“Is that supposed to be funny?”
Archie took another sip. “No.” He drained the last of the water and handed the glass to Reston. He immediately rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. Archie noticed another blond Varga girl hanging on the other side of the kitchen. She was wearing tiny shorts and a tight blouse and stood in impossibly high heels, back arched, flirtatious smile on her red lips.
“You like blondes,” Archie observed.
“For Christ’s sake,” Reston said, running an anxious hand through his hair. “What do you want from me? I’m a teacher. I answered your questions. I’ve already been interviewed by two other cops. I let you in my house.” He looked at Archie plaintively. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“No.”
Reston planted his hands on his hips. “Then leave me the hell alone.”
“Fine,” Archie said, starting back toward the porch.
As he moved through the house, Reston a step behind him, Archie searched for any clue to the truth, any insight into the man. The house was a hundred years old, but it was decorated in a mid-century style. Original light fixtures had been replaced with chrome space-age fixtures that looked as retro as they did futuristic. The dining room set looked like it was made out of thick plastic. On the table, a bouquet of daffodils sprang out of a round red vase. Archie couldn’t tell if the furniture was expensive or if it had all come in a box from Ikea. But he knew enough to know that it was stylish. The living room was less photo-ready. The gold sectional appeared to be a thrift-store find. Its gold cord bottom fringe had detached in places and still hung unmended. A rose-colored corduroy chair and ottoman sat next to a space-age lamp. It was as if someone had offered to help Reston redecorate and then they’d had a falling-out. It was still far nicer than Archie’s squalid rental. The room still had the original built-ins. Archie scanned the shelves. Just a few books, perfectly straight and flush. But Archie knew that spine anywhere. It was The Last Victim. It didn’t mean anything. A lot of people had that book.
“Look,” Reston was saying. “Susan was very promiscuous in school. So she may have had a relationship with a teacher. It’s very possible. I’m just saying that it wasn’t me.”
“Okay,” Archie said, distractedly. “It wasn’t you.”
“Where to?” the cabbie asked when Archie got back in the car.
“Wait here,” Archie said. The cab was non-smoking but reeked of old cigarettes and pine deodorizer. No one ever followed the rules. Archie pulled out his cell phone and called Claire. “I want Reston’s alibis double-checked. And I want surveillance on him,” he said. “And when I say surveillance, I mean I want all entrances covered.” He squinted up at Reston’s charming wisteria-covered house. “I want to know if he even thinks about leaving that house.”
“I’ll send Heil and Flannigan.”
“Good,” Archie said, settling back in the cab’s sticky vinyl seat. “I’ll wait.”
It was dark by the time Archie made it home. Still no messages. He decided against more coffee and instead drank a beer. Was Susan lying? No. Could she have convinced herself that her story was true? Maybe.
Either way, Gretchen had seen it. He found a sort of solace in the fact that she could see through anybody. It wasn’t that there was something intrinsically weak about him.
He stared at the merry face of Gloria Juarez. Another mystery solved; that was something at least. He touched her forehead and then stepped back from where he had tacked her photograph on his bedroom wall.
There were forty-two photographs on that wall, forty-two murder victims, forty-two families with answers. They stared at him from DMV photos and family snapshots and school pictures. It was a lurid, gruesome spectacle and Archie knew it. He didn’t care. He needed to see them all, to give himself a reason why he went back to that prison week after week. It was that or admit to himself that Gretchen’s draw was something else entirely. Something far more troubling.
Archie’s head throbbed and his body felt heavy and tired. But it was Sunday night and the week would start and girls would go to school, and that meant that their killer would be hunting.