyone who doesn’t agree with you.”
Where is she getting all this from? I’ve freelanced for my entire career and the only time I ever fought with any of my peers was when a British journalist took one of my articles and published it under his name without changing a single word. But that was more than ten years ago now. My face is growing hotter and hotter, and probably redder and redder too. I’m also beginning to feel drops of sweat forming on my forehead.
“I was under the impression that we were here to discuss the ongoing case and not my past work,” I say, and could probably have found a more fitting thing to say.
“But there is something to what Ms. Pate is saying, is there not?” the host says. “Wasn’t Mark Novak implicated in the case you investigated last November? And that story is already a bestselling book written by you. How sure are you that you got the right bad guy then, so to speak?”