Deadly Web (25 page)

“It’s a very common car, Detective.”

“It is,” Bernard agreed. His eyes flicked to Bill’s fingers. “I notice that you have a bad habit of biting your fingernails. My wife does it when she’s nervous or angry, it drives me insane. We found some fingernails at the crime scene, Mr. Harper. We can get DNA from fingernails, did you know that? Who would that DNA match, I wonder?”

Bill Harper clenched his jaw tight enough that it was a wonder his teeth weren’t crushed to a fine dust.

“Frank was stabbed with a very large knife, dull on one edge, sharp on the other. My partner and I searched online a bit, and you know what we found out? There’s a sushi knife called
Deba
. I understand that it’s practically essential in a sushi restaurant. Do you have Deba knives, Mr. Harper?”

“I don’t like where this is going, Detective,” Bill Harper said.

Bernard noticed the flicker in his eyes when the knife was mentioned. Bernard was almost sure there was relief there. So Bill Harper had gotten rid of the knife.

“Where were you two nights ago, Mr. Harper?” Hannah asked.

“At my home.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?”

“My wife.”

“I have a daughter, too, Mr. Harper,” Bernard said quietly. “If someone did this to her… I’m not sure what I would have done. My mind won’t even go there. When I start thinking of it, my thoughts get foggy with rage. I would definitely want to get the guy who hurt her like that. I would want to make him pay.”

Bill Harper said nothing.

“We have enough evidence,” Bernard said. “We could take you right now, go to trial. The DNA evidence would be enough…” He knew it wouldn’t be. It was outside the apartment. It was circumstantial. Harper’s lawyer would have a field day with it. “But here’s the thing. At the trial, the prosecutor will need to show the jury the motive for the murder. And when he does that, he’ll show them the video. He’ll show it several times. I know enough about you, Mr. Harper, and I know you wouldn’t want your daughter to—”

“Enough,” Bill Harper said. “That’s enough.” His shoulders slumped.

Bernard realized that Lyla was crying softly. Had she known? He suspected she had.

“If I confess, there will be no trial? The video will not be shown?”

“I can make sure of that,” Bernard said.

“A few days ago, I saw Lyla run into the kitchen,” Bill said. “She was crying. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. And when I walked in here, I saw these two men. Laughing. Their laptop open. And I saw the video.”

Hannah and Bernard exchanged glances.

“My mind—as you said, Detective—became foggy. I don’t remember much of that day. I remember getting the address from Lyla. I remember getting there, realizing that he was not home. I almost left, but then I thought
He’s probably out, he’ll return soon, I’ll kill him as soon as I see him
. I waited.”

Lyla collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Hannah helped her up, led her away, outside.

“He came back with a friend, and I hid. I decided to wait a bit longer. The friend left. I waited a few more seconds, then I knocked on the door. He opened it almost immediately. He must have thought it was his friend, who forgot something.” Bill sighed and shook his head. “There was no talking. I did not tell him that this was for hurting my daughter. I did not wait for him to realize that he brought it upon himself. If there’s anything I regret, Detective, it’s not doing that. He should have known.” He fell silent.

“And then?” Bernard asked, prodding the man to get over the final hurdle, to confess to the murder.

“The knife was in my hand. I stabbed him. He screamed. I stabbed him more. Then I took off. I ran downstairs, got into my car and drove away. I drove to the park and threw the knife into the lake. Then I drove back home. My wife was already asleep. I tied my clothes in a garbage bag and threw them away. Then I went to bed.”

Bill and Bernard looked at each other for a few seconds.

“I would do it again,” Bill said.

“Yeah.” Bernard said.

“That man deserved to die.”

“Maybe.”

“So what now?”

“Now you come with us,” Bernard said, and reached for his handcuffs.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jacob and Mitchell entered the police department in Georgetown, Kentucky, looking around them. Whenever he visited a strange police station, Jacob was always struck by how different things were from their own station. This station’s clearly brand-new metal detector, which made an angry buzz whenever someone with metal passed through, was completely different from their own ages-old metal detector and its high-pitched beeping. The bathroom near the entrance, on the opposite side of where it should have been—different door, different sign. The reception desk, mahogany-colored, fancy-looking, but behind it one could spot a jumble of paperwork, unlike their own plain, worn, white counter, immaculately clean and orderly.

