A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(64)

“I’ll try to answer whatever I can,” he said. “But I can’t promise to remember it very well. It’s been more than two years, and I’ve been working hard at forgetting that week.”

“I understand,” Zoe said, leaning against the wall. “So when was the last time you saw Veronika?”

“The morning she died,” Clifford said, his voice emotionless. “Before I went to work.”

“Did you talk during the day?”

“Yeah, once. She called to ask me something, I don’t remember what.”

According to the police report, she’d called to ask about the catering service for their upcoming wedding. Had he really forgotten, or did he simply want to avoid the topic?

“And then what happened?”

“I came back from work, and she wasn’t there. She was visiting a friend. Linda.”

Zoe nodded. That, too, was in the report. Linda was the main reason Clifford was not the primary suspect. She had verified that Veronika had eaten dinner with her, and by the time Veronika had left Linda’s home, Cliff had been long gone for his fishing trip.

“I went fishing with three friends. I came back home sometime after midnight. The house was a mess. The table and chairs were overturned. All the closets and drawers had been opened. Veronika was missing, as well as her jewelry.”

“And what did you do?”

He looked at her for a long moment. His mouth twisted. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Zoe blinked. “Sure.”

He turned around. “Hey, Jeffrey!” he hollered.

The other man appeared in the shop’s doorway. “Yeah?”

“Can you get that single-bowl Kraus sink to the van? I want us to install it today.”

“Sure, Cliff.”

Clifford turned back to Zoe, his face now composed. “When I saw she was missing, I called the police. Frank was with me—my friend. He came inside because he had to use the bathroom. He went looking for her in the neighborhood while I waited for the cops.”

“And then what happened?”

“The police showed up. I told them what I knew. They found the body six days later. That’s it, really.”

Zoe nodded. “Did Veronika seem different the days before she was taken?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She wasn’t preoccupied? Or worried?”

“I don’t really remember, Miss Bentley.”

“Hey, Cliff, I can’t find it,” Jeffrey hollered from inside. “You sure it’s here?”

Clifford looked at Zoe. “I really need to get back to work—”

“Just a few more questions. It would be really helpful,” she said smoothly. “Was Veronika the trusting type?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, walking inside.

She followed him to the back of the store. “Your home was trashed, but there were no signs of a break-in. Would she have opened the door to a stranger?”

“At night? I don’t think so.”

“What if he was dressed like a cop?”

“Are you saying a cop took her?”

“Not necessarily,” Zoe said. “I’m just theorizing.”

She was trying to fine-tune the killer’s MO. Though it was possible that the serial killer was a law enforcement officer or working in some other official role of authority, there was another explanation. Several serial killers were known to use outfits or identities of authority figures to lure their victims. Ted Bundy was a well-known example of that. He sometimes approached women pretending to be a police officer and took them somewhere secluded.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Here’s the sink,” he told Jeffrey. He bent and grabbed the sink, then groaned.

“I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it,” Jeffrey said and picked up the large steel sink, carrying it outside.

Clifford straightened up, grimacing, a hand on his back. He walked slowly back to the front of the store. Zoe kept following him.

“Would she open the door if someone was hurt or if there was a woman at the door?”

“Miss Bentley, I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Did you tell anyone you were going fishing that day?”

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“The killer knew when to strike.”

“It was probably just bad luck, Miss Bentley. I go fishing a lot. Twice, sometimes three times every week. Hell, I went four times with my brother last week. Of course, these days I tend to go fishing even more since I have no one at home . . .” His gaze became vacant. “I’m sorry. I really have to get back to work.”

Zoe nodded. “Thank you for your time,” she said.

He’d already turned away, checking something on one of the shelves. “Sure,” he said.

She left the store, disappointed. Outside, the day was bright, and she squinted, protecting her eyes from the glare with her palm. Jeffrey was loading the sink into one of the vans. The sink made a loud clang as he finally lowered it into the back of the van. He slammed the door and turned around.

“Hey,” he said when he noticed her. “Are you a cop?”

“I’m working with the police,” she answered, walking closer. He seemed slightly younger than Clifford, his hair thick and brown. He was tall, his shoulders wide.