Wild and Brennan stare at her across the small kitchen table. Emilia finishes speaking and searches their faces for a reaction, waiting for their response. Any indication that they have heard her – that they understand. But their faces are both unreadable.
She jabs her finger at a piece of paper on the table between them, the photo printed on it in black and white.
‘This is them,’ she says again, her finger moving from the woman’s face to the man’s and back again. ‘Joshua and Amanda Reign.’
Wild tips her head back to look up at the ceiling, letting out a prolonged sigh. ‘Emilia, I worked on that case as a sergeant, before I moved up. I remember these parents. I remember how devastated they were about Lacey. And you’re saying that they created the Confession Room, they started killing people because … because why?’
‘I told you … Because they believe that the police didn’t do enough and that they’ll continue failing to find perpetrators. That’s why they made the confessions before anyone had even been killed. Remember what they said in that final post, after they asked me to help them with Harris Keaton? “No more warnings” … “Good luck”. That was to you – to the police. It was a taunt. Because they believe that you will never find them. And they chose to abduct people like Lacey’s killer. Obsessive, violent, disturbed men.’
‘But what about the people chosen to kill?’
‘They chose people who have been affected by this type of man. But also people who had all made a similar kind of confession.’
‘That you would kill them if you had the chance,’ Wild says, her eyes tinged with disgust.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Emilia says. ‘It’s an expression. Everybody uses it and don’t pretend that you never have! I never imagined that someone would cage me in a room and force me to actually do it.’
She stares at them both, her eyes wild, her whole body burning.
‘So you think that the reason they chose the victims and the reason they chose you and the others to be the killers, is because they wanted justice for what happened to their daughter,’ Wild says.
‘Yes – they see themselves as giving justice to people. Joseph Henley wrote that he hated his brother and his life would be better if he was dead. Isabella wrote about Greg’s violent ways, his controlling behaviour, how she wished he would stop. And Hayley … Hayley said that she wished her boyfriend would be kinder. That he would stop listening to these online voices who claim that women should serve their men. She wished that he would change.’ She presses her elbows into the table, her trembling fingers raking through her hair. ‘Like I said before … the woman said that the boy who murdered their daughter shouldn’t have been able to kill himself. That they should have been the ones to do it.’ She holds her hands out towards them, palms up, her head shaking slowly. ‘Don’t you see? They chose people they thought would feel the same way as them. They chose us because they truly believe in their own kind of justice: an eye for an eye. The victim should be the one to pull the trigger.’
Wild rests her chin in her hand, the fingers curled up and over her lips. She sighs, glancing down at the photo.
‘Why didn’t you try to figure out who they were before?’ Brennan asks. Wild narrows her gaze, her eyes veering up from the photograph to watch Emilia carefully.
‘I … I don’t know. I couldn’t think. Not the way I usually would about any other case. I couldn’t let myself remember. Not until today. Not until I forced myself to go back there. I couldn’t find video footage of them, or anything that I could use to identify their voices, but I’m certain it’s them.’
‘They never did any direct press,’ Wild says. ‘Everything went through the officer in the case.’
‘This is them. The man and the woman behind it all. I just feel it.’
Wild continues to watch her with an unblinking stare. ‘Thank you for bringing all this to our attention,’ she says, pushing her chair back to get to her feet, the metal legs scraping on the rough floor.
Emilia scrambles to her feet. ‘You’ll bring them in for questioning? I mean … if you can find them. They might have run away.’
Wild glances at Brennan who is taking a large gulp of his tea, and he stands quickly, setting the mug down with a heavy thud.
Wild picks up her notebook, the pages littered with hurried notes. She then snatches up the photograph, sliding it carefully behind the cover. ‘We’ll take care of it, Emilia.’
They turn and file out of the kitchen, and Emilia follows them along the corridor to the front door.
Please let the police find them, she repeats in her mind. Please.