It took no time for Thomas Thatcher to be reached, and asked to come in for some questioning. He was rather calm about the whole thing, even going so far as to say he would be willing to help in any way he could. This caused Jo to become slightly suspicious of the man, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. There was no use condemning a man without proper evidence.

So, at around 1:00pm, Thomas was brought into the interrogation room and left there for about fifteen minutes. This was a tatic Jo liked to use when questioning a suspect. She wanted to let them sit there - in the silence - and think. If the person was innocent, they would remain fairly calm, only getting frustrated because of the wasted time. If the person was guilty, the reaction varied. Sometimes, the killer was as calm as the innocent suspect - a bit too calm. On the other hand, the killer could easily become agitated and start fidgeting or pacing the room.

After the fifteen minutes were up, Jo opened the door and sat down across from Thomas. He smiled politely and waited for her begin.

"Thomas, how old are you?" She asked.

"Eighteen."

"So, you must be just entering college then?"

He nodded. "Yup."

There was a pause in their conversation, allowing Jo to organize her thoughts. "Do you recognize these women?" She asked, pulling out two large photographs from the folder in front of her. They were photographs of the victims before they died.

Thomas looked down, studying the photographs for a moment, before looking back up at Jo. "I recognize one of them. She sometimes comes into my Dad's coffee shop in the morning." He said, pointing to the photo on the left.

"Do you know her name?"

"Yes," He said. "Her name is Jennifer."

"And you're certain you don't know the other woman?" She asked.

He looked down again, just to be sure. "Yes, I'm certain."

Jo paused a moment before revealing the reason for his presence here. "Thomas, these women were murdered two weeks ago, and we found several strands of your hair at the crime scene."

His eyes widened to the size of cup saucers. "You're kidding, right? You think I did this?"

"I don't know. Did you?"

Thomas's cool demeanor vanished. "You're nuts, lady. Why on earth would I kill two women, and jeopardize my chance at an ivy league education? Not to mention moving to England to play Cricket professionally. You have a lot of nerve, calling me in here because a few pieces of hair."

Jo's eyes widened, and she turned her body slightly, to face the one-way mirror. She knew Henry would be in the other room, watching the interrogation. Certainly, being a fan of Cricket himself, he would be interested in talking with this suspect. Turning back around, she smiled at the man in front of her.

"Thomas, if you can prove where you were on January 23, between the hours of 6:00pm and 8:00pm, you're free to go."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I was at home with my parents. You can call them to confirm my alibi, which I'm sure you'll do."

She nodded, and slid a pen and paper toward him. "Write their number down and I'll give them a call right now."

He quickly scribbled out their number, giving Jo leave to call them. Within ten minutes, Jo was back inside the interrogation room, confirming what Thomas had already said. He was, in fact, home with his parents that evening. There was no way he could be the killer. She didn't want to admit it, but she was a bit disappointed. Not that she wanted this young man to be a cold blooded killer, but it would have been nice to close the case.

Turning back to the mirror, Jo shrugged once. Maybe Henry could find them a new lead. One that would be lead them straight to the finish line.

"I can't believe we're back to square one." Hanson said, pushing his chair back in frustration.

Henry was startled from his thoughts at the sound of Hanson's voice. Ever since Thomas's alibi was confirmed, he had been running a million different scenarios in his mind. Some were plausible, while others were extreme, even for him. There must be something they were missing; some stone left unturned. Suddenly, as if given a shock, Henry jumped up from his chair.

"The killer knows Thomas!"

Jo looked up at him, puzzled. "What?"

He pushed back his chair and came to stand in front of her. "Stand up."

Again, she looked at him, but more confused this time. "Excuse me?"

Henry began waving his hand in the air, causing her to rise. Once she was at full height, he pulled her chair away from her, and began walking around her, slowly. He wasn't totally oblivious to how she tensed up as he leaned it, but his analytical mind was too focused on what he was searching for. After another moment, Henry found it.

"Ah ha!" He said suddenly, plucking something from her left arm. Holding it up, he smiled as if he was a child who discovered his Christmas presents before the big day. "What is this, Detective?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "That's a piece of my hair, Henry."

"And how did it get on your arm?"

"Well, it is my hair. You'd probably find strands all over my clothing."

"Exactly!" He exclaimed. "The average person loses about 50 to 100 strands of hair daily1. And in order for someone to get, say, your hair on their clothing, they would have to be in contact with you at some point. Now, take into consideration we found at least three strands of Thomas's hair at the crime scene, that would mean the killer had to be around him long enough to get his hair on their clothes."

"And there may have been strands of hair we missed," Jo said, understanding where Henry was going with all of this. "The only way a person could get that much hair on them is if they were with Thomas often. Like...like his parents."

Henry's eyes fell slightly. "Yes, like his parents. However, it could also be a good friend of his."

"I'd say it's about time we got some coffee," She said, smiling. "Don't you think, Henry?"

He grinned, thrilled to be on the hunt again. "My treat!"

1. Farrell, S. (n.d.). How much hair loss normal? Retrieved from Daily MakeOver