Page 14 of A Curse On Black Lake
“When did you find the body?” he asks.
“Probably about one in the afternoon.”
“Can you tell me if you touched the body?” he asks.
“I already told you, I checked her pulse to see if she was alive.”
He writes something down.
“Why was she found on your land?” Wyatt asks.
I lean back. “Hell if I know, easy pickin’s?”
“It’s not like that part of your land is easy to get to. Why there?” Wyatt asks.
The honest answer is I don’t know. None of it makes sense, so I redirect the questions. “What’s the time of death?” I ask him.
Wyatt frowns, and I can tell he’s unsure if he should tell me anything.
“Why was her hair dyed? He’s never done that before,” I ask him. The bodies we’ve found in the past have always been well cared for. The scene is spotless, exactly like the one on my land.
“You’re sure that’s the only place you touched her?” he asks again. The bodies in the past haven’t had a single fingerprint or trace on one on them.
“I am.” I state.
“That’s interesting,” he mumbles.
“Where were you the night before last?” he asks.
I lean back and study him. “Should I get a lawyer?” I ask him. He’s asking me to provide an alibi, which means there’s a reason he’s looking at me as a suspect. This is bad, and confusing because I know what I did and didn’t do, and I certainly never killed anyone in cold blood.
Wyatt writes something down, likely building his timeline.
“Look, you know I didn’t do this. If I did, I would be the dumbest criminal on the planet because that would mean I’ve killed multiple women and have been getting away with it for years, but then I randomly decide to give myself up by killing a woman, leaving her on my land, and calling you? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense,” I spit.
“That’s not what I—”
“No, I’m done. If you want to arrest me, arrest me. I told you what happened, so that’s what happened,” I grumble and push my chair back leaving the old interrogation room.
Every deputy and secretary stares at me as I leave. Whatever they found must be pretty solid, and it doesn't matter if we all know better.
I hustle down the stairs to my truck and keep my head down.
“Killian!” Wyatt yells after me.
I ignore him and walk one more car length to my truck. But the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“Killian,” Wyatt says, right behind me.
I stop and face him, tugging the brim of my hat down.
“Look, we found … the skin on her back was carved…he’s never done that before.”
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” I ask him.
“Well, it was a K. It was … fresh. The coroner says it was done after she died, as if it was a literal signature,” Wyatt says the last part quietly.
That’s what I saw.
