Unholy Shepherd, Robert Christian [fastest ebook reader TXT] 📗

her a look before addressing the detective. “I’ve taken control of this case, Detective, and I’ll be finishing this interview. You can head out and speak to my partner, Agent Lorenzo. She’s with your captain now getting up to speed. You can help with that.”

Detective Benitez seemed to bristle at that and opened his mouth, most likely to protest.

“That’ll be all, Detective,” the agent said with a bite.

The detective seemed to have received the message and left the room, but not before he’d very deliberately slammed his notebook shut and shoved it into his pocket, staring at the agent the whole time. The slamming of the door behind him actually sent a jolt through her.

Agent Layton took the seat opposite her to make his formal introduction. “I’m Agent Howard Layton,” he repeated, looking through the dozen or so sheets of paper that he had brought into the room. “I’m the ASAC of the St. Louis branch of the FBI. Do you understand what that means?”

“That you’re trying to impress me with a fancy-sounding acronym?” she retorted, settling back into her chair, trying to appear as casual as possible.

“That fancy-sounding acronym means,” he replied quietly, folding his hands on the table and leaning toward her ever so slightly, “that my title is Assistant Special Agent in Charge. It means that there is only one person in this jurisdiction that outranks me when it comes to law enforcement. And it means, if I’m here in person, you should understand how seriously the FBI is taking the murder of this child and the mutilation and desecration of his body.”

His tone did not change, but the intensity in his gaze told the story. The years of care were written in the creases on his face. His gray eyes had looked upon death and into the eyes of those responsible for many years. Maureen had no doubt that he would do what he could to pin this crime on her. She was a convenient suspect with no alibi, a stranger to the town, and a trespasser who broke into the crime scene. Well, at any rate, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

“You were fingerprinted before Detective Benitez began his interview with you,” Agent Layton continued, “and those prints are now being sent to our analyzers.”

Shit! This day had to come eventually. She did her best to keep her face as smooth as possible. Just pretend it’s poker, she thought and blinked a few times but said nothing.

“You know, I’ve sat in front of a lot of killers, thieves, and rapists in my time, and so I like to think I’ve developed a sixth sense at being able to read people’s stories.” He stared hard at her and let his words hang in the air for a moment. “Now I’ve just met you, but I can tell that you have a lot of secrets that you’d prefer to stay buried. You’ve obviously had dealings with law enforcement before; anyone can see that. But I’d venture to guess that I’m not the first FBI agent you’ve spoken to.”

Despite herself, Maureen felt her shoulders shrug and her head tilt to the side. It was as good as a confirmation for him.

“Yeah, I thought so.” There was no sense of triumph in his voice. “I’ll even go out on a limb and say it was a really long time ago, you may have even been a kid. The experience stayed with you didn’t it?”

“What, have you been talking to my mother?” She couldn’t stop the words. Her emotions were overloading; she slipped up and said too much to the detective, the FBI was running her prints, and now this agent was acting like he knew her. She immediately cursed herself for having allowed such a loss in control.

“I haven’t, but it’s interesting you’d think that, and it seems to prove me right.” He allowed the smallest of grins to break through his face. “So let’s focus on that for a minute. Tell me about the last time you spoke to an agent.”

Maureen sat like a statue in her chair.

“Hmm, okay.” Agent Layton shifted in his seat. “Look, Ms. Allen, I’m here to catch a killer. I haven’t made up my mind about you yet. You may be who I’m looking for, you may not. In either case, you’ll help yourself by cooperating and answering my questions, even if they seem totally unrelated. I assure you, I have my reasons for asking.”

Maureen let out an exasperated sigh. “My brother was murdered when I was eight. They never found out who killed him.”

“So that’s why you don’t trust cops.”

“I don’t trust cops,” she fired back, “because even when I tell them the truth, they never believe me.”

“Then give me a reason to believe you. That Detective Benitez has made some pretty strong accusations against you. There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence that can make your life very difficult for quite some time.” He folded his hands under his chin and rested his elbows on the table, trying to seem as though he was actually interested in helping her no doubt. He let his honeyed words hang in the air. It made her want to puke.

“You can all go to hell,” she grumbled. There was nothing else to say.

Agent Layton sighed. “Have it your way, Ms. Allen. I guess we’ll be getting to know each other very well. I don’t have to charge you with anything to hold you as a person of interest. I won’t have any trouble getting my petition approved to hold you for the maximum-allowable time.” He stacked his papers but made no effort to leave. “That’s ninety-six hours, in case you were wondering.”

Maureen felt her jaw clench. She couldn’t avoid jail time, even if she did tell them about her nightmares. The FBI’s search would eventually uncover a lot of other things about her that would see her rotting in a cell anyway. Try as she might, there didn’t seem to be a way to wriggle