She thought of Ramirez’s grave, of seeing Jack’s body on his living room floor, and of Rose, lying in a hospital bed half an hour away.
These things were all testaments to the fact that death was much more tangible than she had thought. Life had dealt her a harsh hand over the last few months—so harsh that perhaps she had been blinded by how precious life truly was.
She got behind the wheel and sped toward A1, anxious to get Dan Hudson in an interrogation room. And while that was prominent on her mind, it was not the most important thing.
She wanted him tucked away in a room so she could go visit her daughter a quickly as she could. Just thinking about her made tears spill down her face. She wiped them away quickly, before Kellaway could see them, while the man who had nearly killed her still wept in the back seat.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Avery quickly came to realize that Dan Hudson was indeed guilty of something, in addition to having just fired at an officer: he was guilty of being an asshole.
He was still clearly terrified when he sat in the interrogation room. Avery had just come out from questioning him and had gotten little more than the same things he had offered up at his house. Connelly, Kellaway, and O’Malley watched him in the monitor. He was mewling like a scaredy cat and shifting uncomfortably in the seat.
“The guy seems like a certifiable nut job,” Connelly said.
“That not exactly the PC way to put it,” Avery said. “But you’re not too far off. The counselor at the support group described his condition as phobophobia. He’s literally scared of being scared.”
“Well, that seems to be plenty of motive for going after people because of their fears,” Connelly said. “It’s also damning that he’s willingly admitting to knowing all of the victims in some capacity.”
Avery nodded. It was damning. And on paper, Dan Hudson would surely seem like a likely suspect. The fact that he had fired a gun at her less than an hour ago made it an even more appealing case. The more she watched him squirm in the monitor, the more she wondered if he was the killer. But there were a few things that stalled that notion.
For starters, while Delores Moon was not the most pleasant lady, she knew her stuff. Based on Moon’s background and the trust the people in the group had in her, Avery felt safe in knowing that if she had suspected Dan Hudson as the killer, she would have said so from the start.
“I want another crack at him before anyone books him for the murders,” Avery said.
Connelly smiled. “Good to see the perfectionist in you didn’t go wandering away during your time off,” he said.
Avery slowly walked back into the interrogation room, coming up with a line of questions that would either nail Dan to the wall or clearly show that he was innocent. She also knew, though, that she tended to do better with interrogations on the fly. As she walked into the room, she could almost feel the eyes on her in the monitor within the viewing room. She walked into the interrogation room, quickly looked up to the camera in the corner, and then took the seat across from the small table Dan Hudson currently sat behind.
“Listen, Mr. Hudson,” she said. “I know you’re scared and don’t want to be here. And the sooner we can clear you of these murders, the sooner we can release you. You understand that, right?”
Dan’s face went through a wide range of emotions, as if he couldn’t decide which emotion to settle on. He finally decided on what looked like fearful content. “Don’t you get it?” he said in a shaky voice. “How the hell would I murder someone? I have a legitimate and diagnosed phobia that keeps me scared of just about anything. The thought of even handling a knife scares me. All the knives in my home are butter knives because anything with sharp points has the potential to scare me. Even meeting new people is scary for me because I never know their intentions.”
“Is that why you insist on insulting the people in Delores Moon’s support group?” Avery asked. “Is that why you taunted one member with a lighter?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just….seeing other people scared makes me think my problem isn’t so bad. Sometimes I go online and watch reaction videos on YouTube…when people react to horror movies in real time. I’ll watch those scare pranks, too. Seeing people scared makes me feel…normal, I guess.”
“So am I supposed to just believe that you keep your bullying of people to immature acts like flicking a lighter in a woman’s face? How do I know you don’t set up elaborate pranks yourself just so you can watch people get scared? You just admitted that seeing other terrified makes you feel better.”
“You’re not listening!” Dan said. “Everything—every fucking thing—has the potential to scare me. The handcuffs you put me in, this bland room, the evil way everyone has looked at me since you got me here. My mind plays out these scenarios…about how you’ll beat the shit out of me to get some sort of confession or how I’ll end up in jail and get raped daily. Just t-t-talking about it makes m-me…makes me go there.”
Avery was pretty sure he was being genuine. No matter how good of an actor Dan might be, there was no way he was good enough to convey the sheer terror that was slowly creeping into his features.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Avery said. “I’m going to take you at your word. And in a few moments, someone else will come in and work with you to come up with alibis—to see where you were and what you were doing around the time these murders were committed. If all of that checks out, you won’t be charged with any murders. However…I have to be honest with you: you fired at a cop and that’s bad news. I’m telling you this not to scare you, but to let you start to process it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Dan’s bottom lip started quivering and for a moment, he looked like a scared little kid sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for his parents to check the closet for monsters. He nodded and started to let out more of this whining noises. He started to tremble and there was a noticeable hitching to his breath.
“Dan? Are you okay? Do you need help?”
“Water,” he managed to say through what Avery felt was certain to be a vicious bout of sobbing on the way.
She got up quickly and left the room, hurrying back into the viewing room where O’Malley, Connelly, and Kellaway were still watching.
“He faking it?” O’Malley asked.
“No. He’s in bad shape.” She looked directly to Connelly and said, “I don’t think he did it. I know the motive is there and it looks neat and wrapped up, but he doesn’t have it in him to kill anyone.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure, yeah. Can you get someone to line up his alibis, just to make sure? And maybe get Delores Moon on the phone. He’s terrified, Connelly. He’s going to need someone to talk this through when it’s all said and done.”
“He shot at you,” Connelly said. “This won’t be over for him for a long time.”
Kellaway headed for the door, sensing the urgency of the situation on the screen. “I’ll take him his water. I’ll call Moon, too.”
Avery nodded her thanks. She felt responsible for pushing him too hard, for making him resort to the reaction that she could still see on the monitor in front of her.
“If he’s not the killer,” Connelly said, “are there any more leads?”
She almost said no, but she felt like there might be something else to look into. She wasn’t sure that she had missed anything per se, but maybe there were certain avenues that had not been explored yet. She thought back to the support group, all of those hopeful and needy eyes looking toward Delores Moon.
And then, strangely enough, she thought of Howard Randall’s letter.
Who are you, Avery?
“Avery?” O’Malley said. “What is it?”