Chapter Five
They took me into custody right away. They didn't even let me explain what had happened before I was being handcuffed.
What a bunch of jackasses.
They had decided that I was dangerous, and probably guilty. They read me my rights and it was very, very hard not to shout about police brutality as they took Nadia away from me. Detective Stringer had also insisted that my jacket was taken away. The sly bastard knew me far too well to allow me to keep my handy dandy tools on my person while they interrogated me. I might break out of the handcuffs with that lock picking tool set I had in my pocket.
What an asshole. I kept my handcuff picking tool tucked into my watchband at all times. You'd think he'd have been at least smart enough to figure that out.
Detective Stringer and I had a long and awfully unpleasant history between us. I'd been a better cop than he had, and I had been more highly decorated than he had. He hated it and resented me.
I was smarter, better looking and just a better detective than he was, and I still proved it every time our paths crossed. I think that fate and the chief of police liked to throw us into the mix together, just to see who would snap first.
If I had anything to say about it, he would be the one losing his shit first. I am the model of perfect calmness and self-control.
Except for when certain jackasses arrest me and throw me in an interrogation room without so much as a phone call. Or a glass of water.
Savages, I tell you. Corrupt, brutal savages.
I'd been in this interrogation room many a time before. Some of those times I had been the one giving the interrogation, but it hadn't been that way for a long time. I noticed that they'd filled in the hole I'd made beside the mirror when I threw a chair at the wall as a scare tactic.
Took them long enough. I'd done that eight years ago, and the last time I had been in this room, the hole had still been there.
I grinned to myself at the memory. Good times, man.
Now, though, I was sitting on the uncomfortable metal chair, handcuffed around the back. This was unethical on so many levels. I wondered if I could sue. That would sure put a twist in Stringer's panties; a black spot on his otherwise untarnished reputation.
I shifted in my seat, debating on if I really ought to let this charade continue, or if I felt like being a bigger pain in Stringer's ass than I already had been. I slipped my fingers on my right hand under the watch band on my left wrist, feeling the familiar metal strap. I brushed my fingertips along the thin, leather band hidden on the inside of the watch strap that rested against my skin.
Before I could palm the little metal hook, the door opened. I took my hand away from my watch; I was too afraid to have my watch confiscated to risk giving Stringer even the barest suggestion of a reason to take a closer look. I relaxed in my chair and looked up at Stringer as he set a file down on the table between us before sitting down across from me.
“You look far too relaxed for someone facing a murder charge, Tuesday,” Stringer said smugly.
I blinked lazily at him, a small smile touching the corners of my mouth. “That's 'cause I'm innocent.”
“See, there's no evidence to back that up.”
“No,” I corrected, “there's no evidence at all.”
“Your fingerprints are on the railings in the house, and on the door to the upstairs office.”
“I was hired to make a delivery to the late doctor.”
Stringer snorted. “A likely story.”
“I know,” I agreed with a nod. “It's 'cause it's true, too.”
“Your DNA is on the victim's body.”
I laughed openly, doubling over as far as having my hands handcuffed behind my back would allow. I couldn't help it.
“Oh God, Stringer,” I breathed between peals of laughter. “Seriously? You of all people should know that this isn't my first rodeo.”
Stringer glared at me. I noticed a glint in his eye that hadn't been there the last time we were forced to interact. It was the glint of hatred and malice. I had seen that look before in the eyes of serial killers; and mad dogs. I was suddenly a little bit worried about my personal safety.
“Seriously, Detective,” I said carefully. “You and I both know, without a doubt, that your DNA evidence hasn't been processed yet.”
Stringer had the best poker face that I had ever seen. He didn't give anything away. I was glad that I had quit when I had. This guy was not someone that I would have wanted to work with.
I leaned back casually in the chair. I knew that Stringer had jack squat on me. He was going to try to force a confession out of me before any contradictory evidence came up from the labs.
Smart play, I decided. He was stalling.
Too bad I hasn't been kidding when I said that I was a better cop. Two could play at the “stalling until the evidence arrived” game.
