Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (books on motivation .txt) 📗

“Were you sleeping with Hannah Brown?” Kimberley asked.

“Hell, no! Is that what Emily said? Is that what she thinks? I would never,” Wyatt said in a panic. His eyes became glossy. Kimberley had found his weak spot.

“Did you ever pay Hannah for sexual favors?”

Wyatt’s shoulders shook slightly. He rubbed his hands down his head, letting out a deep breath. “No.”

“Were you close with Hannah Brown?” Kimberley leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“No.” He shook his head vehemently.

“Then why did she call you on the night of her murder?”

Wyatt’s eyes went wide. Kimberley couldn’t tell if it was due to shock or because he had been caught.

“She didn’t call me,” he protested.

Kimberley opened the folder in front of her, flicking through several pages. She pulled out a sheet full of Hannah Brown’s phone records. Halfway down, one line was highlighted. She pushed the piece of paper in front of Wyatt.

“Does that highlighted phone number belong to you?”

Wyatt looked at the sheet of paper, squinting his eyes as he brought it up to his line of sight. His mouth dropped open and he nodded.

“Tell me, Wyatt, why did Hannah Brown call you just before she was murdered? For someone you claim you didn’t know all that well, isn’t it strange she’d call you? That you’d be the last person she reached out to before someone put a bullet in her head? We know she was murdered now between three and four in the morning. That gave you an hour to get to her after that call was made. And you can get anywhere in this goddamn county in twenty minutes. I want you to tell me what happened the night of Hannah’s murder. I want you to tell me what you and Ryan did to her. Or did you do it alone, after you left The Trophy Room? I want you to tell me why you did it, how you could do it.” Kimberley’s voice had an edge to it, sharp like the blade of a butcher’s knife.

“Alright. Fuck. Goddamnit…” Wyatt slammed his fist against the table.

Kimberley watched him, waiting for the confession. He was cracking right before her. His confidence had faded away throughout the interview. Now, he was a puddle of a man sitting in front of her.

“You think I killed Hannah Brown? You think I’m capable of something like that?” He shook his head. “You’re way off.”

“Am I?” Kimberley tilted her head. “Because I don’t think I am. Was she calling you for sex? Did she have something on you? Was she going to tell Emily about the affair?”

“No. I have no fucking clue why she called me. I don’t even have her number saved in my phone. You can check it. So, if Hannah called, I didn’t even know she did.” Wyatt let out a huff, looking off into the corner, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe he had gotten wrapped up in this situation.

“How would she get your number then? Did she just guess it?” Kimberley was being full-on sarcastic.

“I don’t know. My number is plastered everywhere down at the farmers’ market. It’s on the farm’s business cards. Most of the town has my number, I’m sure,” he said, looking back at Kimberley.

The explanation was reasonable. Kimberley herself had seen the farm business signs plastered on community boards throughout town. She hadn’t been to the farmers’ market yet, but it made sense. The Turner Farm sold vegetables, wheat and chicken eggs. She knew Wyatt was still lying about something though. His and Ryan’s initial alibis weren’t aligned.

“You didn’t get home until after three a.m. the night Hannah was murdered. Ryan initially said he closed up The Trophy Room at two, so you tell me, what were you and Ryan doing between two and four in the morning? Ryan claims he was in bed. Were you in bed with him?” Kimberley raised her chin. “Is that your alibi?”

Wyatt blew out his cheeks, rubbing his face with his hands. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Sam piped in.

“Lie.”

“Lie about what?” Sam took a couple of steps forward, standing right behind Kimberley.

Wyatt let out the deepest breath he could conjure up. “Ryan and I didn’t kill Hannah Brown.”

“Then what were you doing? Where were you?” Kimberley sat up a little straighter.

She knew Wyatt was cracking, caving under the pressure just as she thought he would. Lack of sleep and a guilty conscience will do that to a person.

“We were… making moonshine.” He lowered his head.

Kimberley looked up at Sam. She drew her brows together, then refocused her attention back on Wyatt.

“What? Where?” she asked.

“We make it out on the farm in one the outbuildings. Use the wheat from the farm and sell the moonshine at The Trophy Room.” He kept his head down and his eyes on the table as if he were ashamed.

Kimberley suddenly remembered the noises she heard out on the farm. The breaking glass. It must have been Wyatt and Ryan.

Wyatt looked up at Kimberley. “I needed the money. The farm’s going under. We’ve mortgaged the house twice. There ain’t no money in wheat.”

Kimberley stared back at him. She believed him. She could see it in his broken face, his bloodshot, glazed over eyes, his dull, tired skin.

“I’m not a murderer, Kimberley. I swear to you I’m not. I’m just a desperate man trying to provide for his family. Wouldn’t you do the same for your daughter?”

“Illegally make and sell moonshine?” Kimberley asked, cocking her head.

“No… anything you could.”

“You know I would.”

“Then that’s all you need to know.” Wyatt shrugged his shoulders again.

“Did Emily know anything about this?”

“Absolutely not. She wasn’t involved at all.” Wyatt sharpened his eyes and stared directly at Kimberley.

She kept her lips pressed firmly together, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“Appreciate your honesty and cooperation, Wyatt,” Sam said. “I’ll be sure Judge Withers knows it too. A deputy will be in shortly to read you your rights and book you as you’ll be charged with illegally manufacturing and selling