"What time did you go to bed?"
"I don't know. Midnight maybe. After the forum died down."
Noah glanced at Callie. She had already pulled Pike's internet activity from his ISP. His last forum post was timestamped at 11:02 PM. Maggie was killed sometime around 10:15 PM, based on the neighbor's headlight sighting and the initial time-of-death estimate. The window was tight. Not impossible, but tight. Keene to Maggie's property was a thirty-minute drive. Pike would have had to leave his house before nine-thirty, drive to the property, set up a firing position on the ridge, take the shot, police the brass, hike back to his vehicle, drive home, and then start posting on forums by eleven. All in darkness. All without being seen.
Possible. But not probable. Not for a man who couldn't sit still in a chair.
Callie glanced down at the file in front of her. “You own firearms, Mr. Pike,” Callie asked.
"Several. It's my right."
"Any in .30 caliber?"
Pike hesitated for the first time. Not guilt. He was trying to figure out how much they knew. "I've got a .30-06. A deer rifle. Belonged to my father."
"Would you be willing to surrender it for ballistic testing?"
"Hell no." He leaned back and crossed his arms tighter. "Not without a warrant. You want my guns, you get a judge to sign off on it."
Callie made a note. Noah studied Pike's face. The defiance was real, but he was protecting his property, not hiding evidence. A guilty man who had committed a murder wouldn't sit in the room ranting about his constitutional rights. He would be quiet. Measuring every word.
Pike was none of those things.
They let him talk for another twenty minutes. He repeated himself. He contradicted himself. He accused them of targeting him because of his political beliefs. He demanded a lawyer, then said he didn't need one, then demanded one again. By the time Callie terminated the interview and a deputy escorted him out, the room smelled like stale coffee and sweat.
Callie closed her notebook. "Thoughts?"
"He's a loudmouth," Noah said. "Not a marksman."
“I will admit, his alibi is soft."
"His alibi is irrelevant. That man can't sit still long enough to tie his shoes. Whoever killed Maggie hiked to a ridge, set up a position, waited in the dark, fired one round, and disappeared without leaving a trace. Pike can't get through a sentence without interrupting himself."
Callie leaned back in her chair. "Savannah likes him for it."
"Savannah likes the theory. She also likes tidy cases. Pike just happens to be the first face that matches." He stood and pushed in the chair. "Keep him on the board. But my gut tells me he didn't do this."
"Then who did?"
Noah didn't have an answer. He had a sense of the man they were looking for, someone who was the opposite of Aaron Pike in every way. Patient where Pike was impulsive. Silent where Pike was loud. Invisible where Pike demanded to be seen.
"Someone we haven't found yet," he said.
He foundRay in his office at the end of the hallway. The door was open. Ray was behind the desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbows, reading something on his screen. The office was tidy. Deliberately so. There was a shiny new nameplate on the desk. A framed commendation from the county on the wall behind him. The blinds were open and afternoon light fell across the carpet in long slats.
Noah knocked on the frame.
Ray looked up. "How'd it go with Pike?"
"About how you'd expect. He’s not our guy."
"Savannah won't like hearing that."
"Savannah will have to live with it." Noah stepped inside and sat in the chair across from the desk.
Ray leaned back. "You look tired, brother.”
"I'm fine."