“So you've got me at the scene,” I mused. “That's enough to slap a few bullshit fines on me if you really want,” I shrugged nonchalantly.
“I am going to pin this murder on you,” Stringer informed me coolly. “And then I'm going to nail you to the wall.”
I smirked. “That's really romantic of you, Stringer, but at least buy me dinner before we start talking about nailing each other.”
Stringer slammed his hands down on the table. I didn't flinch. I stared calmly at him, taking him in for the first time since my arrest today. He was younger than me by a couple of years. I think he was a little older than Jackson, but I wasn't sure. Stringer was half-Asian, Japanese, I think. His eyes were nearly black, like his short-cropped hair, though the first streaks of silver had begun to show at his temples. He’d aged ten years since the last time I'd seen him, and he looked like he hadn't been sleeping.
Poor bastard.
I didn't feel bad for teasing him, even though I probably should have. Stringer was the worst kind of asshole. He was an asshole with an ego, a badge, a gun, and permission to use that gun whenever it was deemed necessary. He didn't care about appropriate. He was dangerous and I had the sneaking suspicion that it had gotten worse in the past few years.
“Are you trying to scare me?” I asked.
“I don't have time for your games, Tuesday,” Stringer shot back.
“Who said that I was playing games?”
Stringer narrowed his eyes at me.
“Look, uncuff me and let's talk this out civilly, one cop to another,” I suggested.
“You're not a cop,” Stringer countered. “You're the prime suspect in an active murder investigation. And if you don't cooperate, I'm gonna charge you with obstruction.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned back, relaxing in my chair again. I needed out of these handcuffs and I was willing to risk losing my watch if Stringer wasn't going to play ball.
“I used to be a cop,” I pointed out, running my fingers along my watch strap again.
“You quit.”
I snorted and put my feet up on the table, distracting Stringer from the little fidgety movements my hands were making behind my back.
“Take your feet off the table,” Stringer demanded.
I ignored him, waving my foot and grinning. I only needed a few more seconds.
“I'm a private detective,” I replied. “I pay my dues to keep my license up to date. I carry all of the proper I.D. on me at all times. I've done a lot of work for people who have lost all hope or haven't had good luck with the police force.”
I smiled innocently, to drive that last point home
“Doesn't make you invincible,” Stringer pointed out. “Hell, it doesn't even make you a good person. In fact, I'd say that it makes you more dangerous.”
I arched my eyebrow as the handcuff unlocked with the quietest of clicks. I didn't want to be caught with my hands bound when I pushed Stringer just beyond the point of reason.
“Dangerous?” I repeated. “Kind of like certain detectives on the force who abuse their powers?”
Stringer's eye twitched and it was pretty obvious t
o me that he wanted to lunge across the table and throttle me. He didn't though, he was being very reserved. I had to wonder if I hadn't pushed hard enough; and then wonder who was watching us in the observation room beyond the mirrored wall.
“I think you're taking this to an unreasonably personal level,” I pushed. I wanted Stringer to snap. I wanted to get out of this room and I definitely wanted to clear my name.
“How is this personal?” Stringer asked. “I'm doing my job.”
“It's no secret that you don't like me,” I explained in a very condescending way. My dislike for Stringer was based on the fact that he was one of the dirtiest cops I'd ever known. And one of the dumbest.
“Just because I don't like you doesn't make this a personal matter,” Stringer countered. “You were at the scene, you're a suspect. Simple as that.”
Lies.
Stringer and I hadn't worked directly together, but when I'd found out about how many of my police brethren were dirty, his name had been prominent on the list. When I quit the force, I'd been highly decorated and I was one of the few detectives who hadn't been compromised. I really wasn't a cop for the glory or the money, so my ethical stance didn't sit well with others playing dirty. It also probably didn't help that I'd made a big hubbub about it, caused a bunch of scandal and went public about the corruption as soon as I was no longer on the payroll.
I sighed and stared back at Stringer.
“I was at the scene because I was making a delivery!” I exclaimed. “I've already told you this! You don't listen very well, do you?”
