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Serenity turned up the ramp too fast and the Audi’s tires screeched against the tarmac, making her wince. The car mounted the top of the ramp and pulled up on the road. Serenity squinted against the sudden sunlight. The parking garage exited onto the adjacent street to their office so she had to drive around the block, to the front entrance.
Serenity pulled up in front of the office building, her heart still pounding. There was no sign of Mr. Berry. Relieved she had a few moments to compose herself, she let her forehead fall against the steering wheel and exhaled slowly. She glanced down at her hands, still clutching the wheel, and willed them to stop shaking. Here in bright daylight, her panic seemed stupid.
Had she actually felt someone breathing against her cheek? Had the stench really been so bad or had her already stressed imagination over reacted?
She raised her head in time to see her boss trotting down the steps toward the car. He raised his hand to her. With legs trembling, she opened the car door and slid out. She made her way round to the passenger side and got back in. Mr. Berry climbed into the driver’s seat and looked at her curiously.
“Are you okay, Serenity? You look pale.”
She forced a smile. Her cheeks scrunched up but the smile expression never touching her eyes. “It’s all been a shock.”
“Of course, how stupid of me. If you need tomorrow off just call and let me know.”
“Thanks, Mr. Berry.”
His kindness brought her close to tears again and she turned to face the passenger window, hiding her emotions.
Her boss indicated and pulled out into the traffic.
Serenity watched the city flow past her window as they headed deeper into the city, towards the station.
She hoped he took her silence as her being upset and didn’t think she was rude. She certainly didn’t want to make small talk. So many thoughts filled her head, she didn’t know where one ended and the next started. Her brain was trying to process everything at once.
For once, the traffic in the city wasn’t too heavy and within fifteen minutes they pulled up outside the LAPD.
“Thank you,” she said, climbing out of the car. “I’ll call if I need tomorrow off.”
“No problem,” he said with a smile, his eyes creasing behind the wire-frame glasses. “Let me know if I can help in anyway.”
The world contained so much violence and pain, yet people like James, Amy and even Mr. Berry, still surprised her with their kindness. How strange to think one species varied so much. One person might live their lives filled with anger, violence and hatred, while another went out of their way to help others. When Jackson had been alive, Serenity struggled to envision the good in anyone. His cruel way of viewing the world somehow blinded her to its pleasures as well. Like a glacier-hiker, Jackson had been the hard ice, transforming the warmth of the sun into something harmful. Her proximity to his glare blocked out her view of everything else.
Walking into the station, Serenity was relieved to find James waiting for her behind the front desk. He chatted with one of the uniformed officers, but must have been keeping an eye out for her as he broke off his conversation as soon as she walked in.
At six feet, with his light brown hair cut close to his head, flecks of white now crowning his temples, James was still an attractive man. Crow’s feet had deepened around his eyes, giving him an air of maturity. He was one of those men who commanded a quiet authority over others. People paid attention when he walked into a room; people listened to him. His fortieth birthday was next year and Serenity knew Amy had already made plans, hoping to surprise him with a couple of nights in Vegas. She told Serenity, with a mischievous look on her face, she intended to treat her husband to a bit of ‘illicit behavior for once’. Naturally, Serenity offered to take Noah while they were away, trying to repay the hundreds of times they’d sat Elizabeth.
“Hey,” James said, his face grim. “Thanks for coming down so quickly.”
“No problem. My boss was more than understanding.”
“So he should be, given the circumstances.”
James guided her past the reception desk and they headed down a corridor lined with doors. A small sign hung above each door indicated the room number.
“We’re in room three,” he told her.
James opened the door and she walked through. The room was set out exactly as she had expected. A table stood in the middle of the room, two chairs either side. Recording equipment sat in the middle and a reflective film made up one wall; a one way mirror.
A tall, skinny man wearing a dark gray suit leaned against the table. He stood straight as they walked in.
“This is Detective Gingham,” James said, introducing her.
Detective Gingham held out his hand. His pale blue eyes, large in his thin face, searched hers. He looked like he didn’t miss a thing. Serenity shook the offered hand, keeping her grip firm.
