J.T. had already begun the interrogation in room one with a guy named Steven Dawson. Steven was the first of three blond men to be interviewed that night. I stepped into the observation room and saw Sullivan leaning back in a chair, his hands folded behind his head. He was watching the interview through the glass. He turned and nodded when I entered then cracked his neck from side to side.
“Captain, I have to discuss some things with you and J.T.”
Sullivan pushed himself forward off the chair and knocked on the window.
J.T. stood and told Steven to hang tight. A few seconds later, J.T. opened the door behind us and stepped in. “What’s up?”
Sullivan said, “Not sure yet. Jade, go ahead.”
“First off, Molly’s DNA doesn’t match any from the bottles.”
Sullivan rolled his eyes and let out a long breath. “Guess we struck out on that one. Just because they didn’t drink her blood that night doesn’t mean they aren’t responsible for her death, though.”
J.T. cracked the seal on a bottle of water sitting on the counter and took a deep swig. “And Alex did say they store their own blood. That sounds like he may have some at his house. I think we need to get a warrant to search his premises.”
Sullivan agreed. “I’ll make the call.”
“One more thing, and it may be insignificant to the case, but patrol found a receipt on the ground at Dasher Point during their search.”
“And this is just coming to light seven hours later?”
I shrugged. “Here.” I opened the gallery to the picture I had taken and passed my phone to J.T. “Chad said he checked the fingerprints from the receipt. Nothing came up in the database.”
“Then it can’t be Alex that handled it.”
“Right, but twenty-five other people could have. The point is, two armchairs were purchased on Tuesday from the resale shop listed at the top of the receipt.”
“Makes sense,” J.T. said. “Those must be the chairs they had out at the bonfire.”
“That’s what I thought too, and they were armchairs, just not upholstered armchairs.”
J.T. frowned. “Nah, that’s splitting hairs, Jade. I think they just have it worded wrong.”
I smirked. “Don’t be so sure. Ask Steven where those chairs came from.”
“Yeah, okay. Are we done here?”
Sullivan tipped his chin toward the window. “Go ahead. I’ll get on the warrant after I hear his response.”
I dropped down in the chair next to Sullivan and cracked open a bottle of water for myself. We watched as J.T. returned to the interrogation room and took his seat across from Steven.
“So, Steven, why did you guys decide to take a couple of chairs along to your hoedown Tuesday night?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Chairs—you know, like, that thing you’re sitting on.”
Steven smirked. “Do you guys go to comedy school before you get your dollar store plastic police badges?”
I looked at Sullivan and laughed. “He’s pretty funny and quick. Should I go in and slap him upside the head?”
Sullivan’s jowls jiggled when he chuckled. “Now who’s being funny? Let’s see how J.T. handles him.”
J.T. tipped his chair back and crossed his arms over his chest. We couldn’t see his face, but it appeared that the two men were having a stare down. J.T. finally broke the silence in a slow and methodical tone. “Don’t make me ask you a second time.”
“Shit, he’s scaring me,” I said with a grin. “I wish I had a bag of popcorn right now.”
We turned our focus back to J.T. and Steven.
Steven finally spoke up. “Fine. I don’t know what the hell you’re getting at, but those chairs and that table go with us everywhere. They’re part of our ritual. As far as I know, those chairs were part of a dining room set Massimo’s grandma gave him years ago. He’s had them as long as I’ve known him.”
“And how long has that been?” J.T. asked.
“Three years.”