Page 47 of Haunted By Sin
“You cut Swilling off by the apartment building, and I’ll come in from behind,” Sylvie instructed as she reached for the door handle. Theo had already pressed the button to roll up the windows. “Give me a few seconds to reach the crosswalk.”
Sylvie was out of the SUV before the windows were sealed shut. Theo stored his coffee next to her tea in the console before removing the keys from the engine. He monitored Sylvie’s progress, and when she made it to the crosswalk, he opened his door. He waited for a lull in traffic before jogging across the street.
Mitch was on his phone, and he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. As a matter of fact, he seemed annoyed with whoever he was speaking with, though Theo was too far away to hear the man’s side of the conversation.
“Excuse me,” Theo murmured when he almost bumped into another man.
Mitch’s strides faltered when he spotted the firearm holstered to Theo’s belt. With the warmer weather, he wasn’t able to conceal his weapon, which was why he had taken to hooking the black case securing his credentials next to his holster. Mitch’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but it was when he glanced over his shoulder and spotted Sylvie boxing him in from behind that Mitch told the person on the phone that he would have to call back.
“Whatever it is, I’ve got nothing to say,” Mitch declared, directing his statement more to Sylvie than Theo. She finally came to a stop next to Theo now they were confident Mitch wouldn’t make a run for it. “Andrea called me an hour ago to let me know you think I killed those women named Mary Jane Reynolds. I didn’t.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Carl?”
The way Mitch’s head whipped toward Theo after hearing the question was confirmation they were on the right track.
“I haven’t seen my brother in over a year.”
“About the time that Sheila Wallace died?” Sylvie asked, her tone soft. “Mitch, I know about the room underneath the staircase. I know that Sheila—”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Agent Deering.”
“You kept in touch with your brothers the entire time you were in foster care, and I’m guessing that you called them when you got word that Sheila Wallace was placed on life support,” Theo said as he picked up where Sylvie had left off. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Mitch would reveal what punishments Sheila had doled out back then, and Theo couldn’t blame the man. The mental abuse of a woman like Sheila Wallace stayed with a child into adulthood. “You mentioned that she was an organ donor to your brothers, didn’t you? Ricky has solid alibis for the murders, but you don’t. Neither does Carl.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Can you say the same for your brother?” Sylvie asked, softening her tone. “If you can, then tell us where to find him. Once he provides us with alibis for the dates in question, we won’t bother any of you again.”
Mitch remained silent.
“If you spoke to Andrea, then you know what has happened over the past seven months.” Sylvie was still attempting to gain Mitch’s cooperation, but the man’s body language suggested that he had already made up his mind. Theo realized there was nothing that they could do to change the outcome of this conversation. “There is a very good possibility that another woman is going to die in the near future, Mitch. And all because she was gifted a heart. Shouldn’t something good come from that woman?”
“I want a lawyer.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brooklyn Sloane
May 2024
Monday — 2:49 pm
The afternoon sun cast a pallid light over the decrepit trailer park. The corrosion of time was evident in every rusted panel and dirt-streaked window. Debris cluttered the small yards, some even with hubcaps and tires that had long ago parted ways with their vehicles. Unfortunately, some of the garbage appeared to have become a permanent part of the landscape.
Brook’s gaze lingered on one trailer in particular.
She sat motionless in the car, the engine's quiet purr blending in with the vehicles driving on the single-lane road running parallel with the trailer park. It wasn’t that the area was busy, but there did seem to be enough of a constant stream of traffic to be an annoyance to those who lived in the mobile homes.
The small gravel area in front of Mack Swilling’s trailer was void of any vehicle. The same went for a lot of the other trailers, save for the lone woman some distance away. She was maybe in her sixties, dutifully watering two struggling plants. A broken-down airstream was positioned directly across the single lane. A curtain shifted slightly when her gaze landed on the thin window.
Brook turned off the engine before reaching for her phone that she had placed in the cupholder. She tucked it into the exterior pocket of her blazer before opening the driver’s side door. There was a faint odor of fresh-cut grass, but she couldn’t hear any lawnmowers in the distance.
The two wooden steps leading up to the trailer door creaked ominously under her weight. She noted the splintering edges and the way the once-white paint had peeled away to reveal the rotting wood underneath. Curtains hung limp just inside the interior door's window. The fabric was so thin that even the weak sunlight seemed too much for them.
Unsurprised by the silence that met her first knock, she rapped on the door again, louder. It was more for show than anything else. No one answering would allow her to make her way across the narrow road to ask the neighbor some questions.
“Anyone home?” Brook called out loudly, her voice carrying on the slight breeze.
With her work at the door done, she descended the steps that miraculously held firm before walking toward the airstream. If the rust on the hubcaps were anything to go by, the tires had deflated long ago. A slab of concrete had been placed right underneath the entrance.