“It was red paper,” Riley pointed out.“Probably deliberately chosen to make it harder to see through.But even so, I think you’re right that the destruction was part of the point.The killer knew we’d destroy it trying to read it.”
Brookman checked his watch impatiently.“We might as well go talk to the husband while they finish up in here.He’s been sedated, but the counselor says he’s coherent enough to answer questions.”
Taking one last look at the scattered remains of the crane, Riley felt sure that they’d already failed some test the killer had set for them—destroying exactly whatever they needed to see.
She cataloged what they knew: two women, both killed with the same paralytic drug, both posed in the same way with an origami figure.And now, this deliberately destructible clue.The pattern was forming, but the picture it revealed remained frustratingly incomplete.
As they moved down the hallway toward the guest room, Riley weighed the merits of suggesting that she and Ann Marie speak to Rudy Bennett alone.Brookman’s suspicion of the husband was already evident.The detective’s investigative approach could potentially shut down a grieving spouse.She’d seen it countless times—local law enforcement fixating on the partner as the most statistically likely suspect, inadvertently contaminating what could be a valuable witness interview with their assumptions.But as Brookman’s shoulders stiffened with each step, Riley decided against voicing her concerns.The detective was already bruised from the origami debacle, his territorial hackles raised by their federal presence.
“He’s pretty shaken up,” Brookman said, pausing outside a door at the end of the hall.“Doctor gave him something to take the edge off, but he’s still a mess.”The words carried a hint of skepticism that Riley noted but chose not to address.
Brookman knocked softly before pushing the door open.The guest bedroom was smaller than the master, decorated in muted blues and grays.Rudy Bennett lay on the bed, fully clothed down to his shoes, one arm thrown across his eyes.A woman in her fifties sat in a chair beside the bed, her expression professionally compassionate as she turned to regard them.
“Detective,” she acknowledged Brookman before her gaze shifted to Riley and Ann Marie.“I’m Dr.Levine, crisis counselor.Mr.Bennett is still resting.Perhaps it would be better to conduct your interview later this afternoon?”
Before Brookman could respond, Rudy Bennett lowered his arm and pushed himself up to a sitting position.His eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard with shock and grief.“No,” he said, his voice rough.“I want to talk now.I want to help find whoever...”He swallowed hard.“Whoever did this to Rachel.”
Riley stepped forward, moving past Brookman to establish a more direct connection.“Mr.Bennett, I’m Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI, and this is my colleague, Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer.We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Rudy nodded, his gaze unfocused.He was a man in his mid-thirties with the solid build of someone who once worked out regularly but had softened around the edges in recent years.His sandy hair was disheveled, his button-down shirt wrinkled from lying in it.
“Can you tell us what happened when you came home last night?”Riley asked gently.
Rudy drew a deep breath, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the duvet.“I was out with friends.Poker night.We do it every Wednesday.”He closed his eyes briefly.“I got home around midnight.The house was quiet.I found that the security system wasn’t on, but that wasn’t unusual.Rachel often forgot to take care of that.I thought she was already asleep.”
He paused, and Riley noticed a tremor in his hands that he tried to still by gripping his knees.
“I went upstairs to our bedroom and...”His voice cracked.“She was just lying there.So still.I knew right away something was wrong.Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t...she wasn’t there.”He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.“There was this...paper bird on her chest.I didn’t touch it.I called 911 right away.”
“What time did you leave for your poker game?”Brookman interjected.
“Around seven.We meet at Dave’s place in Georgetown.”
Brookman kept his voice neutral, “Had you been drinking, Mr.Bennett?”
Riley watched Rudy’s reaction carefully.
“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation.“I had several beers.That’s why Kevin Hitchens drove me home.He’s our designated driver every week.He dropped me off right at the front door, watched me go in.”His gaze lifted to meet Brookman’s.“You can ask him.He lives three blocks over on Maple.”
“We will do that,” Brookman assured him.
Riley redirected the conversation.“Mr.Bennett, we noticed there are many origami figures throughout your home.Were those your wife’s creations?”
Rudy’s expression softened slightly.“Yes.Rachel started making them about six weeks ago.It was like she suddenly discovered this...talent.”For the first time, a ghost of a smile flickered across his face.“She’d work on them constantly.Said it helped her focus.”
“Was that unusual for her?”Riley asked.
“Very.”Rudy exhaled heavily.“Rachel has—had—bipolar disorder.She’d struggled with it for years.Different medications, different therapists.Nothing seemed to work long-term.She’d have these periods of intense activity followed by crashes.It was putting a strain on everything—our marriage, her job.”He shook his head slowly.“But then she started with the origami, and it was like magic.She became more centered, more focused.Her mood stabilized.Her boss even commented on the improvement in her work.”
Ann Marie leaned forward slightly.“Do you know what prompted her interest in origami?Did someone suggest it to her?”
Rudy frowned, considering.“I don’t know, actually.She just came home one day with paper and started folding.I didn’t question it—I was just relieved to see her finding something that seemed to help.”
“And you didn’t ask?”Brookman’s tone sharpened.“Your wife suddenly takes up a new hobby that completely changes her behavior, and you never wondered where it came from?”
Riley caught the flash of defensiveness in Rudy’s eyes.
“I was just grateful,” he said, voice tightening.“Do you know what it’s like to live with someone who swings between extremes?To walk on eggshells, never knowing which version of your wife you’ll come home to?When she started improving, I didn’t want to jinx it with questions.”
