“You know, I think I read an article about you.” He’s pointing at me now, waving his finger as he allows the memory to take over. “I just … I didn’t put it together.”
“Yeah, that ran a few years ago. I’m relieved to hear you forgot.”
“And you think these murders are somehow related to the ones your father committed?”
He’s still staring at me with that look of disbelief, as if I’m an apparition hovering above the carpet, unsure if I’m real.
“At first, I didn’t,” I say. “But the twenty-year anniversary is coming up next month, and I recently discovered that the father of one of my father’s victims lives here in Baton Rouge. Bert Rhodes. And he’s … angry. He has a record. He tried to strangle his wife—”
“You think this is a copycat?” he interrupts. “That the victim’s father has turned into a copycat?”
“He has a record,” I repeat. “And … my family. He hates my family. I mean, understandably so, but he showed up to my house today, and he was very angry, and I felt very unsafe—”
“He came to your house unannounced?” he sits up straighter and reaches for a pen. “Did he threaten you in any way?”
“No, it wasn’t really unannounced. He installs security systems, and my fiancé, he called them to have one installed—”
“So you invited him to your house?” he leans back again, putting the pen down.
“Will you stop interrupting me?”
The sentence comes out louder than I intend it to, and Detective Thomas looks at me, stunned, with a mixture of shock and unease as an uncomfortable silence settles across the room. I bite my lip. I hate that look. I’ve seen that look before. I’ve seen that look from Cooper. I’ve seen that look from police officers and detectives, right here, in this very building. That look that shows the very first hint of concern—not for my safety, but for my mind. That look that makes me feel like my words are not to be trusted, that my slow unravel is getting faster and faster, spiraling out of control, until pretty soon, I’ll be nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, exhaling. Forcing myself to calm down. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I feel like you’re not really listening to me. You asked me to look at Lacey’s body today and tell you if I remembered anything that could be important. This is me telling you what I believe may be important.”
“Okay,” he says, holding his hands in the air. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling my shoulders relax a little. “Anyway. Bert Rhodes is one of the few people, possibly the only person, who would know that detail, lives in the area where these current murders are taking place, and has a motive for murdering these girls in the same way my father murdered his daughter twenty years ago. It’s a coincidence that can’t be ignored.”
“And what do you believe his motive is, exactly? Does he know these girls?”
“No—I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so. But isn’t that your job to figure out?”
Detective Thomas raises his eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Just … look. It could be a lot of things, okay? Maybe it’s revenge, targeting girls I know to harass me or make me feel the same pain he felt when his daughter was taken. An eye for an eye. Or maybe it’s grief, a need for control, the same fucked-up reason victims of abuse will go on to become abusers themselves. Maybe he’s trying to make a point. Or maybe he’s just sick, Detective. Twenty years ago, he wasn’t exactly the best father either, okay? Even as a girl, I just had a feeling about him. That something wasn’t right.”
“Okay, but a feeling isn’t a motive.”
“All right, well how’s this for motive?” I spit. “Today, he told me that after Lena’s death, he found himself obsessing over what it would feel like to take somebody’s life. Who says that? Who imagines what it’s like to take a life after your own daughter has just been murdered? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? He’s empathizing with the wrong person here.”
Detective Thomas is silent for a minute before sighing again, this time in what sounds like resignation.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, we’ll look into him. I agree—it’s a coincidence that deserves to be checked out.”
“Thank you.”