Minutes later, in the parking lot behind the restaurant, Jack and Hannah sat in their Hellcat, watching as Rod Dutt, the restaurant manager, emerged from the back door in plain clothes. His nervous demeanor and quick pace to his Toyota pickup didn't escape their notice.
"You think he's the killer?" Hannah asked, donning her bulletproof vest.
Jack started the Hellcat and followed the pickup at a safe distance once it had gained some ground. "Hard to say, but he's definitely suspicious. According to the background check from the operations center, he was arrested for online stalking and threatening a woman. He got four years but served less than one—released six months ago on parole."
"And yet he still lied about the tattoo," Hannah remarked, incredulous. "Five dots mean five years, right? He wasn't even close."
"Some people see prison time as a badge of honor," Jack said disdainfully. "Makes them feel more appealing, especially to certain types of people."
North Salem was more a small town than a fully developed city, and its center was tiny. It took less than ten minutes of driving before the Hellcat followed the Toyota into a rundown residential area surrounded by woods.
Jack parked at a distance, put on his bulletproof vest, and checked his firearm. "Even for small fry like this, always be prepared. You never know when someone's hiding a gun in their pocket."
Rod Dutt had clearly not anticipated being followed. He exited his vehicle and hurried into a wooden house that matched the registered address Jubal had sent earlier. Being on parole meant Dutt was required to live at the address on file, and moving without notifying his parole officer would be a violation.
"You block the back; I'll knock," Jack instructed. Hannah nodded, heading around the house to cover the rear.
Jack banged on the door loudly. "Rod Dutt! FBI! Open the door!"
Inside, there was a commotion—a loud crash, followed by hurried footsteps. Moments later, a door creaked open in the backyard. Then there was nothing but silence.
When Jack rounded the house to the back, he found Rod lying on the ground, clutching his chest and groaning. Hannah was calmly cuffing him.
"Well, that was easy," Jack quipped. "If he's the killer, he's definitely the dumbest one we've ever caught."
At Rod's feet lay a battered laptop, which was evidently the reason he had rushed home. Whatever he was trying to hide, he'd failed spectacularly.
"Let me guess," Jack said with a smirk. "That laptop's full of things you don't want anyone to see."
Rod winced but muttered, "I have the right to remain silent."
Hannah rolled her eyes as she tightened the cuffs, making Rod yelp in pain. "Guess that's a yes."
It turned out Rod's attempt at destruction was as inept as his escape. Aside from a cracked screen, the laptop was intact, and the IT team easily recovered its contents.
As Hannah scrolled through the recovered files on a tablet, her expression turned into one of disgust. She looked at Jack, grimacing. "Are you seriously going to make me interrogate this piece of garbage?"
Jack grinned mischievously. "Wouldn't you want credit for catching your first serial killer?"
"Fine, fine," Hannah groaned, rolling her eyes. "Let me prepare some notes."
Back at the operations center, Aubrey and Isobel returned from their visits to the other victims' husbands. Their results weren't particularly fruitful.
"I even questioned some of their neighbors," Aubrey reported. "Nothing suspicious. They were both ordinary young couples—no noise complaints, no signs of domestic violence."
Isobel added, "Both husbands mentioned their wives had dealt with minor harassment from random men, but nothing unusual given their looks. No stalking incidents, no restraining orders."
Aubrey sighed and gestured toward the tablet Hannah had handed him. "I heard you've already caught a suspect?"
Hannah gave him a pointed look. "Caught, yes. But smart? Not at all. Something about this feels off. I'm about to start his interrogation."
Aubrey glanced at the tablet, then recoiled at the photos it displayed. Isobel, peeking over his shoulder, made a face of her own.
The laptop contained a trove of poorly edited, offensive photos—crude images of women's faces pasted onto animals' bodies or inserted into degrading situations. While most were general internet trash, one was alarmingly specific: a doctored image of Beatriz Santos. In it, her face was pasted alongside a dog in an unspeakable pose.
"You're sure this guy isn't the killer?" Aubrey asked, shocked. "That's… intensely malicious. Feels like more than just bad humor."
Hannah shared a glance with Jack, whose silent smile indicated they were on the same page. "The killer's methods weren't sophisticated, but they showed a degree of planning and care. Without the accident at the lake, the bodies might never have been found. Dutt, on the other hand, seems impulsive and clumsy."
She shrugged. "Maybe we're wrong. Maybe we just got lucky. Either way, we'll find out soon."
Jack clapped Aubrey on the shoulder. "Feel like helping Hannah interrogate him?"
Aubrey hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'd like to, but my luck with women lately has been terrible. Two have blocked me just this week."
Jack chuckled. Aubrey's reputation as a "player" was well-known. Before joining the FBI, he'd made a fortune on Wall Street and was essentially financially independent. His "female friends" were usually aspiring actresses or models, with whom he kept relationships light and commitment-free. He claimed to have a fear of intimacy, but Jack suspected that was just a convenient excuse.
Jack assigned Hannah and Aubrey to handle the interrogation, not because he was disinterested but because he wanted to observe his team in action. This was one of the last major cases they would work on before officially forming the fugitive task force. Jack wanted to see how each person handled pressure and adapted to different situations, ensuring smoother collaboration in the future.
As Hannah and Aubrey finalized their preparations and entered the interrogation room, Jack and Jubal headed to the observation room next door to watch the session unfold.
(End of Chapter)
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