At least this precinct, thanks to the cooling effect of the evening, wasn't sweltering. But now, as Dakota settled across from Mr. Dardon, her eyes on the thin man, she could feel the attention of the camera in the corner of the room.
She glanced up at the blinking red light, frowned, then looked down again.
The police officers in the Arizona precinct had heard about the tiger. She supposed they were going to be tonight's entertainment.
Agent Marcus Clement was pulling up a metal chair, and once seated, he folded his hands and stared across the table. "Mr. Dardon," Marcus said slowly, "do you know why you're here?"
Dardon was shifting uncomfortably, glancing side to side and nibbling at the corner of his lip.
He cleared his throat at this comment, and gave a quick, furtive shake of his head. "Absolutely not," he said hurriedly. "Is Stripes okay?"
Dakota leaned in now as she had been the one coordinating with animal control.
"Your tiger is being transported right now, sir. You do know it's illegal to own it as a pet, don't you?"
Mr. Dardon gave a weak little sigh, exhaling softly. "It's a magnificent creature. I got him for a really good deal."
"I'm afraid that doesn't make it any more legal."
He frowned across the table. "Where are they taking him?"
Marcus frowned quizzically at Mr. Dardon. "Sir, if I were you, I'd be a bit more concerned about myself."
He swallowed, examining the large agent, then shifted uncomfortably, shrugging one shoulder. His handcuffed wrists pressed against each other, as if he were testing the temerity of the metal. "What is this all about? You broke down my door," he added in an accusatory voice.
Dakota examined the man. She had a gift for paying attention to details. She wasn't someone who had enjoyed her time in school though she'd managed to get her GED after a few years exploring the world. By the time she made it to college, and through a course in criminal justice, she had known that her best skillset had come from her training as a fighter.
People did not lie in the cage. They might bluff. Their postures might communicate something dishonest. They would fake and juke. But they couldn't lie. Eventually, beneath the bright lights, with fists and fury, fighters would sort out who was the real deal, and who was faking.
And as she watched Mr. Dardon, she had the sense that this was a man who knew he was in trouble. And he was playing a role. Timid, eager, nervous...
So instead of letting him get away with it, she said, "Mr. Dardon, is it true that you assaulted a woman over a dispute in a bar?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I served my sentence for that. I got eight months. That was years ago."
"And yet you lied on your application to your current company, didn't you?"
He scratched uncomfortably at his chin, his other hand rising, attached by the handcuff. "Man, it's hard out there. I just needed a job."
She frowned. He was still speaking in a sort of “aw shucks, oh jeez” tone. She said, "You fractured her eye socket, sir.”
He shook his head hurriedly. "She fell. I pushed her, but she fell. Besides, she dumped a drink down my shirt.”
Marcus said, "We're not here about a previous altercation. Yes, you served your time. But, I'm afraid we need to ask you about Billie Childs."
He leaned back. He wrinkled his nose. "Who?"
"She worked at one of the large Cut-Price supermarkets you deliver to."
"I deliver a lot of places. And I don't make a habit of speaking with the employees there. It's a job, not a soirée."
Dakota now glimpsed a little bit of the other side of Mr. Dardon. The snarky, sarcastic side. The side that disdained the cops that had come to his door. The side that assaulted a woman. That purchased an illegal tiger. That sat across the table, pretending to be one thing, as if certain the FBI was too stupid to realize.
She didn't blink, didn't accuse, just sat, straight-postured, attentive. Now that she knew he was pretending, it gave an advantage. In a fight in the ring, finding opponents' weaknesses wasn't always useful until you took them deep. The more tired and distracted they were, the easier it was to exploit.
So now, she said, simply.
"Did you have any interaction with Ms. Childs?"
"I just told you I don't know who that is."
"Is it true that you transport a tranquilizer as part of your delivery route?"
He shrugged. "I just deliver; I have an itinerary and an inventory. I let the people at the companies check the numbers on the crates. That's it."
"You wouldn't be lying to us, would you?"
"Lying about what?"
"Sir," Marcus said, slowly, "perhaps if we show you a picture of the woman."
The man shrugged.
Marcus pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. Dakota watched closely. The image on the screen was of their second victim.
"She was a graduate student," Marcus said slowly. "Do you recognize her?"
The man leaned in, studying the phone. He wrinkled his nose, and said, "I don't remember."
Dakota studied him. He thought he was smarter, more prepared. She could see right through the act. He was small, with a comb-over but he had cold eyes.
Still, that did not mean he was their killer.
"I watched the footage," she said simply.
"What?"
"I watched the footage of your interaction in that bar. The woman accidentally spilled a drink. And then you slammed her head against the counter. Is that about right?"
He frowned at her, eyes narrowing. He said, "The angle you watched must have made it difficult to see."
