Page 5 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

Malone held up her hands. “Hold it. Let’s step back a minute. First of all, Chief Dawson, I’d very much like to have your permission to send the evidence from the festival to the FBI lab for forensic examination. They can test for DNA on some parts and fingerprints on others. If that’s done in the wrong order it can ruin our chances to get a profile or viable prints.”

“How quickly can the FBI get that done?”

“The Crossbow Killer case is one of our highest priorities right now. I can have a courier pick it up this afternoon and have results in a few days.”

“That’s far better than me sending it to our state lab, which can take months. Keep me informed on the results. We’ll get everything ready for transport. It’ll be ready for your courier.”

“Thank you.”

Aidan wanted to shout his frustration about any kind of delay in proving his innocence. But he knew that wouldn’t do any good, so he remained silent.

“Mr. O’Brien,” the agent said. “The second thing I wanted to do was ask you, if you really aren’t the shooter, why did you run away when Chief Dawson took off after you?”

“Lady, I didn’t even know Dawson was there until he tackled me from behind. I wasn’t runningfromanyone. I was runningaftersomeone, the idiot who sent an arrow whizzing past my ear.”

Dawson’s jaw tightened with anger. “You expect us to believe that the only person in town who’s an admitted, confessed killer—you—just happened to be sitting where another killer, or would-be killer, takes a potshot from the woods? And then that phantom guy happens to drop his weapon as he runs away, making it look as if you’re the shooter? Is that the cockamamie story you’re trying to feed us?”

Aidan’s voice was hoarse from suppressing the urge to shout as he responded. “What I want you to believe is the truth. I don’t have all the answers. Conducting an investigation isn’t my job. It’s yours. But if you want to pin this on me, I’m warning you right now. I won’t go down without a fight. I’m not pleading guilty to make your job easier.”

Malone held her hands up again in a placating gesture. “I don’t believe anyone here is trying to pin anything on you. Chief Dawson and I are both after the same thing as you—the truth. Let’s try to set aside hurt feelings or even theories and focus on the facts, just as you suggested. You said someone behind you shot over your shoulder. When you turned around, were you able to get a look at them? Do you think you can give us a description?”

Dawson crossed his arms. “Ican. The shooter is male, white, six-foot-two, late thirties with brown eyes, shaggy brown hair and light facial hair wearing a dark T-shirt, jean jacket, jeans and brown hiking boots.”

The exact description of Aidan had him trying to jump to his feet but the shackles forced him down into the chair without being able to stand upright. He glared his outrage. But before he could respond, Malone rapped her knuckles on the table to get their attention.

Her blue eyes flashed with anger of her own as she looked at Dawson. “That didn’t help things one bit, Chief. Unless you actually saw the shooter and he was Mr. O’Brien’s twin.”

Dawson’s face reddened slightly. “I couldn’t swear in court who shot the arrow. But it’s obvious who did.”

Malone rolled her eyes. “We’ll have fingerprint and DNA analysis in a few days. That should help all of us.”

Dawson stood. “I’ll get my team working on readying the evidence for your lab.”

As soon as the door closed behind the chief, Malone blew out a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s try this again. Mr. O’Brien, if you’re truly innocent, I well understand your frustration and anger. But I assure you that making assumptions and going down the wrong path in my investigation is the absolute last thing I want. If I pursue the wrong person, the real killer is free to continue his sick games. More people will die. That’s not something I want on my conscience. You may not believe me, but we both want the same thing. The truth.”

He’d only just met her. He didn’t know anything about her other than her name and occupation. And yet her blue eyes were unflinching, clear, looking at him the way an honest person might, with seemingly nothing to hide. Her petite frame was relaxed. Her pink lips weren’t tightened with indignation or disgust as some people’s were when around him, knowing he was a convicted felon. The tailored navy blue blazer she wore, the perfect straight brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, screamed integrity to him. She was the quintessential federal agent. But she was still young enough to be somewhatinexperienced, idealistic, and naively believe that truth and justice were the same thing.

He knew better.

The truth could ruin lives, destroy people, annihilate families. Sometimes a lie was the only way to save someone. But that was a lesson he hoped this bright young woman never had to learn. He hoped she could cling to her idealism and view of justice forever and never experience the bitterness he tasted every single day.

“You want the truth?” he asked.

“Yes. Please.”

He relaxed back in his chair. “All right. The truth. As a convicted felon, I’m not allowed to own a gun or even a hunting knife. The knives in my kitchen are dull butter knives. If I want to cut a steak, I have to use a pair of meat scissors like they use in Korea to cut their meat. When I take down a deer, a rabbit, a turkey, I can’t clean and carve it for my own use even though I know how. I have to take them all the way to Chattanooga to have a chop house process them and package them for my freezer. That’s a price I pay for the crime to which I pleaded guilty, and I accept that. I only bring it up because in spite of those restrictions, Iamallowed a bow and arrows. I had to petition the court for special permission so I could use them to hunt, only on my own property, and for self-defense in case a bear ever comes after me. It took months, but my request was approved. I’ve become an expert with a bow, which is one of the reasons the chief is so willing to believe that I’m guilty of what happened today.”

“But you’re not?”

“No, Special Agent Malone. I’m not. Can I prove I didn’t shoot today? No. But the question that really matters is can you, or Dawson, prove that I did? Unless one of you falsifies evidence, the answer is no. I’ve killed once in my life, over twelve years agonow. I went to prison, served my time, paid the price that society placed on my crime. It’s over, done, in my past, and that’s where I’d like it to stay. I’m not the serial killer you came here searching for. Now it’s your turn. Truth. Why are you even looking at me for the murders you’re trying to solve? Why did you come to Mystic Lake?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Fate maybe. If what you’ve said is accurate, if you have nothing to do with the murders I’m investigating, then maybe you can end up helping me instead of being a suspect. I could use an expert on bows and arrows. It sounds like you might be one.”

“Somehow I can’t quite see the FBI not having some obscure expert on staff who can answer any questions you have about that type of weapon.”

“Humor me.”

He hesitated. “What do you want to know?”

---