She hadn’t broken through Jack’s silence yet, because he didn’t see any threat. She hadn’t shown him anything that he didn’t already know. But he was curious. She could see the wheels turning, wondering what the police had and why they’d felt confident enough to charge him with murder this time.
“We know John Doe had an accomplice,” she went on, “and we know that accomplice is you.”
Jack waited. His shoulders gave the smallest shrug.
“I get it; you think I’m blowing smoke,” Maggie said. She turned around and waved at the interrogation window. “Cab, what do you think? Am I blowing smoke in here?”
Cab’s voice crackled through the intercom. “No, you’re not.”
Maggie smiled at Jack. “No, I’m really not. See, we found John Doe’s phone in his car, along with the gun and the cowboy hat. The phone records show that he was in communication with somebody in town. Namely, you. And yeah, as soon as you heard John Doe was dead, I’m sure you ditched the phone. That’s okay. We got the call records on the burner phone anyway. You remember the mistake you made, right, Jack?”
Jack stared back at her, but this time, he sucked his lower lip nervously between his teeth. Maggie grinned.
“Yeah, that’s right, the pizza,” she said. “Look, I don’t blame you. When I’m jonesing for a Sammy’s, nothing else will do. But using the burner phone to call for delivery? Not smart. Of course, you called the wrong location, didn’t you? They told you they wouldn’t deliver up to Hermantown. So you hung up and looked at the phone in your hand, and you thought — shit. Lucky break that you didn’t actually place an order, huh?”
She put a copy of the sheet with the apartment phone records on the interview table in front of Jack.
“Except then you used the phone in your apartment to call the Sammy’s restaurant in Hermantown. Two minutes later. That doesn’t look good, Jack. You think anyone is going to believe that’s a coincidence?”
She took out another sheet of paper from her folder and put it facedown on the table. She could see Jack look at it; she could see him wondering what it was. The anticipation was always the worst part. That was what ate into a suspect’s confidence. The not knowing.
“I got the phone records from the apartment owner,” Maggie said. “He’s a nosy guy, that Stig. Likes to keep an eye on things. We have a statement from him, Jack. He saw Peach Piper hanging out near your apartment. In fact, he called to tell you that some girl was spying on you, and you went out and confronted her. Then you walked her toward the back of the complex. John Doe was staying in one of the cottages back there. So we figure the two of you took Peach into the woods and John Doe shot her. Did you watch him do it, Jack? Have you seen people killed before? It’s not pretty. I hope you didn’t throw up or anything. Because we’ll be searching the woods tomorrow. We’re going to find the crime scene.”
She still hadn’t turned over the sheet of paper in front of Jack.
“The fact is, the game’s over,” she went on. “First-degree murder, Jack. Life in prison. You don’t have anybody to blame but yourself, you know. It’s that ego of yours. The girl who delivered your pizza asked if you were part of the movie crew, and you couldn’t stop yourself, could you? You had to say yes. You had to let her take a selfie with you. Except the thing is, she clicked a few shots before you closed the apartment door, Jack.”
Maggie reached out and turned over the paper on the table. It was an enlarged photograph taken from Ginny Hoeppner’s phone. Maggie took a red Sharpie and drew a circle on the picture.
“This is inside the apartment, Jack. See where I drew the circle? Look closely. It’s easy to make out if you squint.”
Jack did. Then he sighed and closed his eyes.
“Yeah. It’s a black cowboy hat with a red-tailed hawk’s feather. It’s John Doe’s hat. And I might not even have noticed it without the hat, but the fact is, that’s not even your apartment. The furniture isn’t right. You had the pizza delivered to John Doe’s apartment. That’s why you’re here, Jack. That’s why you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. If you want, you can wait and talk to the lawyer that Dean Casperson gets for you. But if Dean’s paying for it, who do you think that lawyer is really going to represent? Little tip: it’s not you. My advice is, you cut a deal right now and tell us about Casperson’s involvement in the murder of Peach Piper, the murder of Rochelle Wahl, the murder of Haley Adams, and the murders of anyone else you scumbags have been involved with in the last twenty years.”
Jack stared at the ceiling. He exhaled slowly, and the stale aroma of cigarette smoke breathed from his mouth. He took another look at the photographs spread out across the table. Finally, he spoke.
“Dean’s not the one you want,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Dean’s a pervert and a predator,” Jack continued, “and you can put him away for that, but he doesn’t know anything about the murders. He just thinks we paid the girls off.”
“Then who’s behind it?” Maggie asked.
“Mo,” Jack replied. “It’s always been Mo. Let me tell you, bring a whole squadron when you arrest her, because you’ve never met a steelier character than Dean’s wife. She will do anything to protect his reputation. She made all the calls about who we needed to get rid of. She decided who lived and died. Give me a deal, and I can give you names, dates, places, everything you need. Mo’s the one who hired John Doe. Mo’s the scorpion.”
43
“Do you believe him?” Stride asked Cab. “You and your mother know Mo Casperson better than any of us.”
Cab sipped his three-in-the-morning coffee and made a sour face. “Jack knows you have a rock-solid case against him. If he had evidence against Dean, I think he’d give it to us. If he’s pointing the finger at Mo instead, she’s probably been his contact all along.”
“I met Mo,” Maggie added. “I have no trouble imagining her as ruthless enough to hire a killer. I watched her tear into Tarla’s reputation at just a hint that she might go public about what Dean did to her. I think Mo would do whatever it takes to keep Dean propped up.”
Stride got up from the conference table and went to the vending machine, where he bought himself a can of Coke. It was his third since midnight. “Even if Mo was the one behind the murders, I have a hard time picturing Dean as completely out of the loop. He had to know what was going on.”
“I agree,” Cab replied, “although I’m not sure if you’ll be able to prove it.”
“Mo may have tried to compartmentalize him,” Maggie said, “so she’d be the one to take the fall if things went south. Or maybe she just didn’t think Dean had the stones to make the tough calls.”
“We won’t know until we talk to her,” Stride said.
Cab smiled. “Well, Lala and the Naples Police are on their way to Captiva to give Mo a little wake-up call.”
Stride focused on Serena, who was pacing back and forth in the conference room. She hadn’t joined the discussion. She still had restless energy driving her forward despite the late hour. One part of the investigation was done, but one part was still open, and the clock was ticking. Aimee Bowe was still missing.
“Serena, how’s Cat?” Maggie called.
Serena stopped in the middle of the room. “She’s spending the night at St. Mary’s for observation. Physically, she’s okay. The drugs just need to get out of her system.”
Cab spoke in a quiet voice. No one had wanted to bring up what really had happened between Dean and Cat. “Forgive me for asking, but was she actually—?”