Page 37 of Not This Place

“I’m asking location, not involvement.”

Alice's fingers drummed on the table. "Home," she said with a measured calmness. "With company. They can vouch."

"Names," Rachel demanded, her notebook ready.

"Marcus Trenton. Linda Bale." Alice's lips barely moved as she spoke the names. "Dinner party. Ask them."

Rachel scribbled, her handwriting tight and controlled. The pen paused, hovered. "We will."

The room's stillness was oppressive. Every click of the clock was a hammer against Rachel's temples. She waited, letting the pause stretch, watching Alice's composure.

The woman looked calm. Sad, but calm. She was a master at hiding her emotions. Did Rachel believe her? They’d check the alibi, no doubt. But again, with this sort of money, plans could be executed from a distance.

Still… had this woman really killed her own daughter? Posing her so horrifically?

She seemed genuine… And if someone had actually taken a shot at her…

Too many unknowns. They’d have to check the alibi.

Ethan stood silent by the door, his presence a steady pressure. His eyes never left Alice, reading her responses, anticipating the lies or truths that might spill forth.

Suddenly, Rachel's phone vibrated. The sound was jarring, intrusive. She glanced at the caller ID: Dispatch. Her finger pressed accept, and she brought the device to her ear.

"Blackwood."

"Ranger Blackwood, we've got a situation." The dispatcher's voice was terse, urgent. "New body found on Hargreaves' property. Jake Shields."

Rachel's pulse quickened. Shields. Cheryl's boyfriend. Another link in the chain. She ended the call without a goodbye.

"New development," Rachel said, her words clipped. She locked eyes with Alice, searching for a tremor, a sign. Nothing.

"Something wrong?" Alice asked, her tone innocent.

Rachel ignored her.

"Let's go," she said to Ethan, her voice low but edged with urgency.

Ethan pushed off from the table, his movements deliberate. He stepped forward, his eyes barely flickering in Alice's direction as he passed by her. A silent signal that they were done here. For now.

The interrogation room door swung open with a creak, and the two of them crossed the threshold into the sterile hallway of the station. The overhead lights hummed faintly, casting stark shadows on the linoleum floor. Rachel’s boots clicked in a steady cadence as she led the way.

"Shields," Ethan muttered, suggesting he'd overheard the call, catching up to her stride. "That's no coincidence."

"No," Rachel agreed, her voice a thread of sound. She kept walking, passing closed doors and the occasional officer who glanced at them with curiosity. They didn't slow down.

They reached the exit, and the air outside hit Rachel with a sudden chill. The early morning sun cast a pale light over the parking lot. Their new cruiser was a solitary figure in the expanse of asphalt, waiting.

"Keys," Rachel said, extending her hand without looking at Ethan. He placed them in her palm, the metal cool and solid. She gripped them like a lifeline.

They climbed into the vehicle, the doors shutting with a definitive thud. Rachel ignited the engine, the growl of the cruiser's V8 cutting through the silence. She steered them onto the road, the police station receding in the rearview mirror.

Ethan had specifically requested a more powerful vehicle now that their last one was torched.

It drove faster, moved quicker.

"Jasper Hargreaves' land," Ethan said.

“Yeah.”

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