"It didn't seem difficult to me," Dakota said slowly. She pushed out of her chair now, walking away, and standing by the door. She was simply displaying her freedom of motion. Dardon was cuffed, unable to move. Something like this might trigger a man like that. She said, simply, "Do you need me to get you anything?"
He hesitated, then frowned at her.
She clicked her tongue. "Do the cuffs hurt?"
Marcus shot her a look, but didn't comment, allowing her to take the lead.
Mr. Dardon was leaning back now. Scowling.
Dakota said, "I could get you a booster chair if you like."
"What the hell is this?" He snapped. Some of his flustered, stumbling way of speaking vanished now.
She smiled. Quickly, she covered. She said, "I don't mean to upset you, Mr. Dardon."
He was glaring at her—his lips pressed in a thin line.
"What would you do," she said softly, "if you and I were alone in here? And those cuffs were off you. Would you attack me like you did that woman? Would you try to slam my head into the table?"
Marcus had grown to trust Dakota over the years. He was frowning, though. Still, while he had the bedside manner, Dakota could spot sharks in the water. This man was playing a role.
After a few moments, glaring at her, he swallowed faintly, and leaned back. "I didn't kill anyone," he said softly.
She pointed at him. "Do you know Ms. Childs?"
He scratched his chin again. "Do you have someone that says I do?"
The mention of the security footage had spooked him. She had intended to communicate omniscience. She knew things that he didn't realize. By doing this, it could often incite a suspect to confess things that weren't known. It was an old trick. Used by mothers everywhere, to convince their children that they might as well come clean, because she knew anyway.
Now, the man was fidgeting. He was scowling still. "Fine," he said. "Was it Demi? Did she say I knew her? Look, it wasn't anything. I only asked her out the one time."
Dakota went stiff. Marcus raised his eyebrows, impressed.
Dakota just said, "And what happened then?"
"Nothing. That was it. I thought she was cute, and she said no. I didn't do anything. Is that what this is about? I saw the news. You think I killed her."
"Did you?"
"Hell no. I'm too busy taking care of Stripes. He needs me. Besides, I don't have the time. I worked two shifts."
Dakota shot a look at Marcus. The tall man, though, said, "Were you working Tuesday?"
Dardon was scowling between the two of them, his voice thick with frustration. "Hell yeah. I worked every day this week. I don't get breaks. Not unless I'm dragged off to a police station."
Now the resentment, the bitterness was coming out.
Dakota hesitated, though, glancing to Marcus. The same way he often gave her latitude, because he knew her style, she also knew him. And now he looked troubled.
He said, "So you've been working eighty hours for the last week?"
"Try the last few months," he retorted. "It's not easy keeping an exotic animal."
Marcus sighed. "Alright, Mr. Dardon, I'm going to verify that with your company.”
Dakota stared as Marcus pushed up, and turned to her.
She frowned. The man was clearly lying. But Marcus walked past her, gesturing for her to join him in the hall.
She stepped out of the interrogation room, grateful to leave those glaring eyes, and the watchful camera. As she stepped into the corridor, though, and the door clicked shut behind her, Marcus looked at her. "Those cameras record twenty-four seven," he said.
"Wait, what cameras?"
He said, "The ones on the trucks. Weren't you listening in the car?"
"I was on hold with animal control. What cameras, Marcus?"
He sighed, probing the bridge of his nose. "The cameras in the delivery vehicle that our suspect drives. There is a dash camera but also a cabin camera. It would show him on the road. If he's been traveling for eighty hours, this week, there's no way that he was the one involved in the murders."
"I mean, it's possible that he took a break somewhere.”
"Our victim was killed in the morning, during work hours. Which means we would see on the truck when he shows up."
Dakota frowned. "Maybe he got out of the vehicle."
"It's possible. But like I said, there's cameras on the dash too. There's also camera in the rear. So if he was there, loading boxes, there's no way he was in the building attacking our victim."
Dakota stared. She felt her stomach twist. She shifted uncomfortably on the cold tiled floor. "Worth checking the footage," she said.
Marcus nodded.
"Your turn," she said.
Now he frowned.
"I did animal control," she protested. "It's your turn."
Marcus rolled his eyes, and Dakota could feel her own frown forming. Neither of them was upset with the other. But the inference was clear. If he really was in a truck for eighty hours, being tracked by cameras, there would inevitably be an alibi for at least one of the murders.
But maybe he was lying.
Dakota hissed in frustration. He would have to be lying. Because if not, then they had the wrong guy in the interrogation room; the killer was still out there.
Suddenly, Dakota tensed—her phone was ringing. She reached down, lifting the device, her forehead furrowed. “Yes?” she answered.
She paused, listening. She swallowed. Marcus stared at her, his eyes piercing. “What's the matter?” he murmured.
She lowered the phone slowly, nodding a single time. “Another body. Shit.”