Dakota stood across the interrogation room table from where Mr. Bryant was still crying.
Tears traced down his cheeks, and occasionally, he sniffled. Marcus sat across from the man, occasionally handing him tissues from a box that he had grabbed in the break room. Dakota was still puzzling out how this all fit together.
She remained standing, arms crossed and then, clearing her throat, she said. “Mr. Bryant, did you know you were in a room with two known hitmen?”
He looked up at her through red-ringed, bleary eyes. He sniffed and nodded faintly. “Y-yes.”
“I see.” She glanced at the back of Marcus's head, then up again. “And did you ask to meet them there?”
He sobbed again. “Y-yes... It was just a bit of fun. Just... I know I took it too far...”
Marcus handed the sobbing man another tissue. He shot Dakota a look of confusion, which she returned. They had already run the names and fingerprints of the two large men through their database. Both men were currently in a holding cell, kept in place until they managed to calm down a bit.
“I... I found them online,” Cleveland murmured. He sniffed, then used his cuffed hands to blow his nose. “And... And...” he inhaled shakily. “I thought it might work... You know. Like the movies?”
“What movies?” Dakota said. “You keep bringing up movies. You run that blog, don't you?”
“I do...”
“And you've been posting stories about recent murders.”
He hesitated, sniffed. “N-no... the blog is fiction. I read true crime, but I write fiction.”
Marcus leaned in. “You expect us to believe that you weren't writing about the murders of Billie Childs or Donna Windser?”
He stared at them... “Wh—who?”
Dakota frowned, lifting her phone and, in a clear voice, reciting. “He came in through the window, watching as she faced the stalls. In one hand, he held the canister, in the other ill-intent...” She wrinkled her nose. “That doesn't even make sense.”
“Hey,” he said in a small, hurt voice.
Dakota kept on track. “But,” she said firmly, “Stalls? Canister? Come on now... You were describing the murder of Ms. Windser... Except you posted this story three days ago.”
He looked back and forth between them, clearly confused. “Are you... fans?” he said, his voice hesitant.
Dakota scowled. Marcus leaned in. “Are you attempting to claim it was purely coincidental that the murder this morning nearly exactly matched the story you wrote three days ago?” Marcus made no effort to disguise the disbelief in his voice.
Dakota studied the man across the table. Snot had now mixed with his blood from his busted lip. The tears had left stains along his cheeks. Cleveland shifted uncomfortably, glancing towards the interrogation room door, as if expecting the two large men to come bursting through at any moment.
"It started as a joke," he said, his voice shaky. “The stories were made up. I don't know what you think I did, but, I thought, why were–" he trailed off now, no longer crying, but rather looking quite confused. He glanced between Dakota and Marcus, swallowing hesitantly. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and gave a single shrug of one shoulder.
"Maybe you should tell us what you think we arrested you for," Marcus said, slowly.
The man hesitated. "The perfect murder."
Marcus said, "Excuse me?"
"Wait, you mean you're not?" He stiffened, frowning.
Dakota crossed her arms. "What do you mean the perfect murder?"
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "I haven't killed anyone. Yet," he said, hesitantly. "Like I said, it was just a joke. Just some fun. But I got carried away. I know that. I shouldn't have done it."
"Done what?" Marcus insisted. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to be more clear. If you continue to be coy, we're going to have to end this conversation."
"No, no, wait. I didn't kill anyone. I wasn't going to go through with it. I hired them just to see what the process was like. I'm writing a new book. True crime. The perfect murder."
Dakota tapped her foot against the floor. "Are you saying you were planning to kill someone?"
He shook his head. "Not really. It was just fun. Exciting to think about. I wasn't actually going to go through with it.”
Marcus was staring across the table, stunned. Dakota was watching him closely. The tears had stopped, the trembling voice remained the same. He looked a mess, clearly out of his depth. He was shaking as he spoke, like a leaf in a gale.
"It started as a joke on a forum on my website," he said hurriedly, noticing the impatient expressions on the agents' faces. "The idea of a perfect murder. I planned nearly everything. Just for the fun of it. To write about it. I was going to publish it as a book next year. But then it got away from me. I wasn't going to hire those guys to kill anyone. I just wanted to see how much it cost. To see what they could do, what they would do."
He swallowed, wetting his throat, and shaking his head again. The man's eyes flashed beneath the bright lights from the ceiling. "I don't have any reason to lie to you. I didn't kill anyone. I didn't have a plan to kill anyone. It was just a joke. I shouldn't have hired them. I shouldn't have taken it as far as I was going with it. But I wasn't actually going to do it."
Dakota noticed how he kept emphasizing this part. Whether she believed him or not, this was not the confession they had been looking for.
She stepped forward now, leaning against the metal table, her hands splayed, her skin touching the cold surface. She said, slowly, "You're saying you didn't kill Billie Childs?"
"No."
"Then how come you are describing their deaths in detail days before the murders?"
He shrugged. "No clue. But it's not me. Maybe the real killer is a fan.” He seemed to like the thought of this. Quickly, though, he added, “Besides, when were those murders?"
Dakota shot a look at Marcus. He said, wearily, "How about you give us an account of your week, and leave nothing out."
"Easy," he retorted. "Until yesterday, I was in Seattle at a writer's conference. I was on a panel for a few of them for serial stories. You can see the videos online. The stories were written before and are scheduled releases."
Dakota blinked. As far as alibis went, video footage from another state across the country was a pretty good place to start. She said, "Do you have a way to verify that?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Plane tickets. Online streaming. Videos. Hundreds of people at the conference you can ask. I only got back yesterday."
Dakota glanced at Marcus. If this were true, Bryant would not have been able to attack the first victim. She had a sinking suspicion, studying the man, his alibi would check out. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a frustrated shout.
Marcus was rubbing at his temples. "So you were confessing to planning a murder?"
"I thought you came with the hitmen. I thought it was a sting. I didn't know you were there for this."
He looked flabbergasted now, stunned. He shook his head, muttering beneath his breath. Then, slowly, as the full weight of the situation seemed to dawn on him, he lowered his head, resting it in his hands, and letting out a long sigh.
Dakota was already turning, moving towards the door. She was determined to check with the airlines if Cleveland was telling the truth.
But Marcus was sitting there, holding his box of tissues and frowning in the direction of their suspect.
She could see it etched across her partner's face.
Resignation.
Another dead end.
"We're going to have to sort this out with you, sir," said Agent Clement. "Those other two men seemed to think you had detailed schematics for the person you intended to kill."
The man still held his head, but in a small, muted voice, he whispered, "I told them the target's name was Leonardo da Vinci. They asked me if he was an Italian."
Marcus winced. Dakota shoved through the door. She had heard enough.