My heart bled, my fists wanted to clench. I held her wild eyed gaze with a compassionate but professional one and said instead, "Do you feel a little strange, Stacey?"
I could sense the tension on the air, in the room. The stillness of the guards, the charged atmosphere surrounding the barman. While the gentleman over my shoulder was a black void of space and air.
Evil is cruel. Evil is ancient. Evil sucks all the goodness from the air.
Stacey nodded her head. "I feel... floaty. Tired," she mumbled, looking around the room with an increasingly vague expression. The Rohypnol sinking in deeper with each passing minute. She'd had enough in the back room for them to move her, compliant but still fairly willing. By the time they located here, she was slipping reality, the drug taking its true insidious form.
But I still had to ask more questions. Rohypnol is not illegal, only the use of it as a date rape drug is.
"Stacey, stay with me a moment longer," I said, gripping her hand and finding a surprisingly tight - desperate? - grasp back. "Did you ask to be drugged? Did you consent?"
"This is ridiculous," the armchair gentleman said, receiving a, "Shut-up!" from one of the guards.
"Stacey?"
Her eyes flickered, lids heavy, frown line across her forehead.
"What drug?" she finally asked. "I don't do drugs. Why am I here?"
It was good enough for me. I needed to call in Pierce, organise an ambulance and get this woman to a doctor for testing, then book these sons of bitches. I offered one last squeeze of Stacey's hand, but she was already curling into a silently weeping ball on the bed. I stood up, perhaps a little self-righteousness and fury splashed across my face, and turned to the room, about to deliver my verdict.
My eyes caught Damon's. He saw the conviction there. Time slowed as something shifted across his face. Something feral and quite hard.
Then he was across the room in four quick strides, bypassing the still irate gentleman, leaving the guards unattended, and throwing a swinging punch at the face of the startled barman.
For a second we all watched on in stunned silence as blow after blow rained down on the still naked and defenceless man. Then I shook myself out of the shock I'd just been doused in and jumped forward to grab the neck of Damon's top. His elbow came back, while he lined up another shot at the bloody face of the guy. I dodged, lost my footing due to the sharp pain through my toe, and stumbled back.
Then all hell broke loose.
The guards stormed the room, one thank fuck going to the gentleman voyeur to detain him, the others heading straight for Damon and Tane Collins; the barman who I'd seen act suspiciously with the RTD.
The barman Damon had taken exception to, his clear dislike apparent when he'd pointed him out in the back room.
Fists flew, shouts cried out, but Damon was a lethal, uncontrollable weapon. Impressive, but frightening.
It took precious minutes to contain the situation, the security guards and I working together to pull the men apart. By the time it was over, I was panting, blood splattered, bruised, dumbfounded, and Tane Collins was viciously beaten, slumped on the floor.
I leaned back against the wall, watching the guards all catch their own breath, and watching Damon sink down onto his haunches, a wild, lost look in his haunted dark eyes. He reached up and ran a shaking bloody knuckled hand over his mouth, then ran both through his hair, making it stand up in curled tufts. His face came up, eyes settling on me, a pleading, desperate question there that I couldn't begin to answer.
I held his gaze for a long, long moment, then pushed off from the wall and walked to the nearest guard, requesting his cellphone.
With a heavy heart and a disillusioned soul, I called it in.
Chapter Twenty-One
"Justice is never the law."
I lay my aching head down on the top of my desk and closed my eyes. Just a minute or two, and I'd feel better. A snort, pathetic in its weakened, defeated tone, sounded out, puffing a sheet of paper up off the blotter pad beneath my cheek.
God, what a nightmare. What a fucking nightmare this night had become.
"I can't have you in there," Pierce said, from over my shoulder, clearly not believing that closed eyelids meant I was asleep. "But if you want to watch Michaels' interview, it's about to begin."
