"I wouldn’t gothatfar.I don't have one hundred percent confirmation on Jennifer's cause of death yet," DeMarco said without preamble."The coroner is still completing the full autopsy.But I do have something interesting from the Records and Research department."
Kate slid into her car but didn't start the engine, giving DeMarco her full attention."What did you find?"
"David Fletcher, the nervous guy from last night's meeting… the one you said seemed to be uncomfortable the entire time?"
"Yes, he was fidgeting constantly and left early.What about him?"
"Well, it turns out Mr.Fletcher has been going through some significant life changes recently.He was laid off from his job as an insurance adjuster about four months ago.The company gave him a fairly substantial severance package, and according to his bank account and Amazon listings, he's been using the time to pursue his dream of becoming a mystery novelist.Though…he’s not making much at all from it."
Kate felt a surge of professional interest."A mystery novelist?"
"Yeah, and it gets better.I managed to get in touch with his former supervisor, who said Fletcher had been obsessed with detective fiction for years.Apparently, he used to spend his lunch breaks writing mystery stories instead of eating.His coworkers nicknamed him 'Sherlock' because he was always reading crime novels at his desk."
"So we have an unemployed man with extensive knowledge of mystery literature, time on his hands, and possibly some resentment about his life circumstances," Kate summarized."That's a profile that fits our killer."
"There's more.The supervisor also mentioned that Fletcher had become increasingly bitter about his job situation in the months before he was laid off.He felt like his intelligence was being wasted in insurance work, and he resented people who he perceived as less educated or less dedicated to serious pursuits."
Kate immediately thought about the tensions within the book club that had surfaced during her undercover observation.Margaret's critical approach to literary discussion, the conflicts between serious readers and casual participants, and the frustration with members who didn't meet certain intellectual standards.
"DeMarco, I think we need to bring David Fletcher in for questioning.Where are you now?"
"Still at the coroner's office, but I can meet you at the office in thirty minutes."
"Perfect.I'll head there now."Kate started her car, feeling the familiar surge of energy that came with a promising lead."And DeMarco?Let's also run a background check on Fletcher's writing activities.If he's been self-publishing his work, there might be samples of his work that could give us insight into his thinking patterns.Hell, it may even provide us with a blueprint."
"Already on it.I'll see you soon."
As Kate drove toward the FBI field office, she found herself wondering if David Fletcher's discomfort during the previous evening's meeting had stemmed from guilt rather than social anxiety.If Fletcher was their killer, he had sat in Eleanor's living room listening to expressions of grief for victims he had murdered, watching the group struggle to make sense of deaths he had orchestrated.
And Kate had been sitting right there with him.
The thought made Kate's hands tighten on the steering wheel.She remembered Fletcher's nervous fidgeting, his early departure, and his obvious discomfort with the emotional atmosphere.At the time, she had attributed his behavior to being the only man in a group of grieving women.Now she wondered if she had been watching a killer struggling to maintain his facade while surrounded by the friends of his victims.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
David Fletcher lived in a modest split-level house on Oakwood Drive, the kind of middle-class neighborhood where the lawns were well-maintained but not professionally landscaped, and the cars in the driveways were practical rather than luxurious.Kate and DeMarco pulled up to the curb in front of a beige vinyl-sided house with brown shutters and a small concrete porch that showed its age in the form of hairline cracks and weather staining.The front yard was neat but unremarkable, with a few mature oak trees providing shade and a mailbox that had seen better days.
Kate noted the drawn curtains in the front windows as they approached the front door.It was early afternoon on a weekday, and most of the neighboring houses showed similar signs of daytime occupancy by people who didn't work traditional office hours.
DeMarco pressed the doorbell, and they could hear it chiming inside the house.After a moment, the door opened to reveal David Fletcher.He looked significantly more composed than he had during the previous evening's book club meeting.He wore jeans and a navy polo shirt, and his glasses sat properly on his nose rather than sliding down as they had during his nervous fidgeting.
"Oh… hi," Fletcher said, recognition dawning in his expression.It quickly changed to stark confusion.“Kate… right?”
"Yes, that's right," Kate said, "Mr.Fletcher, at the risk of seeming rude or uncaring, I must admit that I was not at the group last night as a potential member.I'm an FBI agent, trying to find some details about the murder of Margaret Carlise."She showed her badge, just in case he had trouble buying it.She'd also left out the news that Jennifer had also been killed.She wanted to see if he might slip up and say something he shouldn't.Plus, it wasn't exactly public knowledge just yet.
"You… oh.Wow, I would have never guessed.Do you… I mean…" His nervous tics were back now, though it was clear he was trying to hide them."What can I do for you?"
"Mr.Fletcher, this is my partner, Agent DeMarco.We'd like to ask you some questions about your recent activities and your relationship with the book club members," Kate said."May we come in?"
Fletcher hesitated for just a moment before stepping aside to allow them entry."Of course.Please, come into the living room."
The inside of Fletcher's house reflected the same middle-class vibe as the exterior.The furniture was comfortable but not expensive, with a brown leather recliner that dominated one corner and a matching sofa facing a modest flat-screen television.Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with what appeared to be an extensive collection of mystery and crime novels.Kate immediately recognized names like Raymond Chandler, Ross Macdonald, and dozens of contemporary authors.
But what caught her attention most was the corner near the front window, where a desk held a laptop computer surrounded by stacks of printed pages, notebooks, and reference books about writing craft.A bulletin board above the desk displayed what looked like story outlines, character notes, and timeline charts.
"Please, have a seat," Fletcher said, gesturing toward the sofa."Can I get you anything?Coffee, water?"
"No, thank you," DeMarco replied as they settled onto the couch."Mr.Fletcher, we understand you were recently laid off from your job."
