Page 52 of Girl, Remembered

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The security measures required for a man of Austin Creed’s infamy, it turned out, took roughly forever. Luca had been waiting so long that Officer Denton had come and apologized twice for the wait.

Luca hadn’t wanted to wait. Overthinking was the destroyer of possibility. Luca did his best work off the cuff, but he’d now had an hour to rehearse his questions. Competition between lovers wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world, but there was an appeal to walking out of this room with something Ella herself hadn’t gotten out of him. And if it pointed toward where Lindsey Doyle might be hiding, then that was the cherry on top.

Then the door to the interrogation room opened, and they brought him in.

Three guards in total. Creed had one on each arm and one trailing with his hand near his radio, as though Creed might make a break for it in leg irons. He wore a plain grey jumpsuit, cuffs at the wrists chained down to a belt at his waist, chains again at the ankles that made him shuffle instead of walk. Somebody had shaved him recently, from his scalp to his chin.

‘Well, hello,’ Creed said.

Luca hadn’t been in close proximity to many real-life serial killers, at least not ones he hadn’t helped Ella catch. He expected more of a visceral reaction at Creed’s presence, but no such thing manifested. Creed appeared, by all accounts, ordinary.

‘Hi, Austin. My name’s Agent Hawkins with the FBI.’

Creed sat down opposite him. The guards gave Luca a thumbs-up, and Luca returned the gesture. They exited the room, so Luca and Creed were alone.

‘Do I know you?’ Creed asked.

‘No. But you know my partner, Agent Dark.’

Creed yawned. ‘Not really. People keep telling me I know her, but I honestly don’t. Partner, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought her partner was the redhead woman.’

‘I’m a different kind of partner.’

‘I see. The romantic kind?’

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge such details.’

Creed over-dramatically sighed. ‘Uh. You people are all the same. What am I doing here?’

‘You’re here to talk. I want to ask you something.’

‘No, you don’t blow. It’s just called that.’ Creed suppressed a laugh, then looked around the room, perhaps at a pretend audience he’d cultivated over his time inside. Imaginary friends were incredibly common amongst long-term inmates.

Luca took a moment to consider Creed’s situation. The man was two years into a sentence that would consume the rest of his days. He was fated to a long, joyless life of routine, boredom and, if he was lucky, the occasional gang war spectacle. He clearly didn’t want to talk to Luca, and Luca couldn’t blame him.

And that was Luca’s in.

A quick glance at Creed’s fingertips took his mind in a new direction. ‘How old are you?’

‘Forty-eight. Yesterday was my birthday, as it happens.’

‘Happy belated birthday. If I’d known, I’d have brought a guitar in. You used to play acoustic, am I right?’

Creed folded his arms and sat back in his chair. A smile emerged on his clean-shaven face. 'And how might you know that? Did Ella tell you?'

‘Ella doesn’t tell me anything. I just saw those indents on your fingertips.’ Luca leaned forward and pressed a finger to his. ‘Those lines are the unmistakable marks of acoustic guitar strings pressed into your fingers over years. What’d you play? Louisiana boy like you, I’m guessing country?’

‘Wrong. I couldn’t play anything.’

‘But that didn’t stop you trying.’

Creed laughed, and this one sounded less rehearsed than the first. ‘I knew four chords. Always tried to play A Boy Named Sue but couldn’t get the F. I spent a lot of nights outside the ‘gator pen butchering that song.’