Jacob always reached the same conclusion: their station was better. Why would anyone want to work in this place, where the soft drink vending machine was clearly in the wrong place, and completely lacking in Sprite?

“Excuse me,” Mitchell said to the receptionist. “We’re here to see Detective Vern? We’re Mitchell Lonnie and Jacob Cooper from the Glenmore Park police department.”

The receptionist, a bald, busy-looking cop, asked Mitchell to wait a moment, and made a call. He repeated the information given to him, then hung up.

“He’ll be right over,” he told the detectives, and resumed staring at his monitor. Jacob thought Officer McLure, their own receptionist, would have asked them if they wanted to sit down, maybe offered them a drink of water. Their receptionist was much better, no doubt about it.

“Cooper and Lonnie, right?” A dark man in a gray suit approached them. He had a pair of large glasses that struck Jacob as hipstery, and clearly clashed with his suit. “I’m Detective Vern. I guess you had quite a long drive, huh?”

“You bet,” Jacob said, shaking Vern’s hand. “Over thirteen hours.”

“I’d have let the guy off the hook,” Vern said, grinning. “Thirteen hours! Damn.”

It had indeed been a very long drive. They’d driven late into the night, stopping at a motel around two A.M., then woken up around eight and been back in the car by nine. Mitchell had suggested they fly, but Jacob said it would be much easier if they drove in their car. He didn’t mention the fact that he was deathly afraid of flying. Why would anyone fly anywhere if he could drive there? He had managed to get hold of Detective Vern on the way, with the help of their own dispatcher, and had filled him in on the details of the case.

“When is Konner getting here?” Jacob asked Vern as they walked down a crowded corridor.

“Oh, he’s already here. Been here for the past half hour,” Vern said.

“Seriously?” Jacob felt annoyed. “I thought you’d wait.”

“Well, we knew you were about to get here, and we wanted to make sure that he didn’t disappear. Besides, I thought you’d be happy if we let him cook a bit first.”

Vern pushed open a door labeled
Interrogation Room 2
and walked inside. Jacob and Mitchell followed him. Jacob quickly realized that when Vern had said they let Konner cook, he meant it very literally. The room was stiflingly hot. Konner, a young blond man with a pale face, sat next to the gray interrogation table, drinking from a cup of water. He was clearly sweating, the bright light in the room emphasizing the droplets on his brow and neck. Jacob and Mitchell sat down on the other side of the table. Vern stood behind them, folding his hands.

“Henry Konner?” Jacob said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s okay,” Konner said, sounding as if it wasn’t okay at all.

“I’m Detective Jacob Cooper. This is my partner, Mitchell Lonnie, to whom you’ve talked on the phone.”

“Hi,” Konner said. “So, do you want to get my statement about Blayze? That’s what Detective Vern here said. That you need a written statement?”

“Sure,” Jacob said, “But first some questions, if you don’t mind. Just to get some of our details straight.”

“Okay.”

Jacob glanced at his notebook. “I understand that you play a character called… Brother Florentius, in Dragonworld, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a… priest?”

“Yeah, but what has that got to do with—”

“Help me for a second, because all those terms get me confused. A priest is considered a healer in Dragonworld, right?”

“I guess…”

“Did you know that when we talked to your guildmaster about the raid your guild did the night that Dona was killed, your guildmaster told us that the healer was drunk?”

Konner stared at Jacob, confused.

“Is there another healer in your… guild?” Jacob asked.

“No.”

“Were you drunk that night?”

“Maybe. Just a bit. I don’t know.”

“In fact, we called her again last night, and she said you were completely trashed… Her words, not mine, and that it wasn’t very typical of you.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Okay, never mind then. Let’s talk about something different. I think congratulations are in order.”

