by Mary Stone
“Look, I’ll just come out and say it. Based on my first impression, I don’t think that’s your guy. Maybe he shot Peyton Hoesch, and maybe he didn’t, but I don’t think he’s your serial killer. The guy who recorded himself slitting a woman’s throat isn’t the haggard-looking father of two in there.”
The silence that enveloped them dragged on for several long seconds before Noah finally spoke. Autumn was prepared to defend her stance, to go on a tirade about the common traits of sociopaths. She was well-versed in playing devil’s advocate.
Instead, he merely nodded. “They’re in there to get his official statement. Whether or not you think he’s the guy who killed Dakota Ronsfeldt, there’s no doubt that he’s full of it about what went down with Peyton Hoesch.”
Jaw clenched, Autumn returned the nod. “Agreed.”
“So.” Winter’s voice cut through the awkward moment of tension that threatened to overtake them. “Mr. Arkwell, let’s go through this one more time. You said that Peyton Hoesch was in the pantry snooping through your coffee canister looking for cash, right?”
“That’s right.”
Autumn drew her brows together and flashed Noah a look as she watched her friend through the glass. “A coffee canister?”
“That’s exactly what I said.” Noah inclined his chin at the glass. “Peyton Hoesch was the daughter of a DEA agent. She was an LGBTQ advocate at VCU, and she was studying sociology so she could get her Master’s in Social Work. When Peyton was ten or eleven, her mother, Maryann Hoesch, started taking her with her every week when she went to help out at a no-kill cat shelter.”
“Jesus,” Autumn breathed. “And a girl like that just goes pilfering through pantries hoping to find some cash?”
Noah didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The story was ridiculous.
In the other room, Winter’s intent stare was fixed on Judge Arkwell. “Mr. Arkwell, you shot the daughter of a federal agent in the back from about fifteen feet away while all she was holding was a knife. I’d like to implore you to consider how that must sound from our point of view. You said that she was stealing from you, but I’m not so sure that’s exactly how it all happened.”
Arkwell opened his mouth to interject, but Winter cut him off with an upraised hand. Autumn had never witnessed her friend in action, and between her steely expression and her calm, icy tone, the sight was impressive.
Rising from her seat, Winter propped both hands atop the table and leaned in to glare at the judge. “I’m going to give you one last chance to tell us what really happened. Castle Doctrine or no, if you keep lying to us, I’m going to get a warrant to rip apart your house. After that, I’ll take every single piece of information they find, and I’ll hang you with it.”
Glancing to Noah, Autumn nodded her approval. Damn impressive.
The judge’s countenance changed little as he shook his head. “I’ve told you everything.”
Noah heaved a sigh. “Guess he’s not ready to come clean. I was hoping you’d get to weigh in on his statement, but it looks like he’s going to feed them the same line he’s been spouting since he got here.”
With an upraised brow, Autumn turned to her friend. “What now, then?”
He reached into the pocket of his dress pants to produce a key ring. “Come on. Let’s talk to the ME. Maybe if we get some more information from him, we can use it to get Arkwell to talk.”
“What about the other girls? The whole serial killer angle?”
Noah looked on the verge of laughing but kept his mouth carefully closed. “That’s your territory, darlin’.”
Great.
Autumn knew she’d be able to tell whether or not Nathaniel was the man who’d killed Dakota as soon as she shook his hand, but she wasn’t sure how she’d justify her conclusion to anyone other than Winter.
For the first chunk of her life, Autumn had grown up in an impoverished neighborhood in Minneapolis, and another in Minnetonka, Minnesota. In the shady area where she’d come of age, people didn’t trust cops. They all knew how the city police were inclined to tunnel vision, how they honed in on one person to the exception of all others.
Even though Autumn knew better than to think her friends at the Federal Bureau of Investigation had the same propensity for dishonesty, her old misgivings were difficult to assuage. She didn’t doubt that there was more to Nathaniel Arkwell’s encounter with Peyton Hoesch than he let on, but she wasn’t so sure he was the man who had abducted five young women and recorded himself slitting the throat of one.
