CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

 

By the time Quinn started to head home, he had put in four miles. As he got closer to his house, he slowed his pace considerably. He was looking forward to some quality time with Selene. Maybe they’d rent a video or go to a movie tonight.

He came to a dead stop when he saw the police car in front of the house. Quinn’s heart nearly burst at the thought something had happened to Selene.

No! Please don’t let anything have happened to her. All sorts of dark thoughts began rolling through his mind.

He saw two burly uniformed officers emerge from the house with a slightly disheveled, tall, white man in handcuffs. Behind them, Selene stepped out, followed by Todd Foxworth.

When Selene saw him, she ran over and wrapped her arms around him. She let her emotions go and started to cry.

“It’s all right, honey,” he said soothingly, wondering if it really was.

“I love you,” she sobbed.

“I love you, too.” Quinn kissed the top of her head. “What happened? Are you hurt? What’s Todd doing here...?” His heart was still pounding.

“He was looking for you,” Selene responded shakily. “And I’m fine, thank God.”

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously, there had been some trouble and the handcuffed man had caused it—with Selene his intended target. Was he The Woods Strangler? The man glared at Quinn, but said nothing as police shoved him roughly into the back seat of the squad car.

At about the same time, another car drove up and Dennis Cramer emerged. He looked flustered.

“Is everyone okay here?” Cramer’s eyes scanned the faces uneasily.

“Yeah, I think so,” Todd said. “No one’s hurt. Though I wish I had given that asshole over there a beating while I had the chance.”

Seeing Selene’s flushed face, it didn’t take much for Quinn to put two and two together. This wasn’t a common criminal who had broken into his home. And he probably wasn’t the maniac murdering females in The Woods. He was the man who’d been Selene’s worst nightmare for years.

Michel Giovanni.

Quinn couldn’t believe that he’d actually had the balls to show up at his house and further terrorize his wife.

* * *

Cramer stood in a small room with the fire inspector, arson investigator, and the abused young woman named Freda Gardner who had apparently seen the arsonist running from S.A.W. House. Through a one-way window, they viewed a lineup of six men that included Michel Giovanni.

Cramer glared at Giovanni. He’d run a criminal background check on him and discovered that he’d been arrested twice for DUI, once for liquor law violations, and once for domestic battery. In the latter case, the charge was dropped when the victim—Selene—had a change of heart and let her husband off the hook.

But there had been no indication that Giovanni was an arsonist. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t become one during the process of stalking his ex-wife.

And maybe even a serial killer, too.

Cramer looked at the witness and could see signs of the beating her boyfriend had inflicted upon her.

“Ms. Gardner, is the man you saw running from the shelter in the lineup?” She looked nervous, so he added, “Take your time. And, don’t worry, they can’t see or hear you.”

Freda brushed away a lock of hair and peered through the window. She seemed to be focused on the suspect for a moment, but abruptly looked in the other direction. Finally, she said, “He ain’t there.”

Cramer frowned, glancing at the arson investigator and fire inspector. He honed in on the witness. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied in a firm voice. “I don’t see him. Sorry.”

Yeah, we all are, Cramer thought glumly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “You did your duty. If we come up with another suspect, we’ll let you know. Meanwhile, I suggest you ditch the man who’s using you to sharpen his boxing skills. The shelter only works when you’re serious about breaking away from an abuser and prosecuting his ass.”

* * *

Michel Giovanni sat calmly in the small interrogation room. Across the table was the cop who had identified himself as Detective Cramer. Standing behind him was a black dude introduced as Homicide Investigator Rawlings.

“Did you have anything to do with the fire at the shelter?” Cramer asked pointedly.

“I don’t know nothin’ about that, man,” Michel replied evenly. He took a calming breath. They didn’t have anything on him regarding the fire. Or anything else that they could make stick, including the illegal gun he’d been smart enough not to have on him when he was arrested. That was why he had allowed this interrogation without benefit of counsel.

“But you do know something about Selene Herrera, don’t you?” Cramer shot him a cold look. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish by breaking into her house?”

“I already told you, man—I didn’t break into any house! The door was open and I walked in to visit my wife. End of story.”

“She’s not your wife anymore. Or have you conveniently forgotten that in choosing to stalk her?” Cramer said.

Michel knew they were trying to get him to make a mistake so they could use it against him. But his Mamma didn’t raise a fool. He wouldn’t buckle under. Not with so much at stake.

He looked squarely at the detective. “All right, so she’s my ex-wife. I forget sometimes. That isn’t a crime. And I haven’t been stalking her.”

“What do you call harassing her at work and elsewhere?” Cramer demanded.

“I call it just trying to make up for lost time. Yeah, I still love Selene, okay. So sue me. It still doesn’t amount to committing a capital offense.”

Cramer glanced at Rawlings and back. “Well, that remains to be seen.”

A vein bulged in Michel’s temple and he grew tense. “Look, I didn’t set any fire and I never broke into anyone’s house. So what are we talking about here?”

“How about the murder of several women in The Woods?” Rawlings said. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Michel had anticipated they would bring that up. After all, he knew Selene had been running off at the mouth to the cops. He also knew they were on a fishing expedition, hoping to get lucky and hook a big one.

Not this time.

He glared at the investigator. “Why the hell would I?”

“Maybe because they reminded you of your ex-wife and everything you’d lost.”

Michel sneered. “That’s crazy!”

“Is it?” Rawlings peered at him. “Weren’t you practically bragging about collecting the reward money? Suppose you tell us what that’s all about, Giovanni. And you better have a damned good explanation—”

Michel took his time, trying to find the right words to throw off their suspicions. Finally he said, “It’s simple, man. I’m just like any other concerned citizen—hoping to get all that money by identifying this Woods Strangler.”

Cramer gazed at him suspiciously. “And how do you propose to do that? Do you have some inside information on the killer that no one else knows about?”

Michel wished he had a beer or something stronger right about now. But he couldn’t let them see him sweat. It would only add fuel to their fire. And he would be the one who got burned.

“I don’t know who it is, all right,” he muttered with a sour expression. “So I’m keeping my eyes open and asking questions. That ain’t breaking the law, far as I know. Maybe I’ll get lucky and hand the bastard to you...collecting three hundred and fifty big ones for my trouble—”

Michel watched as the detective and investigator exchange silent looks. He knew that their efforts to intimidate him into some kind of half-baked confession were over.