He shrugged; his brow knit together. “From time to time.”
“You give people rides?”
“No.”
“And only you use it?”
“Yeah. Look, if you’ve spoken to the shelter, why are you asking these questions?”
Noah didn’t answer that but continued to pepper him with questions, not just for answers but to see how he would react. Everyone was different under pressure, some would clam up, others would tell you more than they should. Stories changed. Suspects tripped over their own words. “You ever been out to Pulpit Rock?”
“Everyone has.”
“I meant through the forest?”
“Of course.”
“You ever found a stray or two out there?”
“I want to speak to my mother.”
Noah leaned back. “Listen to me, Thomas. I can help you but I need you to help me. Those dogs you had in the van. Where did you find them?”
He rattled off the locations and how he’d stumbled across them without any owners nearby.
“Were you on your way to drop them off when the detective arrested you?”
He nodded.
“The shelter closes at five thirty. I managed to catch them before they shut for the rest of the weekend. What do you do with the dogs you find on the weekends when the shelter is closed?”
He was hesitant to respond but eventually did. “I take them home.”
“Any there now?”
He glanced down into his hands, rubbing dark calluses.
“Oh, Thomas?” Noah said, clicking his fingers.
“Three.”
“Three?”
“I… I kept hold of three, for a couple of weeks.”
Noah narrowed his gaze. “Did you find any of those in the last week over by Pulpit Rock?”
He hesitated. “One.”
“What’s the color?”
“Golden. It’s a retriever. It had been out in the rain for a long time. It was matted. Dirty. Bleeding and hungry. I just wanted to hold on to it and keep it safe until…”
“Until you could drop it off?”
Thomas let out a heavy sigh and nodded.
“So, it was raining the day you found the dog?”