“And no, I didnotsic him on you. He figured it might be worth asking you if you recognized our suspect. We were already there interviewing your coworker, anyhow.”
Almost instantly, I’m overcome with an aching need to put some physical distance between us for where this conversation might be heading. Gently, I release my hold of her and scoot a few inches away.
She watches my movements carefully, refraining from any commentary. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to help.” She bites her lip, then adds, “And please tell me you’ve dropped that bizarre fan theory of yours.”
“Fan theory?”
“The far-fetched one where you think I’m involved somehow or know something about whatever is happening. Why on earth did you think that?”
Instead of answering her directly, I give her a little info to see how she reacts. “All the victims have affiliations with casinos. Yours, one in South Florida, and two over on the east coast by Cocoa and Daytona. Plus?—”
“I didn’t know they had casinos over there,” she interjects.
“They have those small casino cruise ships that go out once a day for a few hours, and people can gamble once they’re in international waters.”
She nods slowly. “Oh. I see what you mean.”
“Yeah. And there are some home invasions in other states too, which we think are part of the same spree. All with connections to casinos.”
I stop myself from divulging that we’re planning on interviewing more Oak Winds employees. She doesn’t need to know that. Like she doesn’t need to know that casino security is launching their own investigation. If I keep our chat general, it’ll be safer for the investigation. As much as I detest picturing her as part of these crimes, I haven’t ruled her out yet.
If she’s involved, I can’t let too much get back to whomever she might be working with.
“What do you mean by casino affiliations?” she asks.
“Either the primary victim or someone close to them works at a casino.”
“That’s a pretty big coincidence. How many home invasions are there? Your partner mentioned that Dana’s house was hit. Now, you’re telling me there are more.”
Her voice holds a tremor, and the pitch spikes like she’s shocked or concerned. Perhaps both.
I pause before answering, giving myself time to consider the options.
Should I give her a number? And if so, would it be best for it to be the truth? What approach will get me closer to my goal of earning her confidence so she comes to me with her confession?
For now, I’ll try honesty, making it seem like I’m openly sharing the info. The more questions she asks me during the conversations, the better I’ll be able to decipher her intentions.
“Eight home invasions so far.”
“Eight?” Her eyes widen like saucers, and her lips part to allow for a sharp gasp. “That many?”
“Yeah.”
Her shock seems genuine, which confuses me.
If she were part of this crime ring, wouldn’t she know how many houses have been hit? Even if she’s not part of the home invasion portion of whatever is happening. Then again, her surprise could be that we’re aware of all or most of them.
“The other night, you said you were in the violent crime unit or whatever. Does that mean these have been...”
She trails off, begging eyes asking me to finish the sentence for her.
“Yes, the crimes were violent, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s a dangerous situation.”
There’s a lengthy pause while she wrings her hands in her lap. “What do the victims say about it? Any witnesses? Someone must know something.How close are you to finding the people responsible?”
My gut sinks. No. Check that. It fucking plummets.
Because that’s exactly what I would ask if I were involved and trying to get information from the investigator.