“What were you delivering?” Stringer asked.
“None of your damn business,” I replied casually.
“We didn't find a delivery.”
“That's because you're the worst detective in the world,” I explained.
Stringer's face turned into a blank mask of impotent rage. I could practically see the gears turning in his head. He was on the verge of snapping.
“All right, Tuesday,” Stringer growled. “One last chance.”
“Before what?” I asked. “All you've got is some bullshit circumstantial evidence and my fingerprints in the house because I went to check if there was anyone in the house.”
“What do you mean?” Stringer pressed, fishing for information.
I rolled my eyes. This was just turning into a circular conversation.
“So this is what happened,” I elaborated. “I was sent to Doctor Jones' place to make a delivery. I rang the doorbell. No answer. As I was standing there, waiting, I saw movement in the window. I peeked inside through those big ass bay windows on the front of the house. I saw the doctor take a tumble down those stairs. I shouted, announced myself as Detective Tuesday and said I was coming in to make sure he was all right. The door was locked so I kicked it open. Doctor Jones was lying at the foot of the stairs where you found him, only face down. I checked the man for vitals and rolled him over carefully, just in case. He was dead at the foot of the stairs. I heard a banging noise coming from upstairs so I drew my gun and went to check. I announced myself again and opened the door at the end of the hallway where you found my fingerprints. The window was open and there was no one in there.” I frowned. “Then I went back downstairs and was about to call you guys when you showed up.”
“That still doesn't explain how he died,” Stringer said.
I shrugged. “His neck looked pretty broken to me. And he fell down the damn stairs. I'd say he tripped, took a tumble and broke his fool neck. Kind of a random accident if you ask me.”
“No one is asking you,” Stringer grumbled.
“Oh good,” I replied. “Then I really think that there was someone else in the house who attacked the doctor for some currently unknown reason and then left the building by climbing through the upstairs window, walking across the roof, and shimmying down that big ass tree next to the house before running the hell away,” I nodded to myself. “That was the banging noise I heard upstairs. Whoever it was had trouble opening the window and climbing across the roof.”
“And you expect me to believe this?” Stringer asked.
I pursed my lips, wrinkling my nose before nodding. “Yeah, I do,” I admitted with a smirk.
Stringer was doing a damn good job keeping his emotions in check. I knew I was just pissing him off, and that there was no way that he was gonna believe me until the actual autopsy was performed. I just hoped that I hadn't messed up the evidence too much my checking for vitals. I'd have to call my lawyer as soon as possible, just in case. I smiled at Stringer, waiting for his response.
"I'm not gonna ask you again," Stringer drawled. "What. Was. The. Delivery?"
I smiled and waved my hand over my body, relishing the look of surprise on Stringer’s face as he realized I'd broken out of my handcuffs. "All of this, Sugar," I crooned. "I've been moonlighting as a strip-o-gram carrier for the past few weeks and the good Doctor was my last job of the day."
That was all it took.
Stringer lunged across the table, grabbing my wrist.
“You son of a bitch,” He growled, pushing the table toward me as he tried to attack me. “Do you think this is all one big joke?”
I swung my legs off of the table as Stringer grabbed at me. I wasn't going to fight back, I had no intention of getting charged with assaulting a police officer on top of everything. Stringer's reaction and his added weight knocked my chair over backward and we both tumbled over. He sprawled over the table that was between us and I ended up on my back. I had just been lucky that the cop who had cuffed me had slipped the handcuffs around the back of the chair in a way that allowed me to get my hands free. Working the murder case with a broken wrist would have sucked.
I felt my head bounce off the concrete floor as the chair tipped over and I hoped that it wasn't going to end up being a concussion. I needed all the brain cells that I could get if I was planning to go toe to toe mentally with Stringer.
Stringer slid off the table and grabbed me by the front of my shirt. I didn't fight back as he dragged me to my feet and slammed me up against the wall. I was mostly just thankful that he didn't hit my head a second time.
“You're attacking a guy in shackles!” I shouted.