“What?” Konner asked, clearly confused.

“Well, I understand you were accepted to Glenmore Park Community College, and will probably start there next year. I assume you’re very excited.”

Konner didn’t answer, but Jacob noticed the shift in his eyes. Fight or flight, they said, and Konner wasn’t the fight type. He wasn’t under arrest yet; he had come here voluntarily. Would he ask to leave?

Jacob pressed on. “It’s an… odd decision. I mean… I love our college, I think it’s the best in the world, but I’m from Glenmore Park. Why did you choose to study there?”

“It… it seemed nice,” Konner said, stammering a bit.

“It is nice!” Jacob smiled warmly. “I hope that my daughter will go there, but she wants to study somewhere else.
Anywhere else
, in her own words. So, tell me… did you go visit?”

“I don’t… what has got to do with—”

“Did you maybe visit there three days ago? To check out the swimming pool and the dormitories?”

“What are you talking about?”

“If we scan the security footage from three or four days ago, will we see your face there?” Jacob’s voice became harder.

Konner’s eyes were becoming frantic. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“What was your IP address the night that Dona Aliysa was murdered?” Mitchell suddenly asked.

“What?”

“I don’t know about those things,” Jacob said. “But my partner tells me that computers have a sort of unique identification when they go on the web. It’s called an IP address. Apparently, you can find out where someone is according to his IP address. Is that right, Mitchell?”

“More or less,” Mitchell said.

“And do you know where that IP address is registered when you log in to Dragonworld? In Tornado’s server logs. Isn’t that useful? Now I think what my partner was asking is… If we get those logs—which I promise you we will—what will your IP address be?”

Konner got up. “I’m leaving,” he said.

Ah. Game over. Jacob sighed. “No, you’re not,” he said.

“Henry Konner,” Detective Vern said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Dona Aliysa.”

“Sit down,” Jacob said gently.

Konner sat down, shaking.

“Detective Vern, back in our own police station we have those handy forms that we call Miranda right forms,” Jacob said. “Do you have them?”

“Sure,” Vern said. “We call them Miranda slips.”

“Can you get us one, please? I would have done so myself if I knew where it was.”

“Sure,” Vern said, and left the room.

“What that form basically explains,” Jacob said, “Is your rights. It tells you that you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. That you have the right to an attorney, and if you can’t afford one, you will be supplied one. You must have heard it a thousand times on cop shows.”

“I don’t watch cop shows,” Konner said, his voice croaking.

“Really?” Jacob said, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “I don’t either. I thought I was the only one.”

“You have to understand—” Konner began.

Jacob raised a hand. “Konner,” he said. “No offense, but until you sign that Miranda slip, I really don’t want to talk to you about anything in particular.”

They sat in silence. Detective Vern walked back in, holding a slip of paper and a pen. He gave the form to Konner, who signed it with a shaking hand.

“I was just visiting the college, that’s all,” Konner said, pushing the form and pen over to Jacob. “I got back the very next day.”

“Of course you did,” Jacob said. “But I don’t care where you were the following day. What interests me is where you were that night.”

“In a motel.”

“Uh-huh. And at no point did you visit Dona Aliysa’s home?”

“Of course not!”

“Yes. You wiped the fingerprints very carefully, but let me ask you something: did you wipe the DNA as well?”

“What?”

“If I get a warrant for your DNA,” Jacob said. “Will it match samples taken in her home? Taken from the body?”

“You don’t need a warrant,” Detective Vern said gruffly. “You have the cup with his DNA on the table.”

Jacob turned his head and smiled thinly. He was very much aware what the point of the hot interrogation room and the cup of water was. But it was a low technique, and he knew there was no need for it. “Oh, I’m sure we can get a warrant,” he said. “We have very compelling evidence.”

Detective Vern narrowed his eyes and said nothing. Jacob turned back to Konner, and folded his hands.

“You know what tipped us off?” he said. “The list you gave us, of the memorabilia. It was very clearly a list that someone made after being in Dona’s room, without searching in her dresser and closet.”