Page 60 of Girl, Accused

‘No comment.’

‘Don’t mess me around. Did you kill them or not?’

‘I said no comment. I want a lawyer.’

'Wise choice. Now, before I get out of here, I just want to tell you that once we find you guilty of these murders, we'll be pursuing the death penalty.'

Canton jolted like he’d been electrocuted. Ella reminded herself that lying to persons of interest was perfectly legal in 49 states.

‘Death penalty? We don’t have the death penalty in Ohio.’

'Yes, you do. It was just put on hold a few years ago.'

'And you have the power to get it back? Yeah, right.'

‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve secured a death sentence. And you see that woman on the other side of the glass out there?’ Ella pointed to Ripley. ‘That’s my partner. Top of the FBI food chain. You know how much influence she’s got? She could have this whole town burned down for a laugh. One click of her fingers and she can get you the needle.’

On the other side of the glass, Ripley paced the hallway with a cell phone to her ear. Canton stared at her, and Ella saw the yawning void of a man watching his identity disintegrate in real time. It was the spiritual equivalent of looking down to discover your legs had vanished.

Questions ran through her consciousness, but a sharp rap on the glass yanked her attention sideways. Through the observation window, Ripley's face had set into the expression Ella used to call ‘zero hour.’

Ella thought she'd never see that expression again, but here it was, the mask her partner wore only when worst-case scenarios stopped being theoretical and started breathing down their necks.

‘Excuse me,’ Ella told Canton. He was staring at his hands. A man experiencing the existential horror of discovering he was merely a supporting character in a story he thought he was writing.

The temperature difference between the interrogation room and the hallway slapped Ella's face as she stepped through the door. Ripley waited three paces away, positioned precisely where Canton couldn't read her lips through the observation window.

‘What?’ Ella asked.

‘Guess.’

She didn’t need to guess. She already knew.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Ella had seen enough corpses to recognize the nuances of death from a mile away. Dr. James Harper's body spoke its own particular dialect of death. One that told her he'd been gone less than two hours by the time she, Ripley, and Westfall arrived at the scene. Fresh enough that the blood pooled around Harper's head like a halo was still wet.

Victim number four.

The scene pulled Ella in two directions. Usually, the body would be the first port of call, but this time, the unsub had left their message in plain view.

On the far wall that doubled as a plain white canvas was another blood memo. This one was hastily scrawled, like the killer had been on the clock. Maybe they had.

WHOEVER POURS OUT LIES WILL NOT GO FREE.

And at the base of the message lay the body of who Ella had come to learn was Dr. James Harper, Granville’s number one and only plastic surgeon.

And branded on his forehead was the letter B.

'You said he'd go for high-profile people. Higher than Rebecca Torres.'

‘Best surgeon in town not high profile enough for you?’ asked Ripley.

‘Yeah, it’s just… not what I expected. What does this mean for Adam Canton? He can’t be in two places at once.’

‘James Harper’s been dead for a few hours. We caught Adam Canton about an hour and a half ago. Do the maths.’

‘Don’t do any maths,’ Ella interrupted. ‘Focus on this scene. What happened? Who found the vic?’

---