“You're not chained up,” Stringer growled back, pressing his forearm against my throat. “You piece of crap. You spit on the job, you spit on the departments. You don't give a damn about us, you just run around and play your little mind games and you charge ungodly amounts of money for your so-called services.”
I smirked, despite the choking pressure against my neck. “I get results, asshole. Unlike some. And I charge what people are willing to pay. You wanna hire me and you don't have the money? Sure I'll take your case. I'm not in it for the cash.”
Stringer slammed me against the wall again and I felt my teeth clack together with the force. “Oh no? You're gonna tell me that you're in it for the altruistic sense of spiritual fulfilment you get from helping these poor people who walk through your door?” He snorted. “Bullshit. You're a shitty liar and a shitty detective and I am gonna see you burn for murder.”
I narrowed my eyes in defiance. I wouldn't hit him, no matter what. “Good luck, Detective,” I taunted. “I didn't do it and no amount of blackmail, bribery or any other dirty cop trick you can pull is gonna get me to confess. Your evidence isn't gonna lie, and there's nothing you can do to pin this on me. I'm the good guy here.”
Stringer threw a punch, then. He hit me square in the jaw. I was just thankful it wasn't my nose. I guess he respected me a little bit. Black eyes and a broken nose were the last things I needed if I was gonna solve this murder.
“Police brutality,” I drawled, feeling blood seep into my mouth. “I'll sue.”
“Try me,” Stringer growled, winding up to hit me a second time. “You think I care?”
The door opened and two uniformed cops rushed in, dragging Stringer away from me. I glared at Stringer, who struggled against the two uniforms, grumbling about something I couldn't be
bothered to understand. My head was spinning, from the first bump I'd gotten, lack of oxygen and now the punch. It wasn't my day. I leaned against the wall, watching Stringer carefully as he was dragged out of the room. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react to the altercation.
As Stringer was dragged from the room, I leaned over, resting my hands against my legs and still supporting myself with my hips pressed against the wall. I took a moment to steady my breathing and inspect my jaw with my fingers, making sure that Stringer hadn't gotten lucky and broken something. I winced, but didn't grumble. I didn't think anything was broken, but I'd have a good bruise and probably a swollen lip for a few days. I'd make sure Stringer got his due for this. I looked up as a new figure appeared in the doorway.
Great, this was exactly what I needed.
The police chief for the precinct was standing in the doorway, staring at me with his arms folded across his chest. At least now I knew why it took me so long to get Stringer to snap. He was being good.
Tyler Fredricks had taken over as chief of police in light of my abrupt departure from the force. He hadn't been my boss, technically, and he was one of the good guys left when I quit. I just hoped that he still held the same principles now, although the end results with Danny had me wondering if Fredricks was still on the up and up.
Chief Fredricks was a huge black man. He was about as tall as me, but built like a tank, and he played college football before deciding to become a cop. He kept his physique in prime condition and he was pretty famous for his hand to hand combat skills. He was in his late thirties, young for a police chief. There was a rumour that he had been dishonourably discharged from the military, but I didn't buy it. He didn't seem like the type. Despite his rough, huge physical appearance, Tyler was a soft-spoken, intelligent man. I'm still surprised that he hadn't canned Stringer yet.
Our eyes met for a long moment and I knew that, while I was in trouble for messing with Stringer, I didn't need to fear having my trachea crushed by Tyler. I stood up and slowly walked back toward the table. Carefully, so I didn't fall over, I bent down and picked up my chair. The world immediately started to spin, but I didn't say anything. I wouldn't let Stringer have the pleasure of knowing he'd screwed me up more than he could see. I set the chair back upright and sank back into it. The handcuffs still attached to my right wrist clinked and jingled gently against the cool metal chair.
“Hey, Chief,” I said slowly through the pain in my jaw. “Can I go home now?”
Tyler smiled and closed the door. He took the seat across from me and stared intently at me. He was pretty baby-faced for such a huge guy and he had these giant brown doe eyes that betrayed every emotion in the guy's head.
“Stringer wasn't wrong,” Tyler said carefully.