“Thank you for coming down, Mrs. Hathaway,” he said. Deep and velvety, his voice surprised her, nothing like the one she’d expected to come from him. “Please have a seat.”
Still shaky, she pulled out the chair and sat down. She wondered where James would sit: with her or opposite, on the side of the police department?
You’re not on trial here, she had to remind herself. They just want to ask a few questions. You haven’t done anything wrong.
James didn’t choose a side. Instead, he pulled a spare chair to the end of the table.
“Do you mind?” Detective Gingham asked, nodding toward the recording equipment.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “No, I guess not.”
“This is the interview with Mrs. Serenity Hathaway, on September third. The time is two fifteen p.m.” He cleared his throat and leaned toward her. Serenity smiled back, nerves jarring through her. “Mrs. Hathaway, this is going to seem like an obvious question, but do you know of anyone who might have something against Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge?”
“No, not at all,” she said. “But I hardly knew them. They just rented my house.”
“Did they have any debts you were aware of?”
Serenity shook her head, baffled at why they thought she would know any of this, but Detective Gingham nodded toward the recording equipment.
“Sorry,” she said, realizing she hadn’t spoken aloud. “No, not that I know of.”
“We need to figure out why the killer chose that house out of all the ones on the street. These things are rarely random.”
“How did they die?” she asked, turning her attention to James. He didn’t answer her, but his eyes flicked to the detective.
“Were they shot?” she persisted. “Did they use a knife? Did someone strangle them?”
A look passed between Detective Gingham and James.
“Oh God. Was it bad?” Her hand was back at her mouth, her mind turning over a hundred possibilities.
“We’re trying to keep the exact details under wraps at the moment,” James said.
Detective Gingham cleared his throat again and she wondered if he had a nervous tick. He ran a hand through his hair. It was thinning on top and had a too-black sheen, which made Serenity wonder if he used a cheap dye.
“We wanted to ask you one other question.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“It’s about your ex-husband—”
“Husband,” she corrected. Technically, she and Jackson were still married. Because he had ‘disappeared,’ she was forced to wait seven years before he’d be certified as ‘Death in absentia’, making the property hers. Of course she could tell them she knew Jackson’s death to be fact, but considering the repercussions of that knowledge, she’d decided to wait.
She hated his name even being mentioned, the guilt coursed through her like blood, but he was also the owner of the house, so she couldn’t be surprised.
“Have you heard anything from Mr. Hathaway?” Detective Gingham asked.
“The guy disappeared years ago,” James interrupted, leaning forward in his chair. “He was a scum-bag. She hasn’t seen or heard anything from him.”
The detective glared at James and he sat back in his chair.
Serenity frowned and shook her head. “No, nothing. Why?”
“Is it possible he came back to the city without your knowledge?”
She wanted to tell the truth but it stayed buried deep inside. “I guess.”
“Would he be angry to find someone else in his home? Did he know you were no longer living at the property?”
Her frown deepened. “What are you getting at, Detective?”
“A number of prints were pulled from the crime scene. Several of them matched one’s we have on file for your husband.” He glanced down at his notes. “Mr. Hathaway was cautioned for battery seven years ago, and then a possible assault four years ago...”
Serenity’s cheeks flamed red and she stared down at her hands. The accusation of assault had come from Madeline, trying to cause trouble for Serenity after she murdered Jackson. She remembered the battery charge. Jackson had hit her in their backyard. He’d been taking out the trash and lifted the bag over his head when it had split and trash emptied all over him. Serenity had made the mistake of laughing, which bought her a slap in the face so hard it knocked her to the ground. He rounded off the slap by kicking her in the stomach. The neighbors saw and called the police but Serenity had been too scared to press charges. She had nowhere else to go and didn’t think she had any choice.
That occasion was the one and only time Jackson made the mistake of letting anyone else know about how he treated her. He’d learned his lesson. After that he made sure he only ever hit her inside their home and only in places no one would spot the marks—the lower back, in the kidneys. He’d even branded her with the metal on a lighter, on the inside of her thighs. She still carried the scars.
