“We questioned Wallace Scott extensively this morning,” he says. “We released him, but we’re not convinced he’s clear. He was alone, sightseeing and eating dinner out in both Seattle and LA on the nights the victims were killed. He’s provided receipts for the restaurants where he ate, but the time stamp would have allowed plenty of downtime to find the victims. Plus the receipts were a little too handy, if you catch my drift.”
“But have you found one single connection between Wallace and either Askens or Loman?”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
“Come on, Alderson.” I sigh. “You guys can do better than that.”
He doesn’t answer.
I want to argue. Say,Maybe there’s some coincidental stuff going on here, but surely you’re not going to find evidence that he has a connection at all to the victims.But suddenly I’m uncertain. I feel like my entire foundation is crumbling beneath me.
“Maybe we won’t,” he allows. “But we’re not done digging. And you should know that he can’t provide proof of his whereabouts when they were killed.”
“What do you mean? What does he say he was doing?”
“Wandering around the cities. Taking in the sights. But he can’t even provide a coffee shop or bar receipt for the time frames we’re interested in.”
“I know for a fact that Wallace loves to walk. A lot. What about intersection cameras?”
“You trust him that much?”
I think about him showing up last night and again this morning at Jess’s house, no less. He didn’t mention getting questioned, but I didn’t give him a chance to. “I don’t have any reason not to.”
“What about his sister? You said yourself that you wish you wouldn’t have talked Sophie into going camping. Maybe he blames you.”
I think of the times when I’ve sensed anger from Wallace over Sophie, and how he’s kept it in check. I recall the night at the banquetwhen he was so furious at me.You act like you’ve erased her from your mind,he’d said, resentment smoldering in his eyes. And last night, the downright fury in his glare. Thefuck you, Crosbie, which I’m sure is what he really whispered.
But still, what in the world would Wallace have to do with some coach from Snohomish, Washington, and a counselor from Santa Monica Community College?
The same worm of doubt I had last night wiggles in even deeper. I never kept all that close track of who he saw or what he did when he traveled. The thought that there are so many things I don’t know or understand about someone I’ve been so intimate with suddenly terrifies me.
“If there’s a connection,” Alderson adds, “we’ll find it. Maybe they’ve been to his concerts. Maybe they’ve been to a bar near one of his performance venues.”
“Maybe,” I say weakly.
He pivots back to Jess’s house, and I do the same.
“The video,” I say, like I’m grasping for hope. I desperately do not want to think of Wallace in this light, but I can’t deny that the thought of him harboring so much anger—even more anger than what I’m capable of—and in such a controlled fashion, gets under my skin and lodges there.
I point over to Art and Louise’s. “Someone was here last night. An actual person, targeting my sister. And I can, at the very least, tell you that Wallace does not have a tattoo on his arm.”
“I hear you, but we’re still going to take him into the county building for additional questioning.”
I think of Wallace getting taken into the cold room I used countless times. I know every crack in the walls. I picture the departmental rumor mill flying into gear once it gets around that Greene and Alderson have brought him in, because it will. From my experience, when the FBI used the county’s space for interrogation in Kalispell, it wasn’t uncommon for any of us on the force who wanted to popinto the observation room to view what was going on. I cringe at the thought of Ewing watching my ex-boyfriend. “Don’t you think that’s overkill?”
“You know as well as we do that an interview goes much better at the station.”
“Only when you want to add pressure,” I say.
“Your cop skills remain intact.” Alderson dips his head.
Chapter 37
It takes an hour for Jess and me to review all our clients and any potential overlapping names. Alderson and Greene take the list and tell us they’ve arranged for a protective detail for Jess and Sam when he’s with her. He’s still at school and the agents have instructed them to not let Sam leave with anyone other than Jess, Patrick, or me.
“Hope Jess makes better use of hers than you do,” says Alderson with a smirk. Not funny.
A tech guy named Ray, someone I knew from my time on the force, finishes gathering evidence from our cars. I stay out and chat with him until he leaves.
