Two men walked through the door. Agents Rutherford and Fields who were an odd combo. Fields was a grizzled man, close to retirement age, with sharp brown eyes. Rutherford was model perfect, with blond hair, broad shoulders, and an aura ofpure ambition.
They sat and Rutherford took the lead. “Extra consideration is being utilized in your case because of your strong ties to HDD and the fact that Angus Force has sworn up and down that you are innocent. I have to tell you that I think you’re guilty as hell. Do you think he looks innocent,Agent Fields?”
“Nope,” Fields said, observing them all, no doubt not missing a thing.
“Dr. Hanson, are you crazy or sane?” Rutherford asked, setting a thin file folder in front of him on the table and a laptop bag on the floor.
Interesting lead.
Scott tilted his head. “Do you have any relevant questions?”
Rutherford smiled, showing perfect teeth. Jethro could help him with that problem easily. “Run me through where you were the night Ms. Julian was killed.”
“I was home, got the call, and met Detective Tate Bianchi where the body had been found because there was a note taped to the victim’s jacket addressed to me,” Jethro said.
“Right. From your brother, Fletcher Hanson,” Rutherford drawled. “Bianchi has said that your claim is that he escaped prison and is nowstalking you.”
Apparently the HDD had a full file at the moment. “No. He escaped prison and is taking on contract killings here to make money. I’m a side benefit.” Jethro couldn’t figure out Fletcher’s end game yet. Even if he could, he wasn’t telling these guys.
“Ah,” Rutherford said. “So you don’t have an alibi but are involved in the case. Isn’t that interesting, Kurt?”
“It really is,” Fields said, his suit and tie brownand well worn.
Jethro almost kept from rolling his eyes.
“Have you been arrested before?” Rutherford asked. “This seemsboring to you.”
Jethro nodded. “It does feel rather tedious, now that you mention it.” He’d been arrested in more countries than he could count, but he couldn’t reveal any of his missions. “Why didyou arrest me?”
“Where were you when Mr. Randolf was killed?”
“No alibi,” Jethro said. “If I were killing people, I’d have a rock-solid alibi, chaps. My background in game theory and philosophy should have givenyou that clue.”
Rutherford planted his hand on the file folder. “Or perhaps your search for good vs. evil and for understanding has driven you crazy. Maybe you’re killing people and pretending to be your incarcerated brother. That’s just bananas, isn’t it, Kurt?”
“Sounds batshit crazy to me,” Kurt said, his jaw shadowed by more gray than brown.
Scott sighed. “Start making sense or we’re shutting down this interview.”
“Okay.” Rutherford dug a laptop out of his bag. “Here’s the deal. We have proof you committed these murders, and as soon as we obtain a warrant to search your residence, we’ll have more proof.” He booted up the computer, and the alley where Liping Julian was found came up. A man strode between the ramshackle businesses, his head covered by a knit hat and his frame around the same size as Jethro’s. Over his shoulder, he carried Liping’s body. Halting at the dumping site, he tossed her on the ground. Then he briefly looked up.
Rutherford hit a button and Jethro’s facecame into view.
Jethro didn’t react and was pleasantly surprised when Scott didn’t either. “Looks like you got a doctored video.” Fucking Fletcher. “I have to tell you, if you knew anything about my brother, this wouldn’t surprise you.” But what wasthe damn point?
“All right.” Rutherford brought up another scene—this one at the golf course. Once again, Jethro could be seen dumping the body. This time, the murder occurred right on camera, with the killer slicing through the victim’s body. “Is this doctored as well?”
“Yes,” Jethro said, irritated. “Get the recordings to Brigid Banaghan and she’ll figure out what happened.” Apparently Fletcher still had some decent connections in the world, because those recordings looked authentic. “Sometimes you can’t believe your own eyes, gentlemen.” It was a lesson he’d learned early with the agency.
“True,” Fields said, reaching for the file folder. He took out a piece of paper. “We found your fingerprints on Julian’s belt and Randolf’s shoes. Apparently you drank some coffee when speaking with Detectives Bianchi and Buckle the other day, and they were nice enough to confirm your prints from the cup. Just in case you were wondering.”
Huh. When this was finished he’d have his agency—or former agency—scrub his prints from the records. It wasn’t like they hadn’t accomplished that before. “My prints must’vebeen planted.”
“How about your DNA?” Rutherford asked. “Found it on both victims, and something tells me we’ll find it on the newest one, too. His name was John Jordan. Want to tell us howyou knew him?”
“His name doesn’t ring a bell,” Jethro admitted. “Who is he?”
“We’re not sharing today,” Fields said quietly. “Let us help you. Tellus the truth.”