I sat upright, my head spinning from fatigue and low blood sugar. Not that I could stomach a thing to eat right now. I'd spent the past three hours interviewing Tane Collins - up at the hospital where he received treatment for contusions, but thankfully no broken bones or concussion - and the gentleman voyeur here at Central Police, who happened to be called Charles Smith and had lawyered up straight away.
Smith was probably going to walk free, I couldn't prove his complicity in the administration of benzos that were found in Stacey Lawrence's bloodstream. I'd only witnessed Tane Collins doing something unusual with the RTD, which was enough to pressure him into admission of this event, but he'd remained mute about any others. Smith had immediately denounced all knowledge, said he thought the girl was 'into it'. He copped to the filming, but again that was an internal thing between Zero Gravity and its members, filming sex scenes not exactly illegal in NZ.
As for any connections between this case and the murders, I'd come up with zip. I couldn’t force a confession, and any mention of the dead informants' names was met with blank stares. I had nothing to pressure them with. No new leads. A dead end.
But I wasn't giving up. I kept both men contained. Collins under police guard at Auckland City Hospital, Smith in lock-up; the law allowing for detainment, for a short period of time, in any sensitive and serious case. Because this was still possibly linked to the murders, the Inspector had agreed.
And now Damon was under arrest. For assault, of course. Pierce had asked point blank, "What the hell was he thinking?"
I'd replied, "No fucking idea."
Damon had been wild, out of control, a loose, lethal unit ready to cause... death. I did question it. Was he trying to kill the guy? And then the question inevitably rose to the forefront of my mind, "Why?"
I scrubbed my face clear, blinked a few times and stared up at Pierce.
"I want in the room," I declared.
"No fucking way."
"I was the arresting officer at the scene," I argued.
"Of the two roofies suspects, but not of Michaels. I arrested him. And why was that?"
"I was getting to it."
"You were unsure. And an uncertain cop, is a compromised cop."
"That's utter bullshit and you know it."
"I can't have you getting all emotional in there," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
I stood up so fast my chair rolled all the way back and hit a desk several feet away.
"I take exception to that. I am not fucking emotional."
"Could have fooled me," Cawfield muttered from across the room. I forced myself not to snap back.
Ryan scratched at his beard, studying me.
"This is..." he paused. "Ah hell, Keen. This sucks. He's your partner." I was grateful he didn't assume anything else.
"Then I have every right to find out why he did this."
"I disagree. You're too close."
"I was there. I know how close I was."
"You know what I mean!"
"Take her," Hart spoke from the door to his office. "She keeps her mouth shut, but her presence will unnerve him. I'm picking he'll be a tough nut to crack." Then the door slammed shut at his back.
The whole room was silent.
"Are you sure you want this?" Pierce finally pushed.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I declared, heading toward the interview rooms.
My throat was dry, I kept licking my lips. I was still dressed in the ridiculous outfit I'd worn to Zero, which had caused all manner of ribbing from Cawfield, who'd been called in to assist and was making sure we all knew how pissed off at that he was. He was grumpier than usual. Needed his beauty sleep.
&
nbsp; But I had no idea what I'd face in that interview room. It made me nervous. It made my stomach twist and flip. It made me sweat.
I wanted to be in there though, despite any of that emotional turmoil churning through my gut. I had to be in there. I couldn't exactly say why. Maybe it was because I had started to think of Damon as my partner. A real partner. And partner's don't give up on each other.
Or leave.
But whatever reason I felt for being in that room, it filled me up, consumed me. I think I would have gone mad watching on a video screen. I couldn't decipher why I needed to be in there, I just knew I needed to be.
But one look at a dishevelled, exhausted, and angry Damon, still blood covered, wearing his jeans and Henley from earlier that night, looking slightly pale under the stubble on his cheeks, and I knew he didn't feel the same way.
"Does Keen have to be here?" he asked, directing the question at Pierce.
"Yes," he replied. Clipped, short and brooking no argument. He crossed to the table Damon was sitting at and sat down. There was a chair beside him, but I walked to the corner of the room, opposite Damon and behind Pierce, and leaned back, arms crossed, sore foot resting on the good one.
