“CAN I RECORD our conversation?”
The state police detective just stared at me. We sat in an interview room. I had hoped he would offer me something to drink. Or eat, even. I’d grabbed lukewarm coffee and a stale cookie at the hotel before leaving New Jersey, but I was starving. Instead, he’d just walked in and sat down across from me.
“Mr. Snyder, this isn’t a part of your movie.”
“Of course it is,” I said.
“You’re in real danger.”
“I don’t see it like that.”
“Why not?”
Because he’s after her.
That’s what I wanted to say. But I couldn’t put the police onto Miracle yet. That could ruin the story. As I sat in the waiting room for over an hour, I started to picture an ending. I knew I shouldn’t. It broke every rule of documentary making. But I couldn’t stop it. I just kept picturing Miracle and Jasper coming face-to-face.
“He’s long gone,” I lied.
“How could you know that?”
“Because, he told me.”
“What?”
“After the camera was off one day. He leaned close to the glass and said if he ever got out, he planned to go to some backwoods town in Mexico. No one would ever find him there.”
“Do you have a recording of that?”
I shook my head.
“Excuse me,” he said.
The detective left the room. As soon as the door closed, it dawned on me what I had just done. I’d broken the law. I’d lied to the police. Led them to a false trail. So that I could find the truth before they found him.
Leaning forward, I covered my face with my hands. A second later, I realized I was probably on camera, so I sat up straight. Tried to act normal. My heart was beating like mad. I felt like I was riding a roller coaster in the dark, like I would never see the next turn coming. I knew I needed sleep more than anything else. Every time I had tried to rest, something had happened that got me up and running again and again. When I closed my eyes, frustrated, the exhaustion tried to take hold. But the picture came back. Jasper and Miracle. Face-to-face.
“So, were you in on the arrest?” I asked.
The detective, having returned moments later, had taken his seat across from me. He looked utterly distracted.
“Excuse me?”
“When Jasper was—”
“You mean the serial killer,” he said.
“Well, yeah, sure. Were you there when he was arrested?”
“We all were,” he said.
“Really. Let me ask you something.”
“Mr. Snyder, I really don’t think you understand. There is a massive manhunt for the escapee. You’re now a part of it. We’re going to ask you to stay in the station, at least for the time being.”
My body tingled with the need to get out of there. But I stayed calm.
“No problem,” I said. “I want to help. But can I just ask you a couple of questions? It might help me gauge how much of what he told me was actually true. Like that whole Mexico thing. He could have been playing with me.”
The detective leaned forward. “Why would you think that?”
“I’ve spoken to him. A lot. He’s crafty. And he’s hiding something. That’s why I’m here. One question. Please.” He nodded, so I continued. “Was he arrested at the cabin? Where he had Barbara Yost?”
“Is that what he told you?” the detective asked.
I paused, thinking about how to respond. I needed to play the man correctly if I had any chance of getting out of there.
“No,” I said slowly. “He told me that he was arrested somewhere else.”
“That’s correct. He was apprehended twenty feet off Coastal Highway, between mile markers seventeen and eighteen.”
That meant nothing to me, especially considering I’d read it on the report during my research.
“On the highway?”
He nodded.
I thought about the key card Jasper had mentioned.
“Outside a motel?” I asked.
“No, sir.”
“How did you find him?”
The detective’s eyes locked with mine. His head shook, but he told me.
“We had an anonymous tip.”
“Someone called you? Was it a woman?”
“Our tip line is confidential, Mr. Snyder.”
“What was the tip?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“So, you caught him. Then he told you about the cabin. And about Ms. Yost?”
He didn’t answer. I could tell I was losing him. So I continued.
“He told me that he did. He said that it wouldn’t be right if she died out there. I think he meant it would be wrong unless he did it.”
“That man is a lunatic,” the detective said, losing his calm.
“I agree. The worst I’ve seen.”
He glared at me. “That man murdered innocent young ladies. Daughters, sisters, mothers. He took so many people from our community. Brutally ending their lives. And you find this interesting. Maybe you should just move on, Mr. Snyder. Go back to Hollywood.”
“Okay,” I said.
I stood up, reaching for the door handle. The suddenness of it startled the man. I had the door open before he reached his feet.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
I stepped out into the hallway, sending my response back to him as casually as I could.
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re—”
“Are you arresting me?”
The detective just stood there. He stared at me like he wanted to rip my head off my shoulders.
“No,” he said. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
And I hurried out of the station.