Terri rose from behind the desk and extended her hand. “Good to see you, Marc.”
“Likewise.” Marc shook Terri’s hand, then waited as she shifted her computer to the side, then offered him her chair and went to sit on his right, in one of the two other chairs that were grouped around the desk. Aidan seated himself in the chair on Marc’s left, indicating that Marc was center stage and captaining this particular ship.
Settling in behind the desk, Marc unzipped the computer case, and then placed the laptop directly in front of him. “Programmed and ready,” he said.
“Is Caitlin expecting this meeting?” Aidan asked.
Marc nodded. “Ryan filled her in. She’s ready and eager to help. She knows only that we have two other professionals working with us and that I’ll be handling the interview.” He glanced from Aidan to Terri. “No mention of Zermatt.”
“Never expected otherwise,” Aidan replied. He bent his knee and crossed one long leg over the other. “Let’s get started.”
Marc opened the laptop, turned it on, and tapped the keys that Ryan had instructed him to press.
It took a minute or two, and then a woman appeared on the screen. She was attractive, alert yet anxious, and Marc could see the resemblance to Kennedy.
“Hi, Caitlin,” he began. “I’m Marc Devereaux, as I know Ryan told you. Let me begin by saying how terribly sorry I am for your loss.”
She drew in a slow breath. “Nice to meet you, Marc. And thank you. Ryan speaks very highly of you. He says you’re as good as they come and that you used to work for the FBI.”
“I did. First as a supervisory special agent in the Violent Crimes division. Then in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Now I’m part of Forensic Instincts. And these”—he pointed to Aidan and Terri—“are two of my professional contacts. Aidan and Terri. They’re working alongside Forensic Instincts in this investigation.”
They all acknowledged each other politely.
“So how does this work?” Caitlin asked with an attempt at humor. “Do you hypnotize me?”
Marc chuckled. “No, nothing like that. We just talk. I’ll lead you through what we already know about Shane’s killer, and see if together we can deepen that knowledge.” His smile faded. “I know how difficult this is for you, and I apologize in advance for adding to that pain.”
“Don’t.” Caitlin gave a firm shake of her head. “I want this bastard caught and punished. And I want to come home to my little girl. I’ll help in any way that I can.”
“Good.” Marc’s expression didn’t change. “Let’s begin with what we know.” He ran through what Ryan had told them. “Is that all accurate?” he concluded.
“Yes.”
“Okay, so you had a limited view of the killer, and he was dressed from head to toe in black. Are you certain he was male?”
Caitlin blinked. “Yes. His body type. His stance. His gait. The way he moved. I’m certain.”
“Good. Now let’s discuss what you said about him being light on his feet. How so?”
“The way he stepped toward Shane. The way he made his escape. He was like a cat burglar only with muscles.”
“So he was well-muscled?”
Caitlin narrowed her eyes in thought. “Actually, yes. Lean, but with muscles.”
“And the way he moved—would you say he was a young man?”
Her brows drew together as she continued to search her memory. “Not teenager young, but in his twenties or thirties.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “I guess people like Charles Scott don’t hire middle-aged hitmen. Certainly not paunchy ones.”
Marc gave her a faint smile. “Think hard about the crime scene you witnessed. Then take me through it.”
“Ryan told you that I hid under the stairwell.” It wasn’t a question. It was a reiteration of that part of Marc’s recap.
Marc nodded, realizing how agonizing it was for Caitlin to recall these memories. She needed the reassurance of repetition. So he gave it to her.
“He did. So you obviously had a decent enough view. Did you actually see Shane get shot?”
“Only the immediate aftermath and the killer’s escape,” Caitlin replied. “I heard the shot. I hid. I looked up. The killer was lowering his left arm, but he was still holding the gun in his hand. I remember because…” She gasped in sudden recall. “Because I saw a bit of his arm at the wrist, between the edge of his shirt and his glove. Only for a few seconds, before he pulled the sleeve down. Marc, he was white. I’d forgotten until now.”