I should have been sitting. But I couldn't bring myself to get close to Damon right now.
Pierce announced, for the recording, the start of the interview. Time, date, who was present. Interviewers and interviewee. Damon came out of the gates, racing.
"Am I being charged?"
Pierce leaned back in his chair and held Damon's cold stare.
"We'll see when this is through, shall we?" Damon nodded, leaned back and crossed his leg at the knee.
He didn't look anywhere near where I was standing.
"Michaels," Pierce started. "You want to tell me what the hell happened in there?"
I almost shook my head in disgust. Even Ryan Pierce couldn't conduct the interview formally. Damon may not have been a cop, but he was still one of ours.
And he was shaking his head in reply.
Pierce sighed. "You had your rights read to you. And have declined a lawyer. Do you still wish to proceed without one?"
"Yes." I did shake my head at that. Damon's eyes flicked up briefly to my face.
God, the need to demand answers was excruciating. I understood now why Pierce didn't want me in this room. I eyed the door, wondering if I should just walk out. Knowing I couldn't move an inch from my lean on that wall.
"Did you know the victim outside of tonight's events?" Pierce began.
"Victim," Damon spat. "The man drugged an innocent woman and planned to do despicable things to her against her will."
"That is not in question," Pierce countered, levelly. "Why you attacked him is. And why you didn't stop until you were dragged off his severely battered body."
"You know why," Damon murmured. "You can't say you wouldn't have thought about doing it too."
"Beating him to a pulp? Never," Pierce replied, steadily. "Thinking about landing one, just to make him hurt." A shrug. "Maybe." He levelled his gaze at Damon. "Would I follow through?" A shake of his head.
"You weren't there," Damon whispered.
"I've been in similar places, Damon. But this isn't about me, is it? It's about you assaulting a man while accompanying a police officer while she makes an arrest. You compromised Keen's case." I stiffened. So did Damon. "You could be the reason why she loses it in court."
Oh, hell no. That's not going to happen. And Pierce was clearly stretching things a bit. I hoped Damon didn't fall for the tactic. And then I realised, I was hoping Damon would get himself out of this.
Pierce issued another sigh. "Damon, it was witnessed by three guards, a suspect, a detective, and caught on film."
Fuck, that blasted camera.
"The victim on the bed claims to not have heard or seen a thing." Damon's lips twitched. I bit mine. "Now, I can't talk for Detective Keen, but it wouldn't be worth her job to cover this up. Not with plausible witnesses in the guards and a fucking video of the whole thing. So, let's just make this easier than it currently is."
I was thinking 'easier' was a euphemism for better. Damon was going to be charged, no two ways about it, but if there was some justification we could understand for why he lost it, he might have a defence to argue the case with. It was a long shot, and I couldn't see there being a valid explanation to lose the plot like that. Hell, he must have known this would jeopardise his job.
"Did you know Tane Collins prior to this evening's events?" Pierce tried again.
For a moment I thought Damon wouldn't answer, but maybe because he'd already indicated as much to me at Zero, he sucked in a breath and said, "Yes."
"How did you know Tane Collins?"
"I knew him as the barman in the back room of Zero Gravity."
Pierce didn't even pause. "When did you last attend Zero Gravity and see Tane Collins?"
Damon's eyelids fluttered, as though he wanted to look at me, but stopped himself short.
"Mr Michaels?" And here was the formality.
"I last saw Tane Collins at Zero Gravity ten months ago."
Ten months ago, that was about one month before we started dating. Did that mean he hadn't been to Zero since then? He had said it had been a while. I wanted to believe it back then, I wondered if I should now.
"And how many times had you seen him before then?"
"Never. Only that one time." One time. Just like he said in the club.
"So, you only knew him through your association with Zero Gravity?"
"Yes," Damon clipped.
"And why were you at the club?" I think we all held our breath, even Damon.
"Is that relevant?" he finally murmured.
"Yes," Pierce said, but there was understanding in his tone. "Help me to help you, Damon. The truth has to come out."
