Page 22 of The Girl He Crowned

“That’s right,”Paige said. “I need to know more about his wife’s life, and about what he sawwhen he arrived.”

Sheriff May stilllooked a little bothered by the idea of Paige going in to interview WilliamSmythe like that.

“Just… be careful,ok? I’m glad the FBI is here, and I know you want to do everything you can tocatch the killer. I want that, too, but the last thing I need is for you tostart suggesting that one of our most prominent citizens might be involved in allof this.”

Paige understoodwhat she was worried about then: in a standard murder, the family of thedeceased often form a big part of the initial pool of suspects. In a case wherea victim’s husband had been the first to find her body, he would automaticallybe a suspect, simply because of how often women were killed by those close tothem rather than by strangers.

Even here, couldPaige afford to discount it as a possibility? Was William Smythe potentiallyimplicated in all of this?

“Sheriff May,” shesaid, “the first two victims knew one another, and they were both wealthy womenwho might conceivably have known Melody Smythe. Under circumstances like that,it’s reasonable to think that there might have been a motive somewhere in theirpersonal lives.”

“You think thatall of this serial killer stuff might be fake?” the sheriff said.

Paige shook herhead. That wasn’t what she meant. “Not fake, necessarily. For a start, we’restill dealing with multiple separate deaths. That’s the very definition of aserial killer. It’s also possible that someone who chose to kill for personalor even business reasons found that when it came to the killings, he needed anelaborate ritual, either to allow him to kill or to send a message. In thosecircumstances, I may have to ask William Smythe some awkward questions.”

It was obvious howuncomfortable that possibility made the sheriff. She shifted in place, wincingslightly.

“Look, give mefive minutes first,” she said. “The house has doorbell cameras, obviously, sowe should be able to establish what time William Smythe arrived. If I can showthat he arrived right before the 911 call, he’ll be in the clear. It will showthat he didn’t have time to kill his wife.”

“You would alsoneed to establish what time he left to come back home,” Paige pointed out. “Itwouldn’t be impossible for someone to come in a side entrance earlier, make thekill, and then return to ‘find’ the body.”

“I can do that,”Sheriff May said. “Like I said, five minutes.”

Paige was willing togive her that much. The last thing Paige wanted to do was start treatingWilliam Smythe like a suspect if he was an innocent man. If they couldestablish for sure whether or not Mr. Smythe was involved in this, then thatpotentially saved them all a lot of time, trouble, and difficulty. It meantthat Sheriff May would be able to avoid trouble in her town. It also meant thatPaige wouldn’t have to ask that kind of question of a grieving husband.

So she stood thereoutside the pool house, waiting for Sheriff May to return, and that was farfrom easy. Paige felt as though she should be doing something, trying to makeprogress on this case in any way that she could. Standing there felt far toomuch like wasting time. Every moment she waited there felt like a moment thatthe killer was getting further away. That was, if he wasn’t there in the poolhouse.

At last, SheriffMay returned. She looked so relieved that Paige could guess what the news waseven before she said it. Even so, Paige held back and let the sheriff speak,not wanting to preempt her.

“William Smythearrived home only a couple of minutes before the 911 call. The door camerasshow a stranger in a hooded top and face mask approaching at least an hourbefore that, when Smythe was definitely at work.”

Paige could hearthe relief in the sheriff’s voice that she wasn’t going to have to take on oneof Eddis’s prominent citizens, and truthfully, Paige felt a hint of the samerelief. She didn’t want to think about the consequences from Agent Sauer if sheaccused a man like this and he turned out not to be the killer. Now, though, itseemed that she didn’t have to. It seemed clear from the footage the sheriffhad found that William Smythe was a witness and a grieving husband, not asuspect.

It meant that Paigehad to be careful not to make any waves as she made her way into the poolhouse. There was a deputy there, standing a little way from a man sittinghunched over on a lounge chair who had to be William Smythe. He was a man inhis thirties, with short dark hair, maybe six feet tall and wearing a dark suitwith the tie ripped off, like he hadn’t been able to breathe after finding hiswife’s body like that. He looked up as Paige approached, revealing chiseledfeatures and deep blue eyes that were red from crying. Paige could read thegrief etched onto every facet of his features.

It felt almostwrong to question him now, when so much pain was obvious in his expression, butPaige knew that the time right after a murder was the most crucial one for anyinvestigation. Any information she could get at this stage might be the key tocatching his wife’s killer and making sure that no one else had to suffer thepain that he was currently going through.

“Mr. Smythe?”Paige said. “My name is Agent King. I’m with the FBI team hunting for yourwife’s killer. I’m so sorry for your loss, but do you feel that you might beable to answer a couple of questions for me?”

She thought for asecond or two that William Smythe might say no, given just how pained theexpression on his face was. If he did, then Paige would have to back away andtry to find answers some other way. He wasn’t a suspect she could pressureright now, and in any case, she wouldn’t want to. Paige, more than anyone, knewhow painful it could be in a moment like this.

“I…” he nodded.“I’ll try.”

“Can you tell mewhat happened when you came home? Any detail you recall might be helpful.”

“I don’t know whatto say,” he said. “I’d been at the hedge fund all day. We were working on apurchase package for a multinational. I came back around twenty minutes beforeseven. I remember the lights were on in the lounge and the kitchen. I assumedMelody was waiting there for me.” He winced at his own words as the memory cameback to him. “I opened the door and called out to her, but there wasn’t anyreply. I went through to the lounge to look for her and I found… I found… her,lying there, underneath that pendulum. I didn’t even see it at first. I thoughtmaybe she’d fallen and hurt herself. But she was…”

He trailed offwithout saying the word “dead,” as if he couldn’t bear to acknowledge it evennow. Paige skipped past that, knowing that often the best way to getinformation from someone in such a deep emotional state was to change things asmuch as possible, trying to switch them out of it wherever possible.

“Did you noticeanything strange about the room other than your wife?” she asked.

“Strange?Strange?My wife had been killed! Do you have any idea what it’s like looking down atsomeone you love like that?” He went silent, and Paige feared that he wasn’tgoing to say anything more after that outburst.

She had exactlyone card that she could play, but even there, Paige was reluctant to play it,because it hurt so much. Some things were too personal, and she was trying to beprofessional. Yet she knew that the most professional thing she could do rightnow was tobepersonal. If she didn’t, she might never catch the man whohad done this. She was an FBI agent now; she couldn’t let her personal feelingsstand in the way of potentially capturing a serial killer.

So she said it,said the one thing that might actually let her connect with this grieving man.

“When I wasfourteen, a serial killer known as the Exsanguination Killer murdered myfather,” Paige said. She couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice. She didn’teven try when it might be the difference between catching a killer or not. “Iwas the one who found his body. I remember staring down at him. I rememberfeeling… just empty, like there was something wrong with the world too big toeven try to make sense of.”

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