Page 45 of Silent Home

"And the costumes?The staged scenes?"

"I maintain a collection of theatrical materials.For documentation purposes."Wilson leaned forward slightly."Sheriff Stone, think about this logically.I've spent nine years building an archive of performances.Creating a record of artistic evolution.Why would I destroy what I'm trying to preserve?"

Finn pushed off from the wall and circled the table slowly."Tell us about Anna Martin."

"A remarkable talent.Her interpretation of mental breakdown in 'Glass Heart' was revolutionary.The producers made a terrible mistake not casting her."Wilson's eyes tracked Finn's movement."I was helping her develop that performance.Documenting it.Nothing more."

"In a basement," Sheila said."With gaffer's wire nearby."

"In a theater space, with professional equipment.I use those basement rooms for recording sessions—the acoustics are perfect."He gestured at the crime scene photos."Yes, I had wire there.I also had lights, microphones, cables—everything needed for proper documentation.That doesn't make me a killer."

Sheila studied him.His story hadn't wavered in the three hours they'd been questioning him.Every detail remained consistent, every explanation plausible.Even his apparent obsession with recording performances fit with what others had said about him.

"Where were you when Jessica Gregory was killed?"she asked.

"At the Revival Cinema.Checking sound equipment for the midnight screening."He didn't hesitate."There's timestamped footage from the lobby cameras.I spoke with the projectionist around nine-fifteen."

"And Thomas Rivera?"

"Working late at the Mountain View Theater.Again, you can verify this with security footage.I was there until nearly midnight, preparing for Bradley Greenwald's premiere."

"Sarah Martinez?"

"I was meeting with festival technical staff about the shutdown procedures.Six people can confirm this."Wilson spread his hands."I know how this looks.The recordings, the surveillance—it seems suspicious.But I'm not your killer.I'm just someone who recognizes artistic brilliance and wants to preserve it."

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn.They'd been partners long enough that she could read his thoughts: Wilson's alibis would check out.He had to know they wouldn't release him until verifying his alibis, so it would be foolish to make up these details.

"Tell me about the tunnels," she said."Under the Revival Cinema."

"Historical architecture.Part of the original building.I discovered them while renovating, realized they were perfect for storage and cable routing."Wilson's voice took on an enthusiastic tone."Did you know there used to be a whole network of utility tunnels under downtown?Most are sealed now, but some still connect to the old steam system.Fascinating engineering."

"And you used them for observation."

"For documentation.The acoustics are remarkable in places.And the hidden rooms provided perfect storage for my archive."He gestured at the crime scene photos again."Yes, I watched people.Yes, I recorded performances without their knowledge.I admit that.But killing them?Destroying what I've worked so hard to preserve?"He shook his head."Never."

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.Down the hall, a phone rang in the bullpen.Sheila rotated one of the crime scene photos, studying the precise arrangement of Sarah Martinez's body.

"If you're not the killer," she said carefully, "why run from us at the Revival?"

"Because I knew how it would look.The recordings, the surveillance—I knew you'd misunderstand.And I needed to protect my archive."Wilson leaned forward."Sheriff Stone, someone is using my documentation against me.Using my knowledge of these performers to stage their deaths.But it wasn't me.I study performance.I preserve it.I don't destroy it."

"Then whoisdestroying it?"Finn asked.

"I don't know."For the first time, frustration crept into Wilson's voice."I've been trying to figure that out myself.Someone who has access to my recordings.Someone who knows about the performances I've documented.Someone who..."

He trailed off, staring at his reflection in the two-way mirror.

"Someone who what?"Sheila prompted.

"Someone who understands performance," Wilson said quietly."But not the way I do.Not as something to be preserved.As something to be...directed."

The word hung in the air between them.Sheila felt Finn shift behind her—the subtle movement that meant he'd caught something significant.

"Are you saying someone else is using your surveillance system?"she asked.

"I'm saying someone else is using my life's work to destroy what I've tried to protect."Wilson's reflection stared back at him, ghostly in the harsh light."And until you understand that, more performers will die.More art will be lost."

"In case you've forgotten," Finn said, "the festival has been shut down."

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