Page 23 of Let Her Hide

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Fiona's gaze swept across the cluttered space filled with boxes, tools, and old furniture. Her stomach churned, expecting to find some gruesome evidence of Fred's guilt at any moment. But as she approached a corner of the room, she found something completely unexpected.

Her flashlight illuminated a corkboard covered in pictures and newspaper clippings, all of which seemed to revolve around one person – Angela, Fred's ex-wife. Fiona's brow furrowed in confusion as she examined the shrine-like display. It was unsettling but not exactly what she had anticipated finding.

"Hey, what's going on down there?" Jake's voice drifted down from the top of the stairs, his tone tense with concern.

"I don't know," Fiona called back, still studying the corkboard. "But you need to see this."

She traced her fingers carefully over the pictures of Angela, noticing that many of them were seemingly taken without her knowledge. There were also handwritten notes detailing Angela's daily schedule, including where she worked, her favorite places to eat and shop, and even her exercise routine. It was the chilling portrait of a man obsessed with his former spouse.

Jake came down the stairs, hauling Fred, who now held his head low in shame.

"What is it, Red?" Jake asked.

"Jake," Fiona whispered, feeling a shiver run down her spine. "This isn't about the other victims... it's all about Angela."

"Jesus..." Jake muttered, his eyes widening. The basement, dimly lit by a single flickering lightbulb overhead, suddenly felt even more suffocating. Jake swiftly handcuffed Fred, securing his wrists behind his back, and this time, Fred didn't resist.

He'd been caught, and he knew it.

***

The harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct interrogation room cast stark shadows on Fred's face, making him look even more haggard than before. Jake sat across from him, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table, while Fiona paced in the corner. Jake couldn't help but feel a curl of disgust in his stomach, looking at the man before them.

"Look," Fred said in a raspy voice, meeting Jake's eyes with a pleading desperation. "I know what you found in my house doesn't paint me in the best light, but I swear to you, I'm not the killer you're after."

"Really?" Jake snorted, his lip curling in disgust as he recalled the shrine dedicated to Angela. He found it hard to empathize with sickos who wanted to murder women. "So you're saying that all those detailed plans of stalking and killing your ex-wife were... what? A hobby?"

Fred flinched at the contempt in Jake's voice but didn't back down. "You don't understand," he insisted, clenching his fists on the table. "You don't know what Angela did to me."

"Enlighten us then," Fiona said coldly, ceasing her pacing and folding her arms across her chest. "Tell us why she deserves to die."

"She's just... she's just... she's a horrible person, okay?" Fred exclaimed.

Jake nearly rolled his eyes. Fred was a classic obsessed ex, and no one had the right to kill someone else, no matter what they'd done.

"It doesn't matter, Fred," Jake interrupted, cutting through Fred's narrative, "it doesn't change the fact that you were planning to kill your ex-wife. That's still a crime, you know."

"Of course, I know that!" Fred snapped, his eyes blazing with anger. "But I'm not your serial killer! I've been so focused on Angela I wouldn't have had the time or energy to go after anyone else."

"Your sick obsession with your ex-wife doesn't exactly make you look innocent, Fred," Jake pointed out, her voice dripping with disdain.

Fred leaned forward, his hands shackled to the table. "I've been following Angela every night of the week. I wouldn't have had the time to kill those other people," he insisted, desperation creeping into his voice. "I can prove it."

"Go on then," Fiona said, her face expressionless as she crossed her arms and stared him down.

"Monday, I followed her home from work. She went grocery shopping at that little store on Elm Street and then headed straight home. Tuesday, she went to her yoga class, and I watched her from across the street." Fred paused, looking between Jake and Fiona. "I can give you every detail of her movements if you want."

"Fred, you do understand how incriminating this sounds, right?" Jake asked a hint of disgust in his voice.

"Of course I do," Fred snapped, his eyes filled with frustration. "But I need you to understand that I'm not the killer you're after. All I did was follow my ex-wife. I didn't kill anyone."

Jake rubbed his temples, trying to process the information. He couldn't deny that Fred's obsession with his ex-wife was disturbing, but if what he said was true, they needed to confirm it. "Alright," he finally conceded. "We'll check various security footage to see if your story lines up."

As Jake and Fiona left the interrogation room, he wondered if they were overlooking something crucial within Fred's words. He could feel a sense of urgency gnawing at him, a fear that they were wasting precious time while the real killer continued their spree.

"Jake," Fiona said softly as they walked down the hallway, her eyes searching his face. "Do you believe him?"

"I don't know," Jake admitted, his jaw clenched as he tried to suppress his doubts. "But we have to follow every lead, no matter how twisted it may seem."

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