in the other room,” Ellie said through clenched teeth.
Bryce tensed, but nodded in concession.
“Cord is not the Weekday Killer,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster.
“This is why women shouldn’t be cops. You let your emotions get in the way,” the sheriff said sharply.
“It’s not emotion. It’s instinct,” Ellie said with a glare.
Her comeback made Bryce’s eyes flare with anger. Saying nothing, Derrick followed the sheriff into the room while Ellie spun around and headed to take her place and watch.
Waters claimed the chair opposite McClain, but Derrick remained standing.
“All right, Cord,” the sheriff began. “What the hell happened today?”
“Ellie wanted to go to Finton’s funeral home,” Cord’s expression was as flat as his voice. “I went with her. We got jumped from behind.” He rubbed his head. “When I came to, Agent Fox was there shouting Ellie’s name, and I finally roused.”
Walking over to Cord, Derrick stared down at him.
“We know about your foster family, the Fintons. Felix Finton told your caseworker about how you enjoyed dressing the female bodies.”
Silence engulfed the room, tension building.
“Did you take your habit of playing with dead bodies to the next level and start murdering women?”
McClain hissed between his teeth but said nothing. He just folded and unfolded his hands, staring into his lap.
“We checked. Finton’s has been closed for renovations for the past two weeks, like the sign said.” Derrick slapped his palms on the table. McClain didn’t flinch. “Have you been hiding the bodies at the funeral home after you murder the women, then returning to move them when you’re ready for them to be found? Is that why you have blood under your fingernails?”
Curling his fingers into fists, Cord remained silent.
“Come on, McClain, talk to us,” the sheriff said. “You were caught red-handed in that home. Now we know you’re a pervert.”
Rage burned in Cord’s eyes. Derrick thought he was going to jump up and grab Bryce, but he wheezed out a breath instead.
“Your print was found on Shondra’s vehicle,” Derrick said. “Tell us where Shondra is and if she’s still alive, and we might help you out.”
Cord’s brows furrowed and he went very still. Either he was surprised that the print was his or surprised that he’d been caught, Derrick reasoned.
“Why would I take Shondra?” he finally said.
“You tell us,” Derrick said. “And while you’re at it, tell us where you were on the nights of these killings.” He laid a photograph of each victim on the table.
Staring at the pictures, Cord’s expression was a mask of barely controlled emotion. But he didn’t respond, remaining tight-lipped.
The sheriff stood abruptly, pushed away from the table, circled around and wrenched Cord from the chair. “You don’t want to talk, fine. Maybe a night in a cell will change your mind,” he said, dragging him from the room.
Derrick followed them into the hallway, where Ellie rushed toward them, a mixture of disbelief and panic on her face.
“Bryce, let me talk to him,” she said.
The sheriff shook his head. “No way. Go home, Ellie. I’ve got this,” he said, shoving McClain through another set of doors to the cells in back.
As Ellie clenched her hands by her side, Derrick saw the blood on her fingers and his stomach twisted. If McClain had done that to Ellie, he felt like killing the man.
“Cord might talk to me if Bryce would just let him,” Ellie said, her tone full of angst.
“If he is innocent, why isn’t he defending himself?” Derrick asked. “Why not answer my questions?”
Ellie pressed her lips into a thin line.
“I’ll drive you home, Ellie. You need rest,” Derrick said. “Then I’m going to get a search warrant and search McClain’s house tonight. If you’re right, there may be something there that can exclude him, or, if my gut is right, there could be something to tell us where Shondra is.”
“I’ll go with you,” she replied. “If something’s there, I need to see it for myself.”
Ninety-Seven
River’s Edge
Denial stabbed at Ellie as she drove to Cord’s. Gray skies promised a deluge at any minute, painting the woods in an oppressive gray. Though she wanted to take her own car, Derrick insisted on driving in case she was concussed.
Being locked in that coffin reminded her of just how much she didn’t want to have to bury her mother. She made a quick call to her father on the way. “Hey, Dad.”
“It’s good to hear your voice,” her father said. “I miss you, El.”
Emotions overwhelmed her, but she swallowed them back. “I don’t