The memories made her cringe. She was still so ashamed. How could he do all those things to her—things he did to her—yet she was left ashamed and embarrassed, dirty even?
“The prints must be old,” she said, going for the only rational explanation, wondering why the police hadn’t picked up on the obvious.
He shook his head. “They were definitely new. The prints were partials but unmistakable.”
Dread settled on her shoulders like death itself stood behind her, hands weighing her down. “They must be old,” she said again, her voice barely a whisper.
“The prints were in the blood of the victims, Mrs. Hathaway. There’s no possibility of them being made any time other than either during or shortly after the murders.”
Her nostrils flared, her eyes burning with tears. Her hands tightened on the edges of the table, her knuckles turning white. The interview room swam away for a moment.
It was impossible, but she could never tell the detective as much. Someone had made a mistake.
“You can’t think Jackson killed them?”
“We’re not sure what we think right now. Given that he owns the property, there’s a good chance he came back and contaminated the scene. After all, no one saw anything and this is the first time any prints have been found near the victims.”
“So you think you’re dealing with the same murderer as the one who’s been killing all those people in Angeles Forest. The same one who killed that girl the other day?”
The detective nodded. “The profiles match the same killer.”
“Jesus.”
Yet the news brought her some relief. Jackson committing all of those murders was impossible. Someone hadn’t been doing their job properly and had made a mistake.
She sighed. “I don’t know what more I can tell you. The Bainbridges were good tenants and I have no idea why someone would do something so terrible to them. As for Jackson, I doubt he’s back in the city. Even if he was, I don’t think he’d be capable of murdering total strangers. The man was a horrible bully, but he was also a coward.”
Detective Gingham studied her face for a moment and she forced herself to stare back.
“All right,” he said. “That’s everything for the moment. If you see or hear anything from your husband, you’ll be sure to let us know.”
“Of course.”
Serenity pushed back her chair and stood. She felt numb from the waist down, as though her body didn’t quite belong to her. Still, she forced herself to move, her face a mask of stability. She didn’t want them to realize how much the accusations against Jackson affected her. Though it was only natural for her to be shaken up after being told her abusive husband was back in town and had possibly murdered two people in cold blood, she only felt guilty and was terrified they’d read that exact emotion on her face.
James also stood up and reached across to open the door for her. Pleased to escape, she hurried from the room. James turned and said a few words to Detective Gingham, before following her out.
“You need a lift?” he asked as they walked down the corridor, toward the front doors.
Serenity glanced at her watch, almost two-thirty in the afternoon. The day had disappeared. She was due to pick Elizabeth up from preschool in a half hour.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I can catch the bus. I should make it on time.”
“Let me drive you. You came down here on police business, the least I can do is give you a ride.”
“Well, since you insist.”
Serenity followed him out of the door and around the back of the building to James’s car.
As they drove across the city, James sat silent beside her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, turning to take in his profile as he concentrated on the road.
“I just don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “Jackson made your life a living hell for years and yet you still stand up for him.”
Serenity’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t stand up for him!”
“Then why are you so insistent he didn’t commit those murders? The man has a history of abuse and violence, and his fingerprints were found in the victim’s blood. You don’t know what he’s been doing these past four years—he might have completely lost the plot—but you seem absolutely certain he didn’t hurt the Bainbridges.”
Serenity glanced away, her cheeks burning. She could never admit the reason for her certainty, but she didn’t want the police to race off on a wild-goose chase, literally chasing ghosts, when the real killer was still at large.
“Is there such a thing as a wife’s intuition?”
James raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, okay,” she said, giving in. “Maybe Jackson did murder all these people, but I’m allowed to have my opinion, aren’t I? I knew him better than anyone else. Yes, the man was a bullying bastard, but do I think him capable of attacking and murdering two strangers? No, I don’t. He was a coward. He beat me because he liked the control. Simply murdering two complete strangers for no reason doesn’t seem like his style.”
James fell silent for a moment and then spoke. “It’s hard not to believe evidence when it’s right in front of your face.”
“People make mistakes,” she said, no longer sure if she meant the police forensic work or herself.