“I’d expect nothing less,” she said.
“Well, for starters, there was a lot more crying once we got him into a room. And I mean, he broke. I thought we were going to have to send someone in there to sedate him. So, like I already told you in the text, the dead woman in his basement was a woman named Becka Follin—twenty years old, went missing about four months ago in Lynchburg. And from the small bit we currently know about her, she was perfectly healthy. No terminal illness at all. Once Ayer came around, he told us everything. So now it’s just a matter of checking up on his story to make sure it’s true. And already, we’ve got a few boxes checked.”
“So what was his story?”
“He was in Lynchburg for a week, helping out with an intensive class at a university up there. He claims to have run into Becka at a bar he stopped by after class one day. Becka was a student at the college he was visiting, though not a psych student, so she wouldn’t have been in his class. He says they hit it off, had too much to drink, and ended up back at his hotel room. He claims they were really into one another and she came by every single night until he had to leave. On that last night, he asked her to come to Richmond with him and she got spooked. Came out and called him crazy and obsessive. He said things got out of hand and he admits to threatening her. He’d taught his last class that day and just straight up kidnapped her. He told her he had a gun in his suitcase, which he didn’t. He pushed her around a bit, a few punches and slaps, and he took her home with him, all the way to Richmond. She’s been in his basement every day since. He says he had physical relations with her a few times and that he thought it was perfectly fine since she’d been more than happy to sleep with him before. But he said for the most part, he just tried talking to her.”
“Then how did she die?”
“He says he poisoned her. Put something in a Coke he brought down for her. Some chemical I can’t even pronounce. We sent it to the coroner so they can confirm. We also confirmed that he was indeed a participating guest lecturer at the college and that Becka Follin was indeed a senior at the college.”
“Does he have alibis for the three murders we’re looking into?”
“No. He says he finds it sadly ironic that Becka is the one person that could confirm he was at home but she, of course, is just as dead as our victims.”
“Did he mention anything at all about working as a therapist for Life Fulfilled?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah, and gave us the names of everyone he’s worked with while under the Life Fulfilled umbrella. He’s not denying that he had access to the victims and their issues, but he is adamantly saying he didn’t kill then. And you know…I mean, if he’s so openly fessing up about Becka Follin, I just don’t know why he’d be so sternly arguing against killing these other three.”
“What’s the consensus with Anderson and everyone else involved?”
“There’s a vibe that this might be it—that Ayer might be our guy. I’m on the way over to his house with a small crew to tear the place apart, looking for any clues. But just based on the way he was acting in that interrogation room, I don’t think it’s him.”
“Why not?”
“Because when he was telling me all about Follin, he looked almost relieved. It was like he needed to get it all off of his chest. Once it started coming, it just wouldn’t stop. He even tried going into detail about their sexual escapades while he was in Lynchburg.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s currently in a holding cell. He’s been set up for a psychiatric evaluation in the morning and we’ve got him on suicide watch. In other words, Rachel, he’s not going anywhere, and even if there are breaks in this case overnight, nothing is going to move until tomorrow. So you stay home and get it out of your head.”
“I will. But if you find anything at his house, will you text me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks for the update, Jack.”
“Yeah, no problem. Everything good at home?”
She looked into the kitchen, where Grandma Tate was pouring water from the kettle into two cups with waiting tea bags. “Yeah, I think they are. I actually think things are better than I expected here.”
“Good. Well, one way or another, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Good night, Jack.”
She ended the call and thought about what tomorrow might bring. It was rare that both she and Jack were ever both in complete agreement that a suspect who seemed to be guilty was not the right man. It made her think hard about what the day would bring tomorrow if Ayer was somehow proven totally innocent.
Would she be able to sit idly by, taking another back seat or even remaining here at home while Jack was out there looking for the killer?
She wasn’t sure. But the fact that Becka Follin had not been terminally ill (from what they knew) made her quite sure that Stephen Ayer was not the killer they were looking for. It did, however, make her really wonder about what the hell sort of circus Life Fulfilled was truly putting on. They had a retired doctor who had been stripped of his license, a CEO who was sleeping with a terminally ill woman who had come to them for help, and a part-time therapist who had kidnapped and killed a woman. There seemed to be a rotten core within the foundation, which made her almost certain that their killer was someone on the inside. And given her own current situation, she thought she might be able to figure it out rather easily—and she could do it without a badge or gun.
“Here you are,” Grandma Tate said, setting a cup of peppermint tea down in front of her. She settled down on the couch where she’d been before and started sipping from her own cup. “Everything okay with Jack and his interrogation?”
“We’re not sure just yet,” Rachel said, still thinking about her fairly simple plan. “But I think I’ll have all the answers I need tomorrow.”