She’d talked to plenty of guilty men who had rejected an attorney because they thought they were smarter than her. Conversely, the innocent often asked for a lawyer, just to make sure they didn’t get into unnecessary trouble. Either way, she couldn’t read too much into his choice.
He was quiet, his expression thoughtful as he considered her words. She took the opportunity to study his face. He was handsome, she could say that objectively. Long, straight nose, tousled hair and brown eyes that looked like twin pools of melted chocolate framed by long lashes. The dusting of stubble on his cheeks kept him from looking too boyish. There were faint lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, indicating he probably smiled a lot. She was willing to bet he had dimples when he did.
Yes, a handsome man. One a woman wouldn’t think twice about talking to, especially if he turned on the charm. It would probably be easy for him to gain a woman’s trust.
But did that make him a killer?
Finally, he shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with,” he said. “I have nothing to hide.”
That’s what they all say, Rebecca thought.
“My name is Rebecca Wade. I’m an agent in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, and the Alpine police have asked me to talk to you about the women you found in Big Bend.” Alpine was a decent-sized city about a hundred miles from the borders of the park. The Alpine police was taking point on the investigation because its members had resources some of the smaller, closer towns lacked.
He nodded, as if this was information he already knew. “You already have my name. But I’ll introduce myself anyway. I’m Quentin Gallagher. Call me Quinn.”
“All right.”
“How does this usually work?” He shifted in the chair and it rocked a little in response, indicating the legs were not all the same length. Shortening the legs was a classic interrogation technique designed to keep the suspect uncomfortable and literally off balance. Rebecca wasn’t convinced it worked all that well, but she wasn’t going to argue with the Alpine police department about their methods right now.
“We’re just going to talk,” Rebecca said. “I have a few questions for you, but I’m mainly interested in hearing your story in your own words.”
A shadow crossed Quinn’s face, as if he was remembering something especially troubling. He cleared his throat. “Where should I begin?”
“Tell me about your wife.”
“My wife?” Quinn asked, his voice cracking a little on the words. Rebecca watched his face carefully, noting how his skin went pale under his tan. “What would you like to know about Ashley?”
“How did you two meet?”
He hesitated, and for a brief second, Rebecca wondered if he had changed his mind about talking to her. Maybe opening with his wife was a mistake, she mused. But if so, she had other tricks up her sleeve. One way or another, she was going to get Quinn Gallagher’s story.
Just as she was about to try another tack, Quinn spoke.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he said quietly. “But before we get started, I need you to understand something.” His brown eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and he leaned forward a bit, his expression earnest.
“Okay,” she said agreeably. “What’s that?” She was careful to keep her tone neutral, but her heart rate picked up. Was he really going to confess so quickly? It normally took her hours, or even days, to coax a confession from a suspect. Maybe Quinn was going to make it easy on her...
He met her eyes, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to see her very soul. Rebecca resisted the temptation to look away and tried to appear friendly and interested in what he had to say. It was important to gain Quinn’s trust so he would open up to her. The faster she got him to let down his guard, the sooner she’d discover the truth.
“I didn’t kill those women in the park.” His voice was low, but he enunciated every word clearly, as if he wanted to make sure she didn’t misunderstand him.
“And I damn sure didn’t kill my wife.”
* * *
If Quinn’s words shocked Rebecca, she didn’t show it. She smiled slightly, and he got the impression this wasn’t the first time she’d heard a man proclaim his innocence.
But in his case, it was the truth.
“If I really thought you’d killed anyone, you’d already be under arrest,” she said smoothly.
Yeah, right, he thought. Quinn wasn’t stupid. The only reason he wasn’t in handcuffs right now was because the police didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with the murders of those two unfortunate women he’d found in the park. Finding the first body had been bad enough. Finding the second victim, a week later, on a different trail, had been a new level of horrible. He knew he was still a suspect, though. Actually, the term the detective had used was “person of interest,” as if that was supposed to make him feel better.
It didn’t.
Nothing about this situation was okay. The only thing that made it tolerable was the fact that he knew with absolute certainty there wouldn’t be any evidence linking him to the deaths of those women.
Once the police realized he was innocent, these “voluntary” conversations would come to an end.
But until that day, Quinn intended to cooperate. The memories of his gruesome discoveries demanded he do everything in his power to ensure those poor women found some kind of justice.
The FBI interrogator was watching him, her face completely calm with no hint of impatience. She looked like a woman without a care in the world, as if she was happy to spend all day sitting in front of him, waiting for him to start talking. Her calm demeanor was a skill that likely served her well in her job, and under different circumstances, Quinn would have asked her more about her career. Working for the FBI had to be exciting, or at the very least, interesting.
Now was not the time for pleasantries, though.
Quinn took a deep breath, bracing himself for the jolt of pain that always came whenever he thought of Ashley. “We met in college,” he began. “We had a couple of intro classes together. I noticed her on the first day, and after a few weeks, I finally worked up the nerve to talk to her.” He smiled briefly at the memory, remembering the way his knees had practically knocked together as he’d stood in front of her desk and asked how she was doing.
He shook himself free of the memory and continued. “I was so nervous around her that if it had been up to me, I’d probably still be searching for the courage to ask her on that first date. Fortunately, Ashley was braver than I was, and she took matters into her own hands. She asked me to dinner, and I said yes. Four years later, we got married a week after graduation.”
“Were you happy together?” Rebecca’s voice was quiet and unobtrusive, the question a gentle conversational nudge to steer him in the desired direction. He knew where they were headed, and he swallowed hard.
“She was my everything,” he said, his throat tight. “Ashley was unique. She was insatiably curious, so full of life. Being around her was like holding lightning in your hands—she
