Page 92 of The Guy Next Door

“Zane,” Roth says, her tone much gentler than when she brought up Leif. “I know a lot of civilians have this impression that there are serial killers running the country because of this obsession with true crime, but really, serial killers are so rare. You know how many people go missing? You know how many non-white people have gone missing in this town without making the news? Children being abducted by parents who can’t get custody. Senior citizens with dementia wandering off. People with drug problems who wind up in other states but can’t bring themselves to reach out to their families. Right now, we have two disappearances of guys around the same age, who happened to attend the same community college.”

“That sounds like more than chance.”

“It’s a college. If it were more than five thousand students, no one would think twice about it. The reality is, this likely got started on campus by kids who grew up on a diet of YouTube and podcasts and who have nothing better to do with their time. And not to belabor the point, but Leif doesn’t go to WCC. And so far, only one body has shown up. Even if we had another, we don’t jump to the conclusion that there’s a serial killer without evidence linking the crimes. Even with what you claimed before, there’s nothing to suggest that in a world where I believed a note was sent to your brother by the same person who sent somethingto Leif, that this in any way connects to Jason. You get that, right?”

The way she says it, she’s like a teacher trying to see if I grasped the content of her lesson, which is like a poker stirring my rage.

“Are you asking because you think I’m seeing some pattern that isn’t there? That maybe I’m predisposed to see that because of my mental-health issues?”

She raises her hands. “I didn’t say anything about that. I was talking to you, one reasonable person to another, asking you to draw a reasonable conclusion. Put yourself in my shoes. Even if I wanted to, at this point, now that the case has been elevated to a homicide investigation, I’m not calling the shots on my own. If I have a lead, it’s gotta be compelling. I have to justify every action I take to a team, and also to the politicians we rely on for funding.”

For the first time since this chat began, I can appreciate that she’s not trying to make my life difficult. She has her own series of obstacles and politics to navigate.

Sucks, but I get it.

“Zane, I know you can only see this system from your perspective, but do you know how many people come in here with theories about how a loved one died? I’ve had people accuse their parents, siblings, the neighbor, the guy who works at the deli… Sometimes they don’t even have a suspect, only leads they think are relevant from five years ago. You’d think with how long I’ve been doing this work, I would’ve known better than to follow your leads back when you first came into my office, but you know what? Maybe I have the same biases as other people. Maybe I thought it’d be like a movie where we cracked the case and I brought some relief to a guy who’d gone through a horrible tragedy.”

“Because you felt sorry for me.”

She hesitates before responding. “Isympathizedwith you, and I wanted to believe you were right. So remember that I’m the one who felt betrayed by what went down. I went out on a limb for you once already. I’m not making that mistake again.”

I imagine it’d sting less if she wasn’t right.

“As for you and Mr. Anderson,” she says, “if you are boyfriends, I hope it’s for the right reasons and not—”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I practically bark out.

Her eyes widen and her head jerks back. “I think you know what I meant. I hope you actually have feelings for him and aren’t trying to use being near him to play amateur sleuth.”

“I care about him. A lot.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that, Zane. I think we’ve discussed everything we needed to, unless you have any questions.”

“No, you’ve been perfectly clear.” I push to my feet. “Thanks for the heads-up.” I can’t help my sarcastic remark as I start for the door, but I’m seething. And not just because of my panic earlier, but because even with a body on her hands, Roth doesn’t buy my story.

Even worse, I hate that I understand why.

As I reach the door, Roth says, “Oh, and, Zane.”

I stop and glance over my shoulder.

“A lot will come out in the next few days about Jason Kilbourne’s death. I hope you can focus on your new relationship and not get hung up on the details.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t think it would be a good time to let your imagination get carried away.”

“Thanks for the hot tip,” I spit out as I grab the door handle and pull.

Locked.

Fuck. So much for my grand exit.

“You know I have to escort you out of here, right?” She pushes to her feet.

“Yeah. I remember.”

Although clearly, in my fury, I forgot.

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