To be sure, she didn’t have a soft spot for Nathaniel Arkwell’s fate. By all accounts, Peyton Hoesch was a genuinely good person, and if she hadn’t been killed by the jackass in the interview room, she could have gone on to help people in need, just like her mother. If Arkwell was responsible for her death or had a hand in covering up what had really happened to her, then as far as Autumn was concerned, he could rot.
But tunnel vision didn’t just mean an innocent person faced imprisonment for a crime they didn’t commit.
Tunnel vision—in this case—meant that there was a murderer on the loose. A murderer who would undoubtedly strike again.
29
I hadn’t managed to take much with me when the cops shooed me out of the house. Aside from the clean clothes on my back, I had my wallet, keys, and my school backpack. Even then, the cops rummaged through my bag before they let me leave. Apparently, based on the suspicion in the detective’s eyes, they weren’t completely sold on the good judge’s rendition of events.
I knew why he’d fired the second shot, but I had no idea how he intended to explain it to the cops. They’d look for defensive wounds, and when they didn’t find any, their curiosity would be piqued. There was blood beneath Peyton’s nails—my blood. Not my father’s.
Unless Nathaniel gave them a believable story to discourage the need for DNA testing, they’d eventually find out that the man was full of it. Then, well…
Then they’d come for me. And when they came for me, part of me knew that it would only be a matter of time before they discovered the bodies. I was confident in my ability to avoid detection, but I wasn’t naïve or delusional.
Just because I knew they would come for me didn’t mean I had to let them find me.
If I ran now, I’d have enough of a head start that I could disappear. I could fly to Panama or another country that didn’t have extradition laws, and I could live out the rest of my days in a tropical paradise. With the money I could pull from the bank and from the secret stashes in the lake house, I’d be set for years.
The plan seemed foolproof, but I couldn’t shake a nagging sensation in the back of my head.
Even though Nathaniel had all but leapt at the opportunity to take the fall for me—to throw himself in the line of fire to redeem himself in his own eyes—it was his fault I was in this mess to begin with. If he hadn’t been such a bad parent, none of this would have happened.
I grated my teeth as I flicked on the turn signal to merge onto an on-ramp.
If I left now, I knew the failure would follow me no matter where I went. Whoever I pretended to be, Nathaniel’s shadow would always loom over my life like a storm cloud.
Before I left, I had to make sure he’d remember what he had done. I had to make sure he knew that his last-ditch effort to mend the canyon between us was folly. I wanted him to know that I was aware he hadn’t done any of this for my benefit. In his eyes, he’d only ever had one child.
Soon, however, he’d have none.
Since Maddie was under eighteen, she’d been sent to stay with Nathaniel’s sister and her husband after the cops had hauled Nathaniel off for questioning. Though I was headed east—the opposite direction of my aunt and uncle’s house—I would be back soon enough.
I knew Nathaniel wouldn’t care if I disappeared, but he would care if Maddie did the same.
Though there were a few other handguns stashed throughout the house, I knew better than to think I’d be able to sn
eak through the crime scene tape to retrieve one of them. A year ago, I’d stashed a couple rifles and a semiautomatic handgun at the lake house.
The same lake house where I’d taken Dakota Ronsfeldt and the other four hookers. Nathaniel hadn’t been there in years—ever since he bought a beach house in Newport News—and he had no idea what I’d done with the basement. Even if he thought to visit, I was the only one with a key to the lowest level of the place.
I’d pay a visit to the girls before I left.
It was the least I could do.
Noah had been eager to speak to Dan Nguyen about Peyton Hoesch’s injuries, so he skipped the usual pit stop to buy the man pastries and coffee. Besides, he and Winter had been to the medical examiner’s office less than a week ago. Dan’s monthly quota of free baked goods had been filled.
As Autumn shoved the car door closed, Noah glanced over to her. “You ready for this?”
