Page 3 of Girl, Entangled

Stockley was Creed’s lawyer, if memory served Ella correctly. He’d been the one to break the news that they couldn’t confirm whether or not the woman sitting in that cell was who they thought it was.

‘Good,’ Dever said. He hung up. He came down the steps. He looked at Ella, and at Ripley, and at the waiting van with a serial killer inside. ‘Doyle will be waiting in the interview room when we get there. Dark, Ripley – keep your eyes peeled. If you see any sign of familiarity between them, make a note, because we can use it in court.’

‘Trust us, Terrance,’ said Ripley. ‘What cars are we in?’

‘Ripley, take the car with the officers. Dark, you’re with me. Let’s move before the commuters clog up the roads.’

Terrance Dever was less of an idiot this morning than he had sometimes been. It was amazing what the prospect of results could do to a person. Everyone dispersed. Ella took her spot in the cruiser with Dever beside her. The van with Creed in it started rolling across the runway towards the track that led out into civilization.

***

The D.C. Central Detention Facility was an eight-mile drive from Reagan International. They got to the observation room at six-thirty, and Ella saw Lindsey Doyle – or her sister – already sitting inside in the interview room. Her dirty blonde hair was a straggly nest atop her head, and her brief time in the CDF had already begun shaping her into the archetypical emaciated female prisoner. Ella, Ripley and Dever watched her through the one-way glass.

‘Ready?’ Dever asked.

It felt like days since Ella had slept, but even so, she was still wide awake despite her reflection in the glass adding fifteen years via fatigue. Ripley, however, looked as fresh as ever.

‘Ready,’ Ripley said. ‘Dark?’

‘Yeah. Bring him in.’

Dever motioned to two officers across the way, who then unlocked a door and brought Austin Creed through. Stripped of the Louisiana sun and the death row backdrop, Creed could have been anyone. In this confined environment, no one would have guessed he was the infamous Mimicker who had five bodies to his name. He looked oddly at ease, and that induced the opposite response in Ella.

Dever said, ‘Mr. Creed, you know what we want from you.’

‘Not really,’ Creed said.

‘Go in and talk. Pretend like we’re not here. The officers will escort you in and restrain you to-’

‘No,’ Ella interrupted. ‘Take the chains off. No restraints.’

Dever and the officers glanced over at her. ‘No restraints?’

‘Yes. Trust me.’

He took a second, then leaned in. ‘Is that a good idea?’

‘Yeah. Doyle is used to seeing him in chains. If he walks in there a way she’s never seen him before, she has to think. Thinking is a tell.’

‘Dark is right,’ said Ripley. ‘Do it.’

Dever shook his head, but it wasn’t a no. He turned to the officers and nodded once. There was a small ceremony to Creed’s chains being removed, and once free, Creed shook himself down.

‘Thank you. Shall I go in?’

‘Sit opposite the woman. Take as long as you need to. Signal to us through the glass once you’re finished. Give us a thumbs-up.’

A speaker on the wall above the glass crackled. Dever pressed a button on the console and the sound came through cleaner. The woman’s chair scraped an inch as she adjusted herself. She wasn’t looking at anything. Her eyes were on the table top.

‘Take him in,’ Dever said.

The door to the interview room opened. The officers escorted Creed over the threshold and then took their positions. One of them closed the door.

Ella moved right up to the glass. She couldn’t see all of Creed’s face, just the curve of his ear and one side of his shaved head. Creed waited until Doyle returned his gaze, then he took his seat opposite her.

Creed nodded at her.

It was a small thing. A dip of the chin, half an inch at most. It could have been him acknowledging a stranger across a coffee shop. It could have been a man clearing his sinuses. It could also have been a hello, old friend.