CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
“I... I'm pretty sure,” Ilse murmured beneath her breath, head low as she faced Sawyer by the conference room table that they'd cleared for him. “I don't think he's our guy.”
Sawyer was playing with a bottle of caffeine pills, distractedly glancing at the door and waiting for another shot at interrogating the suspect. At her words, he barely even glanced over, focused as he was on the door. “Hmm,” he said.
“I'm serious,” she pressed. “I don't think he's our guy. He's too brutish. And the taxidermy animals—”
“He was your idea,” Sawyer murmured, still distracted. He heard the sound of a door open down the hall and shot to his feet, pushing out of the chair. He shot Ilse a long look. “I'll get him to confess. Just give me a couple of hours.”
“I don't think we have th
