Thompson rose the instant they entered. “I’ve been sitting here for hours. What the hell is going on?”
“I apologize for the delay,” Gideon said. “We’re trying to wrap our brains around what’s going on here ourselves.”
He motioned for Thompson to retake his seat and then sat across from him. Bryce pulled his chair out and sat at the end of the table, his chair angled so he faced Thompson.
“Let’s start at the top,” Bryce said, leaning back in his chair. “You produce podcasts featuring crimes, and you chose to profile Elijah Weston. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been creating productions like this?” Gideon asked.
“Five years. This is my tenth major project.”
“You’re well known?” Bryce asked.
“In the world of podcasts, I have a solid reputation.”
“What drew you to Weston’s case?” Bryce asked.
“What’s not to love about the story?” he asked. “Ten years in prison, and he not only got his bachelor’s degree, but he collected a group of thirteen women who were totally dedicated to him. He has kind of a Charles Manson vibe that makes me think he’s not as innocent as anyone thinks.”
“How many Fireflies have you interviewed?” Bryce asked.
“Four.”
“They are?”
“Judy Monroe, Sarah Cameron, Dana Riley, and Nena Lassiter.”
“Judy Monroe lives in Tennessee, correct?”
“Yes.”
“When did you interview her?” Gideon asked.
“Late February or March. I’d need my notes to give the exact date. She told me about the Fireflies.”
“Have you communicated with Ms. Monroe lately?” Bryce asked.
“Not for several weeks.”
“When’s the last time you communicated with Nena Lassiter?”
“A week ago, maybe. If you give me my phone, I can check texts. Why was Nena’s car parked outside my motel? Was she looking for me? Is she some kind of stalker?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Gideon said.
Thompson arched a brow and leaned forward. “Her car is here, so I’d assume she’s in town. Have you asked her?”
“We’ll get to that,” Bryce said. “What does Carla look like?”
“Dark-brown hair, blue eyes, cute. Nothing extraordinary. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered, but she was willing, and I figured what the hell. I woke up to Sergeant Bryce pounding on my door.”
“What was the name of the bar where you met Carla?” Gideon asked.
“The Silver Maverick.”
“Did you talk to anyone at the bar who might remember you?” Gideon asked.
“The bartender. I chatted her up a little bit.”
“Would you be willing to give us a DNA sample so we can exclude yours from whatever DNA we find in the car?” Gideon asked.
“If it’s Nena’s car, then I was in it,” he said, frowning. “She likes to drive, so we drove around in her car while I interviewed her. Look, I don’t know what angle you two are playing, but I’ve done enough podcasts to know you don’t give the cops shit without an attorney.”
“Did you get ahold of your attorney?” Bryce asked.
“Yes. He doesn’t do criminal work. He’s a contract lawyer.”
Bryce sighed, careful that he did not allow his personal distaste for the man to cloud his judgment. “I’m sure Detective Bailey can give you the names of local criminal defense attorneys to call.”
“My guy is trying to find a local name,” Thompson countered. “Look, I didn’t do anything other than interview these women.”
“Well, then we need to prove that,” Bryce said.
“We’re not trying to make this tough on you, Mr. Thompson,” Gideon said easily. “But like you said, you’ve done enough of these podcasts to know we have to press in cases like this.”
“What kind of case is it?” Thompson demanded.
“Lassiter’s car was spotted near a murder scene several days ago and then found in your motel parking lot.”
Thompson scooted to the edge of his chair. “A murder scene? Who the hell was killed? And where the hell is Nena?”
“Just to confirm, you did interview Edith Scott?” Gideon asked.
“About a week ago,” Thompson said. “Are you telling me she’s dead?”
“Yes, she is,” Gideon said. “As are Dana Riley, Nena Lassiter, and Sarah Cameron.”
“What the hell!” He held up both hands. “I haven’t hurt anybody.”
“When’s the last time you saw Dana?” Bryce asked.
“I haven’t seen Dana in six or seven weeks,” he countered.
“Which is about the time she was killed,” Bryce said carefully. “We only just identified her body.”
Thompson ran his hands through his hair, the color fading from his face. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I haven’t hurt anyone.”
“Like I said, a DNA swab can help us eliminate you,” Bryce said.
“And like I said, I was in that car. I need to call my attorney again in Nashville.”
“I’ll get you a phone,” Gideon said.
“Shit. How much is this going to cost me?” Thompson said.
Gideon shook his head. “When I got divorced, it cost me an arm and a leg. I can’t imagine what this mess is going to run you.”
“I’ve investigated enough cases to know cops screw up investigations all the time,” Thompson said.
Neither spoke as they stared at him.
“They come into a case with an idea of who the killer is, and then they find evidence to support it. Confirmation bias. And it’s easy to pin a case on an outsider like me.”
“Call this Carla woman you hooked up with,” Bryce said easily. “She might be able to clear up a couple of questions.”
“I don’t have her number!” Thompson shouted.
“All right, I’ll get your phone so you can call your expensive lawyer,” Gideon said. “Along with pencil and paper.”
“I’ll grab you another coffee and more crackers,” Bryce offered. “It might be a long day.”
They left, and when the door closed, Gideon looked at Bryce. “What do you think?”
“He’s doing a good job of acting innocent,” Bryce said.
“Isn’t part of his job to be an actor?”
“I hear ya. And he’s been around enough police stations and read enough files to know what to expect.”
“Let’s let him make a few calls, figure out what this is going to cost him, and then he might be open to sharing his files and the interviews he conducted for this podcast,” Bryce said. “Considering the threat insinuated to Ann, he can stew all day.”
“Did you find anything in his room?” Gideon asked.
“Lists of the Fireflies, which we already knew he had. The real gold will be the recordings on his computer, but the warrant does not cover it. It’ll be a lot simpler if he opens it for us.”