If She Heard. Блейк Пирс
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noticed that DeMarco took him up on the invitation before explaining the purpose of the visit. It was a good move, as Griles would have surely become protective and defensive if he knew they were going to ask him about two recent murders in the area.
Kate followed DeMarco into a small and messy living room. The television against the far wall was tuned to a baseball game. There was a bottle of cheap whiskey on the coffee table and a still-burning cigarette in an ashtray next to it.
DeMarco started right away, before Griles even had time to close his door. “Mr. Griles, do you have any idea why we might be here?”
“No,” he said. He was clearly scared, but there was a growing irritation beneath it. He did not enjoy being questioned—to be made to feel as though he was less than. “And I don’t think you should make me guess.”
It was interesting for Kate to watch the back and forth, the cat and mouse. DeMarco had set a trap, and Griles had sidestepped it. Kate would have tried the exact same thing, though. The vague question from DeMarco had given Griles the opportunity to confess to buying alcohol for minors—which was a very serious charge in the state of North Carolina. But Griles had dodged it and put the ball right back into DeMarco’s court.
“Mr. Griles, it’s a small town,” DeMarco said. “Can I assume you’ve heard about the recent murders in the area?”
“I have. Word does get around.”
“You know their names?” Kate asked.
“Yes,” he said. He was being careful with the way he spoke. It was clear that this was not the first time he had been questioned by someone in authority. She could picture Griles and Sheriff Gates having this same sort of back and forth quite easily.
“Tell me, please,” DeMarco said.
“Why? Are you here because you think I had something to do with it?”
“I said no such thing,” DeMarco said. “But in investigating the murders, we discovered today that you were included in a small group of people who last saw one of the victims.”
Griles nodded at this and actually seemed a little relieved. “You mean Mariah?”
“Yes. Mariah Ogden. We have a witness that saw you with her and a group of other underage kids outside of Larry’s Lanes on the night she died. What do you say to that?”
“I say there are some nosy-ass people in this town.”
“You make a habit of hanging out with younger girls, Mr. Griles?” Kate asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But anything I do is consensual. I’m not one of those rapist assholes.”
“Our witness says you were loud and a little off the hinge that night,” DeMarco said. “Had something been bothering you?”
“No. And I don’t recall being loud and out of control.”
“Had you been drinking?”
“A bit, yes.”
“We have it on good authority that you left that group and went somewhere else,” Kate said. “Could you give us a timeline of events after you left the Larry’s Lanes parking lot?”
“I can. And I have a few people that could back me up if…”
He paused here, sat down in a ratty old recliner, and looked at both women as if they had just hurt his feelings.
“Something wrong, Mr. Griles?” DeMarco asked.
“You do think I’m a suspect.”
“An older man who is known for trying to impress younger girls just admitted to hanging out with a recent murder victim on the night she died,” DeMarco said. “Yes. Any agent worth a damn would question you. So give us that timeline.”
He plucked the cigarette from the ashtray, took a drag, and settled into the chair. “I left the bowling alley with a buddy of mine, Gary. We went to Esther’s for a couple of drinks and some buffalo wings. After that, we went to a house party for a while.”
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