Page 24 of Silent Night

West stared back, saying nothing.

Natalie pulled out a small bag she'd kept concealed in one of the pockets of her wheelchair. "It's a good thing we have your driver's license, then," she said, pulling out his wallet. "Just so there's no confusion."

She drew his driver's license and held it aloft. "Shane Watchfield," she read. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

Watchfield still remained silent, but he was gritting his teeth now, looking more angry than ever.

"Mr. Watchfield," Natalie asked, putting away the bag containing Watchfield's personal possessions, "are you a man of faith?"

"Of course I am," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "As religious as they come."

"Pastor David Walden of Salvation Springs seems to believe you've turned over a new leaf lately," Natalie remarked casually.

At the mention of Pastor Walden, Watchfield's demeanor shifted. He became silent, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What about it?" he asked, clearly wary now.

"I just think it's interesting: a man of faith who kidnaps and chains women in his basement—not to mention using a false name. Seems like there might be a bit of a contradiction in there somewhere…or is that just me?"

Watchfield glared at her and said nothing.

Natalie leaned forward in her wheelchair. "Why did you have a woman chained to the wall in your basement, Mr. Watchfield?"

"Haven't you heard?" he asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It's the latest fashion trend. People make such great wall ornaments."

Sheila's fingers clenched around her phone as she tried to understand how someone like Watchfield could remain so nonchalant in this situation. He had to know he was facing serious jail time. Was it arrogance or something else that kept him so composed? She forced herself to take slow, measured breaths, a technique she had learned during kickboxing training to regain focus and calm her nerves.

"Mr. Watchfield," Natalie said patiently, "you can joke all you want, but sooner or later you're going to have to explain what she was doing down there. We already have her story, and it paints quite a damning picture of you. Of course, if you don't care about defending yourself…"

Watchfield took the bait. "Clara came to me with a fantasy," he said, leaning back in his chair. "She wanted to be punished, tied up, treated like a slave. Who am I to deny a pretty girl her dreams?"

"You really expect us to believe that?" Sheila asked, unable to restrain herself. "You think we're idiots?"

"Sweetheart, all I need to do is plant a seed of doubt in the mind of one juror, and I'll walk free." Watchfield met Sheila's gaze, his smug confidence making her blood boil.

Sheila's jaw tightened, and she fought the urge to leap across the table and wipe the smirk off his face. Instead, she focused on taking deep, even breaths, mentally counting down from ten as she tried to regain control over her emotions. She knew that letting her anger get the best of her wouldn't help Clara—or their case against Watchfield.

"Your story seems a bit far-fetched, Mr. Watchfield," Natalie said, her tone icy. "It's going to be difficult for you to convince anyone that Clara willingly allowed you to chain her up in your basement."

"Difficult, but not impossible," Watchfield replied smugly, his eyes flicking between the two sisters. "Some people are into pretty kinky stuff."

Sheila couldn't help but shudder at the thought of Watchfield walking away from this without facing any consequences. The image of Clara, bruised and terrified in that dank basement, stabbed at her heart.

Natalie's gaze sharpened as she changed the subject. "Let's talk about Jennifer Bainbridge, shall we?"

At the mention of Jennifer's name, Sheila noticed a sudden shift in Watchfield's demeanor. His smugness disappeared, replaced by a hint of concern that flickered across his face before he regained control. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. "What about her?"

"She was found murdered this morning," Natalie said, watching him carefully. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Of course not!" Watchfield snapped, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. "I barely knew her."

"Except for that one date you went on with her," Sheila said, recalling the details of Jennifer's case. "During which you stole some of her hair from her hairbrush."

Watchfield scoffed, rolling his eyes. "That was just an innocent obsession. I was attracted to her and wanted to be able to smell her hair. It's not like I killed her over it."

Sheila's stomach churned at the thought of Watchfield obsessing over Jennifer in such a creepy way. She exchanged a glance with Natalie, who seemed equally disturbed but remained focused on the task at hand.

"Help us understand, Mr. Watchfield," Natalie said calmly. "Why did you take her hair if you barely knew her? Why not get to know her a little better, try your chances with her?"

"Because I saw her scrolling through some dating app while I was driving her to the restaurant," Watchfield said, irritation creeping into his voice. "It was pretty obvious she wasn't into me. She went through with the dinner just to humor me and be polite."

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