Page 58 of Girl, Accused

‘Yeah, why is that?’ Ella asked. ‘Our unsub killed three people, not one. Where’s his research on the others?’

Ripley said, ‘Two possibilities. Either he threw all his research away after he killed them, or Grant and Summers were distractions. It’s easier to hide a motivation when there’s three bodies instead of one.’

‘But if that was the case, he’d have picked two random victims, not people who’d genuinely committed sins. He’d want to muddy the motivation to throw us off, but Torres fits a pattern.’

‘Or, instead of theorizing, you could just get in there and ask him. You can crack this guy.’

Ella didn’t doubt that she could. She just wanted all of her ammunition lined up neatly. ‘Alright. Keep an eye on him from out here. If the unis find any more evidence in Canton’s room, let me know right away.’

‘You want me in there with you?’ asked Ripley.

‘No. Canton will respond better to a lone woman. If me and Ripley go in there, he’ll think we’re ganging up on him and that’ll play into his persecution complex. If it’s just me, he’ll try and make meunderstand.’

Westfall looked lost. ‘Wow.’

‘Plus, Ripley might remind him of his mom.’

‘That’s a bad thing?’

‘I’ll bet my ass that his mom was an overbearing bitch.’

‘Something we’ve got in common,’ Ripley said. ‘Go on. Get in there and make sense of this.’

Ella took a moment to center herself, to shed the weight of everything that had happened since they'd landed in Granville. Three bodies, three brands, three messages, one prime suspect.

‘Going. Keep a close eye on him.’

***

‘Please state your name for the record,’Ella said.

‘Mr. Adam Matthew Canton.’

‘And your job.’

‘Pastor for the First Light Assembly in West Granville.’

Ella studied him across the table. Canton was stockier than his old mugshot suggested, with the compact density of someone who'd done manual labor before finding God. His shoulders strained against his black shirt, not from muscle mass but from a certain barrel-chested solidity. His brown hair was cropped short in an economical cut that required minimal maintenance; the kind of haircut you'd get if style wasn't a consideration but neatness was paramount. The knuckles on his right hand were subtly misshapen, suggesting they'd been broken long ago and hadn't set quite right. A sinner's hands that had found salvation, or a saint's hands that had discovered violence? Sometimes the difference was merely a matter of perspective.

‘I’m just going to present you with the evidence. We found hundreds of pictures of Rebecca Torres in your apartment. Photos that someone had taken personally.’

‘Because I killed her,’ Canton said.

‘I never asked if you killed her. I just said we found photos of her in your apartment.’

The wrinkles in Canton’s forehead suddenly grew deeper. The expression that emerged wasn’t suspicion, but something akin to watching the recipient of your Christmas present toss it aside half-unwrapped.

‘Okay,’ he said.

Ella sat back and said nothing. Time to use Ripley's trick: create a vacuum and human nature will rush to fill it with words. Ella was curious how deep Adam Canton was willing to dig.

And dig he did.

‘You want to know why I killed her?’

Ella shrugged. ‘Not really, but I’m curious as to why you branded a T in her forehead.’

Canton smirked. ‘It wasn’t a T. It was a G.’

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