“Ready for what? You haven’t told me what this little field trip is all about.”
His laugh sounded closer to a snort than a chuckle. No, he hadn’t told her that they were heading to the medical examiner’s office to look at a dead body. He didn’t want to give her a chance to chicken out.
“You’re right…it’s a surprise.”
She waved a dismissive hand as they started toward the entrance to the nondescript building. “Let me guess. This is a skating rink. I’ll have to murder you if you say yes.”
Noah grinned, even though he knew he’d be skating on thin ice with her the second she realized what it really was. “Not quite.”
He beckoned for Autumn to follow him past the reception area. “Come on, we need to head downstairs.”
With a wordless nod, she stayed behind him as they walked to the end of the hall and down a short flight of steps. Pushing open a set of swinging metal doors in the middle of the downstairs hall, he glanced back to Autumn.
Her expression was calm and collected, but as she stepped into the exam room after him, a cloud settled in to darken her bright eyes. Noah snapped his head around to follow her line of sight.
From where he’d been focused on a clipboard, Dan opened his mouth to greet them as he glanced up from the piece of paper. When his gaze settled on Autumn, whatever salutation he’d been about to utter died before it left his lips.
He recovered from the moment of awe in short order, but the mixture of surprise and irritability had lasted long enough to raise Noah’s curiosity. Autumn had been a student of Dan’s at VCU, and Noah couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired in the time they’d known one another.
“Afternoon, Dan,” Noah said, breaking the trance.
The medical examiner’s dark eyes shifted to him, and he nodded. “Afternoon, Agent Dalton. Miss Trent.”
“Doctor Trent.” The annoyance in her tone was unmistakable.
Now, in addition to asking Autumn about her disdain for roller skating, he’d have to ask what had transpired in her and Dan’s history to sour their attitude toward one another.
“Right. Sorry.” Dan took in a breath and waved his clipboard. “You two are here about Peyton Hoesch, right?”
Noah nodded. “We are. What can you tell us about how she died? Arkwell doesn’t deny shooting her in the back, and based on how the cops found her body, that’s the only possible angle he could have shot her from.”
The misgivings dissipated from Dan’s face as he glanced to the clipboard and then the body at the other end of the room. “That’s right. Point of entry was her back, at the bottom of her right lung. Based on the amount of internal damage, her death would have been nearly instant. The bullet shredded her lung and nicked a couple major arteries. Much of the bleeding was internal, but she bled out and suffocated at the same time.”
Noah looked to the sheet that covered Peyton’s body. “Jesus. What about defensive wounds, signs of a struggle, anything like that?”
Dan nodded as he took a step toward the silver exam table. With a cursory glance to Noah and Autumn, he pulled the sheet from Peyton’s face. Her skin was ashen, her eyelids dark, and her ebony hair was splayed out behind her head.
She didn’t look real. They never did.
With the pen, Dan gestured to the side of her head. “She sustained a pretty heavy blow to the back of her head before she was killed, and bruising around her throat suggests that she was strangled.”
Noah met Autumn’s gaze. “What can you tell us about the blow to the back of her head? How much damage did it do?”
Dan cast a pensive look at Peyton’s body. “It was a solid blow, but it didn’t knock her unconscious. She would have been a bit disoriented, maybe a little lacking in hand-eye coordination.”
Nathaniel Arkwell’s self-defense explanation was losing more credibility with each passing second. If any more circumstantial evidence piled up, they would have enough for an arrest warrant even without irrefutable physical evidence. Though conviction in a trial required proof beyond a reasonable doubt, arrests were made based on the rule of probable cause.
“Sexual assault?” Noah asked, and the medical examiner shook his head.
“No. The girl was sexually active, but no tears or other marks of forced penetration.”
Thanks to Dan Nguyen’s thorough examination, Noah was sure they’d crossed the probable cause threshold.
“Arkwell claims he killed her in self-defense,” Autumn said. “He claims he feared for his life.”
Dan’s brows furrowed. “So, he shot her in the back?”