“About charging me with obstruction?” I replied. “Yeah, I know. I'm not lying, though. And I'm trying to help.”
“Help? Is that what you call taunting Detective Stringer until he nearly chokes you?” Tyler asked me.
I shrugged. “He hates me. He's probably the worst choice to have working this case since he'll not stop until you find some evidence that implicates me.”
“I know that, but he was the first responder to the call.”
“Who made the call to report the whole thing?” I asked.
“I can't tell you that,” Tyler replied. “Regrettably, you are still a suspect.”
I nodded. I had known that this was going to come back and bite me in the ass! Damn Wayside.
“So what?” I pressed. “You're gonna hold me here for breaking and entering?”
Tyler shrugged. “Until the lab can give us a reason to let you go, or charge you with something worse, I think you'll be better off in a holding cell overnight.”
I huffed a heavy breath through my nose. “I think that would be a very bad idea.”
“Why?”
I opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it. It wasn't going to be a smart ass comment, but arguing with the police chief might not help me win any friends. Or, assuming that Tyler was more or less my friend, then badmouthing his officers definitely wouldn't help me win my case.
“Look, I haven't even gotten a phone call,” I said instead. “If you're planning on charging me with anything, then I should at least get the chance to call my partner and have him send my lawyer down here. It's my civil right to get a phone call, after all.”
Tyler smiled. It was a strangely genuine smile. It seemed out of place in the situation. I had to keep myself from fidgeting nervously, I was a little bit out of my league.
“Of course,” Tyler said. “I'm sorry that you've had such a bad run in with Stringer. I'm not charging you with anything, yet. The person who made the call said that they heard someone shouting about being a detective, so I'm more inclined to take your word for what actually happened.”
I felt my eye twitch involuntarily. This seemed like a backwards ploy to me. I had to be careful, if Tyler was fishing for a confession or something, anything I said that was even remotely sarcastic or misleading could end up with me getting tossed in the poke for obstruction.
“So then why am I still sitting here?” I asked.
Tyler spread his hands over the table, palms up in a gesture of no contest.
“You did just piss one of my detectives off to the point of violence,” he said slowly. “And you are kind of being a hindrance to our investigation.”
I gave Tyler a pointed look.
He smiled again, his smile came so easy, like he truly enjoyed his job. I decided then that it would be in my best interests if I stayed on this guy's good side. I set my hands on top of the table and folded them together.
“So what do you want from me, then?”
“I want a statement,” Tyler said, flipping open the folder that Stringer had left on the table. He pulled a piece of paper out of the folder and held it out to me. A piece of official police letterhead. “You know the drill, right, Blaze? You still remember how this works.” That smile again. It was sweet, somehow comforting and sincere. I didn't get it.
“Am I being charged with anything?” I asked, hesitantly reaching for the paper with my right hand, bringing to attention the fact that, yes, I was still handcuffed.
“Not yet,” Tyler replied, grabbing my wrist. He produced a key ring from his pocket and undid the handcuffs. He set them back down on the table, a subtle reminder that I could be charged and locked back up in a heartbeat. “All I want is your official statement, and then we wait for the labs to send us their results.”
I sighed and nodded in defeat. “All right,” I agreed.
Tyler nodded curtly and produced a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket. He handed it to me and I looked at it bitterly for a moment. I didn't want to confess to anything, but if this was going to be the thing that got me out of here, then I'd play ball. At least Chief Fredricks wasn't punching me in the face.
We sat there in silence as I wrote down my statement, the ballpoint pen scratched against the paper and I could feel Tyler's eyes on me, watching critically as I scrawled my statement. I handed the statement back to him and he took a long moment to read it carefully. I had the sudden feeling of being a child in grade school having a book report criticized by my teacher. I was a wreck, wasn't I?
Slowly, Tyler nodded. “So you think that there was someone else in the house?”
“I heard a banging upstairs in the office,” I confirmed. I was getting tired of answering the same questions over and over. This whole interview had been one big runaround. “I didn't see whoever it was, but I'd be willing to bet that whoever was up there was the murderer.”