Damon sighed, ran a hand over the back of his neck. His tell for a deflection about to occur.
"I went there to get laid. See what all the fuss was about."
"Liar," I said, barely a whisper, but both men heard.
Damon glared at me, Pierce offered a frown. I waved him over.
With reluctance he stood from his chair and walked to where I stood, hiding my face from Damon's view.
"What did you see?" he asked, picking up on the fact that I knew Damon well and trusting that I could judge his mannerisms.
"He has a tell. When he tries to deflect or hide something."
Another raised eyebrow. "Remind me to play poker with him."
I smiled. It made my eyes well. Pierce's face softened.
"What's the tell, Lara?" he whispered.
I licked my lips to soothe my aching throat. Then realised it was my heart that hurt, nowhere else.
"Rubs the back of his neck, right before he delivers the lie."
Pierce nodded, reached up and squeezed my shoulder, and then turned back to Damon and took a seat at the table. Damon's eyes were on me. I couldn't hold his gaze.
"Let's try this again, Michaels," Pierce said, calling his attention back to him. "Why were you there?"
"I told you..."
"A lie, according to Detective Keen, who knows your tells."
"Fuck!" Damon burst. "Lara! Don't do this!"
I shook my head, kept my lips sealed, and pleaded with my eyes for him to cooperate. Ironic, isn't it? He'd pleaded with his at the scene for my help, I think. I couldn't have felt more wretched if I had stabbed him through the heart with a knife. Instead I was doing it metaphorically.
"Damon," Pierce said, again calling his attention away from me and back to him instead. "You weren't there for the sex, were you?" Nothing, just fisted hands on his thighs, a frown on his face, and a paling of his skin. "Were you there to retrieve someone?" Pierce fished, and Damon's whole body jerked.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. I had a feeling this might start to make awful sense.
"Were you there to rescue someone?" Pierce pushed.
Damon started to rock slightly in his c
hair. I took a step away from the wall without realising, Pierce twisting his body to hold his hand up, stilling my unwitting approach. His eyes hadn't left Damon's face.
"Who was it, Damon? Who was it you had to save from Tane Collins?"
My arms wrapped around the centre of my body, I was sure a tear was about to topple over the edge of my lid, so thick they welled inside.
Damon didn't answer, but realised he'd been rocking and stilled all motion. Instead he became a statue. A stalwart image of a trapped man.
"Someone close," Pierce pushed. "A lover?"
I stopped breathing. I stopped thinking. I shut down.
"A sister," Pierce offered, seeing something in Damon's stillness that I had missed. The lover theory worked, why had Pierce moved on from it? "Was it your sister? And did Tane Collins do something she didn't like?"
Damon's hand came down on the table, fisted. Pierce didn't jump, but I did.
"He lured her into that scene," Damon said, voice thick with some remembered emotion. "She was a good kid, just lost her way after our parents died."
Oh, God. It was his sister. Younger sister, who he was protective of, and who seemed to irritate the crap out of him at the same time.
"What happened, Damon?" Pierce asked gently.
Damon lifted tired eyes to Pierce. I might as well have not been there.
"She didn't want anyone to know," he whispered. "I promised on our parents' graves."
Oh, dear God.
"It's time to tell," Pierce encouraged. "Would she want you charged for grievous bodily harm?"
"I still will be, won't I? What difference will talking about this make? Carole won't want to press charges. She's just got her life back on track at last."
"Damon," Pierce said carefully. "You either talk now, or I'll be forced to approach your sister myself."
"You bastard!" Damon growled, but thankfully didn't leap up out of the chair. His restraint had returned at last.
"You trust me," Pierce said out of nowhere.
"How the fuck do you figure that?" Damon snarled.
"Because I'm not wearing one of your fists. You know I'll respect your sister's wishes. Not like Collins did. That's why you couldn't hold yourself back. When you knew he'd taken advantage of another defenceless woman you snapped. But maybe part of you thinks Carole got herself into that situation."
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