Page 27 of The Perfect Deception

I nod, a proud smile spreading across my face. “Of course.” I peel open the files I requested from the clerk and sift through each page. “The place doesn’t exist anymore, so there are no actualrecords, but I filled in a few blanks by using court records from the time.”

His brows shoot up. “Damn fine detective work, Frankie.”

“Thanks. I learned from the best.” But his words give me pause. “It’s weird that there’s almost no information about this place when it was owned and operated by the county and the state in a joint effort.”

“Smells fishy,” he grumbles. “One thing I learned during my time as a beat cop was that you don’t fuck with the county and state shit. It’s bad for your stress and bad for your career.” His gaze shifts to one side and he shakes his head as if he’s angry about whatever memory just popped into his head.

“You worked Hope House back in the day? Dad too?”

Jay shakes his head. “No. Why would you think that?” His jaw clenches in a rare show of emotion that gives me more questions than answers.

“I don’t know. Just asking. I saw a lot of the same kind of kids on both sides of sex crimes.” Prior to joining the homicide division, I spent a little over a year in that department.

Jay’s gaze takes on a faraway look that lasts only a moment before he shakes himself out of it and comes back to reality. “Right. We can commiserate later. Now we ought to track down the people who lived there before the killer gets to ’em.”

He’s right, and I get to my feet just as quickly as I settled behind my desk. “Let’s go.”

Jay is smirking as he stands. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I wave off his concern. “It was probably just a bug or actual exhaustion. Crazy what a good night’s sleep will do for you.” I grab my jacket and make my way toward the door.

“Spare me the details,” he grumbles. As soon as we’re in the car, Jay shifts into drive and nods at me. “Background?”

Right. “Ezekiel DuBois goes by Zeke. He spent four and a half years at Hope House. No stints in juvie and no other worrisome behavior in his past.”

“That’s a change. Where are we heading?”

“He’s a gaming streamer, spends most days online, so I think it’s safe to say he’s probably at home.” I rattle off the address, leaving Jay to maneuver through traffic until we arrive at the ranch style home in a quiet neighborhood similar to mine.

“He plays games all day and can afford to live here?” Jay’s disbelief is palpable. “This ain’t your parent’s basement.”

“Nope, it’s not.” The house looks empty, like no one's home.

“You know he could be the killer, right, Frankie?”

I nod. “The thought crossed my mind, Jay.” It was actually my first thought, but as we walk up the steps to the front door, something feels weird. I can’t explain it, so I give myself a quick pep talk as we wait for Zeke to answer the door.

Focus on the interview, Frankie. It’ll get you one step closer to the killer. Nothing else but this interview. Right here. Right now.

Feeling slightly better, I recount what I know before the door opens, thinking about everything I hope to learn from this interview.

The door opens and a guy with long dark hair wrapped in a haphazard bun opens the door. His blue eyes big and wide against his pale skin, his thick brows seem exaggerated as they dip into a frown. “Yeah?” His gaze bounces between me and Jay, trying to figure out why two cops are on his doorstep.

“Ezekiel DuBois?”

He nods and a moment later, his shoulders relax slightly. “Call me Zeke. How can I help you, officers?”

“Detectives,” Jay clarifies. “We’ve got a few questions we’re hoping you can help with. Mind if we come in?”

He shrugs and steps back, letting us inside. “Questions about what?”

“Hope House,” I say casually, my eyes locked on him, watching for any flicker of a reaction that might give something away.

“What’s that?” he responds instantly, the lie slipping off his tongue with ease.

“The place you spent four and a half years of your life. Ring any bells?” Jay typically plays the bad cop, but I figure a gamer like Zeke can appreciate a woman who doesn’t hold back.

“Don’t remember much about the place,” he says in a much quieter tone.

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