“We're treating this as an accident,” Tyler replied, tucking the paper with my statement on it back into the file and closing it carefully. “Unless there is reason to think otherwise as the evidence piles up, anyway.”
I sighed but nodded. Of course they would treat it as an accident. If I wasn't gonna be charged with murder, then what else cou
ld they do? The world would want answers for the death of a beloved public figure.
“So I'm off the hook for this?” I asked, maybe a little too eagerly.
Tyler shrugged. “I can't reasonably charge you with anything, currently,” he admitted. “I mean, realistically, according to your statement, you broke open the door because you thought the man had fallen. As far as I'm concerned, that's you doing your civic duty. In your position I'd have done the same thing.”
I smiled. “That's good to know, sir. Thank you.”
Tyler pointed a finger at me. “That doesn't mean you have free rein to run about gloating, Tuesday,” he warned. “Stringer is gonna be pissed that I'm letting you go without even a fine or an obstruction charge.”
“Yeah, I know,” I agreed with a nod. “Why aren't you charging me?”
“What's the point of charging you?” Tyler replied. “It's not gonna help us find the supposed killer, if there was one. And arresting you is just gonna make you less cooperative than you usually are.”
He had a point.
“Stringer just wants a reason to get you put out of commission,” Tyler continued. “He's still sore over the internal affairs investigation you set loose on the department when you quit.”
“And you?” I asked.
“I have nothing to hide and everything to lose,” Tyler said. “I have never taken a bribe or blackmail. I have lived my life in a way that, if you were to explore it, would yield so little interesting tabloid fodder, you would think that you were reading Jane Austin,” he shrugged. “I got my job by living clean and by sticking with it when you pulled the wool off of everyone's eyes and brought internal affairs down on everyone's heads. If anything, I have you to thank for doing what you did. I should be grateful to you for having the cojones to stand up and point out that the system is broken.”
“So why does Stringer still have a badge?”
“That is not my choice,” Tyler complained. “IA didn't turn up jack on him. He's either smart enough not to have gotten caught -”
I snorted a laugh of contempt, interrupting Tyler's speech.
“- or he's actually not dirty.”
I nodded slowly. “Well, anything I can do, lemme know,” I said.
“You want your badge back?” Tyler offered.
I was stunned. I blinked stupidly, staring at the chief. “Sorry, what?” I stammered.
“Do you want your badge back?” he repeated. “I'll bring you back to the force if you want. In a heartbeat.”
I felt a slow smile creeping onto my face. I had a few friends in high places, it seemed. And the thought of showing back up as a detective on the Metro force was almost too good to pass up, if only for the look on Stringer's face if I was to return.
“That is a mighty tempting offer,” I said slowly, turning the possibilities over in my mind.
“It's an open offer,” Tyler said. “You need a place to come back to, come talk to me.”
I nodded. “I appreciate it, sir.”
Tyler opened his mouth to say something further but was interrupted by a knock on the door. He stood with a groan and opened the door. Standing meekly in the hallway was one of the two uniformed officers who had restrained and dragged Stringer out of here when he flipped out. I felt sorry for the kid. He was a young beat cop, I didn't recognize him. Probably fairly green.
I really hoped that the little outburst hadn't been the first time he'd seen Stringer lose his cool.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, sir,” the kid stammered. “But the lab is ready to see Detective Tuesday now. If you're done with his questioning.”
Tyler shot a look back at me. “Is there anything else that you feel the need to tell me about this whole situation?”
“I find the whole thing to be completely ridiculous and a bit of a farce, to be honest,” I intoned, grinning.
Tyler rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think we're done. You can take him away now.”
I stood carefully, making sure that the spinning in my head had stopped before I moved too quickly. I paused briefly to shake hands with Chief Fredricks.
“Seriously,” he said quietly. “Think about my offer, I'd be honoured to have you back on the payroll.”
I nodded sincerely in return. “Thanks,” I agreed as I allowed myself to be led down the hallway by the uniformed rookie.