“Nothing hardly worth stealing,” I say, “but I do have a safe for my gun and a few documents. Already checked.”
We agree that we’ll all spend a few minutes looking around the house when we’re done talking, and I welcome the idea. I’m sure my searching skills are hampered by the anxiety of it all.
Then, a more thorough rundown. Greene and Alderson fall into a steady, even approach that demonstrates they’ve put thought into how they would organize my interview. Their work is admirable, and I fall into a kind of easy trance, answering their questions as best I can. Family. Schools. Friends. Hobbies. Church. Community groups. How long I’ve been a PI. How long I was a cop. Why did I quit. On that last point, I nonchalantly—and ironically, given my new set of circumstances—tell them I was after something safer.
Also on that last point, I fudge. I only tell them that, in the end, it “wasn’t a good fit for my personality.”
If they’re good at their jobs, they’ve already dug up some background on my time on the force and how it might have contributed to my departure, but I see no reason to dredge up my history unless it pertains to the Confession Artist. And I’m not convinced that it does, even if this whole thing does hit—well, kick the living hell out of—some major nerves in me.
“Any reason you can think of that you’d be the next target? Anything unusual or odd happen to you lately?”
“No. This is the most unusual thing that’s ever occurred.”
“Has anyone threatened you in other ways, or have you made any enemies?”
“No,” I repeat.
Greene glances at Alderson. I know what the look means. She’s questioning why my answer was so final, so sure, when most people might stumble, say,Uh, I’m not sure. I don’tthinkI have any.
I almost add “not lately,” thinking of the threats during the backlash, but I can’t go there. It’d be like unwrapping fish that’s gotten too warm in the sun.
“I don’t mean to sound so emphatic, but I’ve been pondering that question, you know, ever since.”
“Anything you feel the need to confess, as he’s demanding?” Alderson echoes.
“No,” I lie. “I mean, we all have little things, right? It’s not like I’m going to worry about every tiny thing I’ve done wrong in my life up to this point, every should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.”
“Is there asignificantshould’ve?” Greene angles her head to the side, innocently, but there’s something artificial in the gesture, as if she knows every personal thing about me.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Whatever comes to mind for you,” Alderson says.
The nonchalance of his statement somehow ramps up how acutely awful I already feel about the things I’m not telling them, the things Iwon’ttell them. Like he’s just being polite even though he sees right through me. But it’s probably all in my head. “Are you seeing patterns from the other victims?” I ask instead. “Stuff from their lives theyshouldhave confessed?”
I can tell they’re getting annoyed that I’m answering questions with questions when they’re here to help me and find the perp, but still, if I’m the next intended victim, I need answers as much as they do.
“Ms. Mitchell,” Greene says, “we’re looking into the possibility that this is a type of proclamation killer. Do you know what that means?”
I do. It means manifesto. Cause. Someone who’s bought into a conspiracy, either of their own making or of some greater movement, or someone who’s arrived at a breaking point.
The light in the room teeters on twilight. The whole situation feels surreal, like the three of us might dissolve away with the evening itself. I should turn on a light, but I’m frozen in place. To have these two badass-looking agents working a high-profile case, making everything even more official, gets under my skin. I’m relieved they’re taking it seriously, but I’m also unnerved.
They both stare at me. Greene’s pale skin looks ghostly.
“Are these earrings your first real lead?” I ask.
Another glimpse from Alderson to Greene. I want to shout,What? Tell me. I’m the target here, not you.
Greene flicks her head, giving him the go-ahead.
“As of now,” he says, “we’ve got little to go on. No witnesses to any of the crimes, no physical evidence that we can match to anyone in our databases, no motive beyond that he or she has some bone to pick with the targets, and perhaps society in general, and perhaps wants us all to become a little more socially conscious about our actions.”
“A little more socially conscious? And if we’re not, they kill people. That’s a good dose of hypocrisy.”
“There’s not always a lot of logic in aggression,” Greene says. “People think rage is always out of control, but sometimes it’s controlled.”
“As I was saying,” Alderson jumps back in. “It seems he might be stalking his targets in the lead-up to the killings, but we’re not sure how or why he’s picked his victims. We’ve put together lists of people the victims were in contact with in the last year to see if there’s a common name that pops up, but there’s nothing. If it’s okay with you, we’d also like to access your phone and computer data.”
