“Reentry courses?”
“Yeah, to help integrate ex-cons back into society. Anyway, I asked if Heather would consider teaching an art course for theprogram. I had just rented this place out and was getting ready to open the shop, so I didn’t have any spare time.”
“And Heather agreed?” Brook posed her statement as a question. It wouldn’t be to her advantage for him to believe she had knowledge of certain facts. “Just like that?”
“Yeah, she did.Voluntarily.” Figg emphasized the word. “Look, Heather was a good person. She was always willing to help others. But after a while, she started getting uncomfortable being there.”
“Why was that?” Brook asked, sensing they were approaching the crux of the matter.
“Some of those guys had done serious time. Most were trying to go straight, but prison changes people.” Figg shrugged, the movement rippling across the inked landscape of his neck. “A few would stare at her too long. Make comments when they thought no one was listening. Nothing overt enough to report, but enough to make her nervous.”
“And you didn’t want her to quit?”
“That was what we were discussing,” Figg confirmed with a slight nod. “I was trying to convince her to stick it out. I didn’t threaten her, if that’s what people are suggesting. I was disappointed. Frustrated. But I understood where she was coming from.”
“Why would Heather keep her volunteer work a secret?”
“Her father would have lost his shit,” Figg said with a short, humorless laugh. “Brian Moore is old school Harrowick. Believes people don't change, especially not those who have done some hard time behind bars. Brian has been at the railroad yard for what, forty years? Lives by rules and schedules. There was no way he'd have approved of his daughter spending Thursday nights in a room full of ex-cons.”
“And why didn't you tell the police about this connection after she was killed?” Brook asked, though she suspected shealready knew the answer. “You didn’t think it was pertinent to the investigation? She was spending time with convicted felons.”
“Heather’s parents were already suffering, and those guys in the reentry program were just trying to start new lives. Get jobs, reconnect with friends and family. I wasn’t going to ruin their fresh starts by dragging them into a murder investigation. Besides, the cops and the feds were looking for some drifter, some outsider. They'd already decided what had happened. Who was I to say any different?”
Brook didn’t get the sense that Figg was lying. She took her time, reaching into her jacket pocket to retrieve one of her business cards, and placed it on the glass counter between them.
“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Whitlow,” Brook said as she took a step back. “If you remember anything else about Heather, or about anyone in that class who might have shown particular interest in her beyond…how did you phrase it? Nothing overt enough to report, I believe. Anyway, please call me.”
Brook nodded to Benz, who appeared hesitant to open the door. When he realized that she had truly ended the interview, he reached out and pushed open the glass entrance. The frigid air had Brook bracing her body immediately.
“I’m sorry that didn’t work out,” Lucas replied as she adjusted her scarf. She immediately retrieved her gloves from her pocket. “I know you were hoping for a different outcome.”
“That particular interview gave us exactly what we needed,” Brook replied as she pulled out her key fob. “Did you notice the photographs on the wall?”
“The ones with the customers showing off their new ink?”
“Not those. The personal photos.” Brook advanced forward until they were near his patrol car. “There was a framed photograph to the right of the man showing off his dragon tattoo. Figg with an older woman. His mother, judging by theresemblance around the eyes. She was wearing a silk scarf around her neck.”
“A yellow scarf?”
“Not yellow,” Brook clarified, already cataloging the small detail against the established profile. “But potentially significant. I recall from the background check that his mother passed away almost twelve years ago. The timing could add up, though Figg Whitlow doesn’t necessarily fit the profile. I appreciate your help today, Deputy Benz.”
“Anytime, Miss Sloane. Feel free to ask for me if you need more assistance with interviews.”
Brook glanced at the tattoo parlor's front window, where Figg was no longer visible at the counter. She would take Deputy Benz up on his offer sooner rather than later.Lucas followed her line of sight.
“If you want me to keep an eye on?—”
“No,” Brook replied as she pressed the unlock button on the key fob. She had another assignment for the deputy. “I want Mr. Whitlow comfortable, free to go about his daily life. But you can do me a favor and make sure you’re working second shift on Sunday. What are your thoughts on town hall meetings?”
21
Bobby ‘Bit’ Nowacki
January 2026
Friday – 12:47pm
Bit kicked his boots against the rough wood of the cabin door, dislodging the stubborn clumps of snow that had accumulated during his time outside. It had taken him less than eight minutes to adjust one of the security cameras that had been inadvertently bumped into by some wildlife searching for food.
