Rachel finished her water and gave Ayer a thankful smile. “Thank you for your time,” she said.
“Sure, of course.”
Ayer followed them out of the kitchen, shadowing them as they made their way back down the hallway. Once again, Rachel stopped to give the Lab—Rascal—some attention. This time, the dog came to her and looked up for the attention, his tongue lolling as Rachel stroked him on the head and under the neck.
“He’s a gorgeous dog,” Rachel commented. “How old?”
“Five years now,” Ayer said, his voice still shaky. “And spoiled rotten.”
Rachel gave Rascal’s head one final rub and as she looked away, her eyes once again went to the door Rascal had been standing in front of the entire time. She recalled that Rascal had been sniffing around it curiously when they arrived. Even this little detail may have meant nothing to Rachel…but then she saw the two small scratches along the doorframe, exactly where the door met flush with the wood.
And just below those marks on the door, a section of the door that looked as if it had recently been washed or polished in some way—but just that one small section. The door itself was a soft chestnut brown in color but a small space roughly the size of a playing card stood out much more than the rest of it, brighter and almost shining.
“What’s in this room?” Rachel asked, nodding to the door as Rascal licked at her hand, wanting some more love.
“The basement,” Ayer answered. “Mainly just storage. It’s unfinished…one of those things I said I’d eventually get done and turn it into a gym.”
There was just the tiniest bit of theatrics to the explanation. Not in the words themselves, but how he delivered them. He’d spoken quite fast when he’d tried to recall the events of his past week but here, he seemed to be passing off the explanation of the basement as if he was no longer overly concerned about being under suspicion of murder. It was in his tone, which had suddenly become almost warm and friendly. It was an incredibly small detail, but Rachel picked up on it.
“Can we have a look?” Rachel asked.
Once more, Ayer went pale. He stepped forward quickly and then seemed to realize what he had done. Any hope of remaining cool and collected was demolished in that moment and it became clear that Stephen Ayer did not want them to go down into his basement. And with that realization, the two scratch marks at the edge of the doorframe and the spot that had obviously been scrubbed recently seemed much more sinister.
“Stay where you are, Dr. Ayer,” Jack said. He took a moment to size up the situation, looking at Rachel. Again, she understood that her temporary leave of absence was getting in the way. She didn’t have a gun so any splitting up was going to be tricky.
“What’s down there, Dr. Ayer?” she asked.
“N-nothing.” He was near tears now and his body seemed to have locked up.
Jack reached out and placed his hand on Ayer’s shoulder. “Step back into the living room, Dr. Ayer,” he said. When Ayer still didn’t move, Jack gave him a light push. “Now, sir, or I will draw my weapon.”
The slight rise in Jack’s voice made Ayer cringe. He let out a little gasp as he finally started to walk back to the living room, weeping. Rascal followed, not sure what was happening to his master.
“You go down,” Jack said. “Any sign of danger, you haul ass back up here.” Then, with a tight frown on his face, he withdrew his Glock and handed it over to her. Rachel knew that taking it was risky; if she had to fire it, she and Jack would have to come up with an extravagant lie to keep her clear of the house and, by default, his gun and the case.
She shook her head, realizing the implications of it all. “No,” she said. “Keep it. I’ll be fine.”
Jack nodded and holstered it, but it was apparent that he didn’t like it. He looked back to Ayer and said, “Last chance.”
But Ayer was struggling with some sort of emotional trauma that wouldn’t allow him to speak. Whatever was waiting for them downstairs was going to potentially wreck his life. And with that in mind, Rachel approached the door, turned the knob, and opened the door.