“’Cause of what I did at the college. I did that. I admit it. Then I hid because I didn’t want to drag my mom and sis into this shit.”
Ella felt her airtight grip on this case loosening further and further. She lined up the next piece of ammunition. “You were in the military, correct?” she asked.
“Not for long.”
“What happened?”
“I abandoned my post three months in. Turns out I have trouble taking orders.”
Ella believed it. A three-month stint wouldn’t have allowed Bret to see the frontlines, either. The chances of him stumbling across some severed legs or setting off a mine were practically zero. Ella couldn’t apply Ripley’s military theory here. Another miss.
How had it come to this? An hour ago, Ella was confident they had their man, as sure as death and taxes. But if Bret had multiple people to corroborate his whereabouts, and video evidence that he was in a different place during the murders, opposing such concrete proof was a futile gesture. She could only hope there were inconsistencies with the timeline that she could latch onto.
Bret Styles was a disturbed, misunderstood creature, but could she really him carrying out these crimes? Such accuracy, such planning. Was a young man, barely out of his teens, able to stalk and kill three women and leave a clean scene behind?
History told her it wasn’t possible. Maybe fifty years ago when forensic science didn’t exist, but in today’s world of picture-perfect DNA testing and constant surveillance, someone as haphazard as Bret would make a mistake somewhere.
Deep in her gut, she knew she’d got it wrong.
Judging by Paige’s slumped posture and deflated expression, she was feeling the same thing.
“We’re going to check out your alibi,” Ella said. “You’re going to stay here, okay?”
Ella scooped up the crime scene photos and lined them together. Then she recalled Bret’s strange response a few minutes ago.
His response to one in particular.
“Bret, just one question,” Ella said. “I watched you closely when I showed you these photos. When I showed you Cassie and Kate, you looked repulsed. But when I showed you Teri Harper, I saw something different.”
She left the question open ended.
Bret stared blankly at Ella then blinked himself back to life. He looked dazed, like someone who’d just come out of a virtual reality.
“Can I see that picture again?” he asked.
A strange request, but another nail in the coffin for Ella’s perceived guilty status of the boy. Guilty parties did everything they could to maintain the illusion that the crime scene photos appalled them.
Ella laid the picture of Teri’s body out again. “What is it about this one?” she asked.
“I… think I know this girl.”
The agents regarded each other, both willing Bret to continue.
“You know her?” asked Ella.
“Well, I don’t know her, but I seen her before. A few times.”
“Where, Bret?”
“See these tattoos?” Bret ran his finger across the photograph. “My friend Kenny did these. That’s his job. This girl came over to his house and he inked her. I was there.”
“When was this?” Paige asked.
“A while ago. Maybe six months. I remember ‘cause Kenny was grilling her about her job. He was obsessed.”
“Her job? A chef?” Ella asked.
“Nu-uh. This girl, sorry, I don’t remember her name. She told us she was a prostitute.”