me.”
“You’re accusing the social worker of lying?” Derrick asked.
The handcuffs clinked as Cord flexed and unflexed his hands. “No, my foster father did. He was a sick son of a bitch who liked to touch the dead women. He dressed them up in lingerie and laid beside them and did… other things.”
A tense silence descended.
“Let’s say, for a minute, that’s true,” the sheriff interjected. “It still doesn’t explain the evidence we found at your house. For all we know, you joined in with him and had a party.”
Cord blinked, heaving a labored breath. Slowly he angled his head and looked at the camera, as if he knew he was cornered, a deer in the woods. “I’ll talk. But only to Ellie.”
One Hundred One
Ellie met Bryce and Derrick in the hallway. Both men looked grim-faced and disapproving, but resigned that if they wanted information from Cord, they had to use her.
“I’m surprised he didn’t lawyer up,” the sheriff said.
“Be careful, Ellie,” Derrick said, nodding in agreement. “He might be asking for you because he thinks he can manipulate you.”
Ellie crossed her arms, immediately defensive. Although she guessed she couldn’t blame them, after she’d failed to see her parents’ lies. Just like at the academy, she had to work harder to overcome their scrutiny. “Believe me, I want the truth as much as you do.”
“We’ll be watching,” Bryce replied.
“Don’t you trust me?” Ellie asked, raising a brow.
“About as much as you trust me.”
Well, there you have it. They were in a standoff.
Derrick glanced between them. “Just get him to talk, Detective.”
Shooting Derrick a look of contempt, Ellie squared her shoulders and walked to the interrogation room. Before entering, she braced herself for whatever Cord had to say. She could handle the truth, she told herself.
At least she hoped she could. If it turned out he was a murderer…
Pushing her doubts aside, she entered the room. Cord drew in a breath, his gaze so intense it sent a chill up her spine.
Her heart pounded as she slipped into the chair across from him.
“They’re watching, listening, aren’t they?” he asked in a gruff tone.
Ellie nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Cord’s eyes flickered with regret. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I should have told you earlier.”
“Told me what?” she asked, gently laying her hand on his. He tensed, but instead of pulling away, he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“About my past,” he said in a strained voice. “But you have to believe me. I didn’t kill those women, Ellie. I swear I didn’t.”
Relief flitted through Ellie––she believed him––but she steeled herself again. Something was still very wrong here, her instincts were alight. “Then how did those pictures and that blood get in your locked workroom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Cord, you asked to talk to me,” she said quietly. “So talk.”
“Someone’s framing me.”
“I had the same thought initially. But who would go to all those lengths to set you up? And how would that person know about your past, how you grew up?”
“I can’t be sure. But I have an idea.”
“Go on.”
His breathing became unsteady, as if he was lost in the throes of a dark memory. “Felix Finton was a sadistic monster. He did all kinds of sick things to the bodies before preparing them for visitation. He liked to play with the corpses, especially the women. One night I caught him violating a young girl and he wanted me to join in the fun. When I refused and threatened to tell, he was furious, and then he told the social worker I did it.”
The grisly images played through Ellie’s mind like a horror show.
“Do you think he’s capable of committing these crimes?”
Cord gave a slight shake of his head. “Mentally, yes. But he was in poor health back then so I doubt he could pull it off now. But his son Roy hated me. And he took after the old man.”
“Why did he hate you?”
“Finton took in a little girl, eight years old. I caught Roy pulling her into the prep room. He wanted to show her what he liked to do with the bodies. Sick fuck. But I intervened.”
“You protected her?”
He turned his hands over, staring at the nicks on his fingers. She’d asked him once how he got them, and he said he cut himself when he was whittling.
“She was so little and scared, I had to. Roy liked to dress the bodies with his father. He’d spend hours combing their hair and painting their lips.”
He stuttered, as if the memory pained