Noah shook his head. “There’s a lot about his story that doesn’t make sense. He didn’t say anything about strangling her or hitting her on the back of the head.”
As Dan tucked the pen back into his pocket, he looked thoughtful. “We found some evidence underneath her fingernails too. Your perp will have defensive wounds somewhere on his body. I’d say the location of those defensive wounds ought to tell you quite a bit about what he was doing before he had to ‘defend himself.’”
Noah scowled. “Considering we haven’t seen them yet, I’d say that about answers the question.”
Even as he nodded his agreement, Dan’s expression darkened. “To be absolutely sure, we’ll run the DNA under her nails against Nathaniel Arkwell’s DNA. There are no wounds on her body to indicate she might have scratched herself. Have your agents strip him to look for defensive wounds. If you need a court order, you ought to have all the evidence you need now. But based on the injuries to the victim’s neck and head, it’s safe to rule out a self-defense theory. Agent Dalton, Dr. Trent, I’m ruling Peyton Hoesch’s death a homicide.”
30
As soon as Winter got the call from Noah about Dan’s findings, she hurried to the forensics lab to personally request a rush on the DNA they’d collected from Nathaniel. Specifically, she asked the forensics team to compare Nathaniel’s DNA to the skin cells taken from beneath Peyton’s fingernails. She was also interested in all the places the girl’s fingerprints had been found.
When she arrived back downstairs, she made her way to the closet-sized space behind the interview room. The makeshift office turned storage area had become their forward operating base for the questioning of Nathaniel Arkwell, and she wasn’t surprised to see that Bobby Weyrick and Aiden Parrish were both present.
“You checked him for defensive wounds?” She posed the question before the door had even latched closed.
Bobby nodded, but his expression was grim. “We checked, but there was nothing there aside from the cuts from the knife. He’s got a bruise on one knee, but it’s small and looks a couple days old. Probably just from smacking it into a desk or something.”
Winter turned her attention to Aiden. “No scratches? How? Dan said that she didn’t scratch herself, so who did she scratch?”
“Not Nathaniel Arkwell,” Bobby muttered.
Glancing back and forth between the two men, Winter held out her hands. “You checked his whole body, right?”
Bobby nodded again. “Had him strip
down to his underwear. Believe it or not, he agreed when we asked him to do it. There was nothing. No scratches.”
Aiden’s intent stare was on the pane of glass. “Maybe he had an accomplice. Someone who got away before the cops arrived.”
Winter’s phone pinged, and when she opened the file sent by the forensic team, she let out a breath. “Peyton’s fingerprints were found in the kitchen but nowhere near the pantry,” she told the men. “Well, gentlemen, looks like self-defense is out the window. This is officially a homicide case.”
As he rested both palms atop the table, Aiden leaned forward, his pale eyes laser-focused on Nathaniel Arkwell. “Go read him his rights. Let him know we aren’t buying his self-defense explanation anymore and turn up the heat. Make sure he knows he won’t get special treatment just because he’s a judge.”
Though Winter was tempted to implore Aiden to conduct the interrogation, she kept the request to herself. During the investigation into a corrupt Baltimore detective, Aiden had managed to crack a Russian mafia foot soldier. She could only imagine that getting a confession from a wealthy judge would be a walk in the park for him.
But no matter how proficient the Supervisory Special Agent was at interviewing a suspect, Winter wasn’t about to ask the man to do her job for her. After all, it had been her and Bobby’s combined effort that had elicited a confession from the corrupt detective himself.
Rising to his feet, Bobby combed a hand through his hair and nodded at her. “All right. Let’s go see what this dickhead has to say for himself.”
Without a knock or announcement, Winter shoved open the door to the interview room and strode into the dim space. Once he closed the door, Bobby retrieved a pair of silver handcuffs and held them up for Nathaniel to see.
“Nathaniel Arkwell,” he paused to open the silver bracelet, “you’re under arrest for the unlawful killing of Peyton Hoesch. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”