Page 50 of Criminology of a Character

“Please do. You would inspire a lot of young girls.”

“Before we go, can we talk to your staff?” Griffin asked, steering the conversation back to the task at hand.

“Of course,” Lawrence said. “I’ll take you downstairs.”

The trio left the office, but as they approached the stairs, an all too familiar man jogged toward them.

“Sheriff Griffin?” the cameraman asked. “Detective Emerson? What are you doing here? Did something happen? Oh, my god, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

Bel involuntarily flinched, bumping Griffin as the man surged closer, and one look at her face told the sheriff all he needed to know. This was the cameraman Eamon was worried about.

“They just had a few questions,” Lawrence said.

“What kind of questions?” the man asked. “Anything I can help with? I was there that night. You remember me right, Detective?”

“Jerry, why don’t you let the poor woman down the stairs before you interrogate her,” Lawrence laughed, and seeing Jerry in the daylight without his camera made Bel wonder if they’d misjudged his fixation. He’d appeared threatening in the dark, but on the stairs, he seemed like an enthusiastic employee on his tenth cup of coffee.

“Sorry.” Jerry stepped to the side, and Bel studied his features as she and Griffin resumed their descent. He was a middle-aged man with kind, if not hyper eyes, but nothing about his overly friendly behavior triggered her intuition. Eamon’s concern had come from watching him lunge for her at a dark crime scene and then chase her on the television screen. He hadn’t been close enough to sense his true nature, and Bel’s chest deflated. Bubbly Jerry didn’t seem the cold-blooded type, and they were once again back at square one.

“I used to work for insurance,” Jerry said as he chased them down the stairs. “But I hated being trapped behind a desk. I wanted to be in the action, so I went back to school. Sorry if I came on strong at the press conference. This is just the first homicide case I’ve covered, and it’s such a huge one. I don’t want to mess up. We have to bring those girls justice.” He barely breathed as he spoke, and Bel bit her lip to hide her smirk. This chatty man definitely wasn’t who they were looking for. She could feel it in her soul. No one this enthusiastic could kill forty-two women unnoticed. Jerry was the type of person who demanded attention. He would never slip through the shadows unseen… or unheard, for that matter.

“It’s all good,” Bel said. “We all have a lot on our plates.”

“We do, but I’m happy to help any way I can,” he said.

“We appreciate your enthusiasm,” Griffin said as they reached the main floor.

“Excuse me,” Lawrence interrupted. “I’m getting a call, but Jerry can show you around. You don’t mind, do you, Jer?”

“No problem, I’m happy to.”

“Thanks.” Lawrence walked down the hall, and glancing conspiratorially at Griffin, Bel seized the opportunity. Gene Lawrence was a producer and businessman. His help would only extend if it aided the station, but Jerry was thankfully theopposite of what she’d initially assumed. He’d have no qualms about spilling secrets.

“Jerry, how long have you lived in Bajka?” she asked, pretending she was merely passing time with small talk.

“Born and raised. I love our town. Love it more now that I have this job.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Eight months,” Jerry answered. “It’s a little late to start over, but my wife is very supportive. We had three boys, so I worked in an office to provide for my family, but once the kids were grown, she encouraged me to follow my dream. It’s why I’m so worried about getting this case right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime story, and if I screw it up, I’ll lose my shot.”

“You won’t screw it up,” Bel said, before glancing at Griffin behind Jerry’s back. Eight months at the station made it unlikely he was the killer, and a father working an insurance job wouldn’t have the freedom to drive to God knows where to lock women in his truck.

“Here’s everyone.” Jerry gestured at the bustling office, and announcing the sheriff needed their help, he had every employee clamoring to do the honors. They all had stars in their eyes at the prospect of becoming the reporter who helped the police arrest The Matchstick Girls Killer, but for all their eagerness, no one offered anything of use. They’d seen nothing, and if one of them was the killer, they were liars unmatched. Not one person fit the profile, and with heavy hearts, Bel and Griffin said their goodbyes.

“I’m sorry, Emerson.” The sheriff patted her back as they finally made their way to the exit. “It was a solid idea.”

“No one seemed suspicious to you, did they?” she asked.

“When Jerry first approached, I was nervous, but after five minutes, I recognized he wasn’t who we were looking for. Unless he’s the greatest actor in the world, an overly outgoing manwith a large family who joined the station eight months ago isn’t someone who spends his night carting drugged girls around in his van so he can watch them freeze to death.”

“I just want to scream.” Bel stopped short and whirled around to face the lobby, a striking yet eerie photo of a woman and child standing in the aftermath of a bombing capturing her attention. “How do we keep coming up empty-handed? I was certain this was the right lead.”

“It still might be,” Griffin said. “Maybe the killer lives here but works in a neighboring town? We don’t know everyone in Bajka.”

“But if we don’t catch him, he’ll kill again,” Bel said. “You don’t murder forty-three people over twelve years, then go cold turkey. We ruined his setup, but as long as he’s free, more girls will die, and I cannot allow that to happen.”

“Don’t give up.” Griffin rubbed her back. “He can’t hide forever, and when he slips up, we’ll be there waiting.”

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