The Blood Born Tales (Book 1): Blood Collector
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EPILOGUE
Seven days later
The clock on the depressing white wall in the FBI interrogation room of the downtown Seattle office reads 1:00 in the morning. Detective Tim Anderson sits at a long metal table with several agents across from him with doubtful looks painted across their faces. Tim pushes back the small microphone in front of him and sits back with a big sigh. He can read more than just the looks on their faces. Even though their expressions tell him volumes, he is reading their thoughts.
They don’t believe him, not one word of what he has said in the last 18 hours. Every word of his story about those four days he had told with honesty, clarity, and truth.
An agent named John Thompson sits across the table, staring Tim down with distrust and suspicion in his eyes.
John is young, dark, and well-built. One of those men whose unequal features somehow fit together in a very likable way. Tim can see that he is not the man of confidence that he portrays on the exterior. In his mind, he is shaken, afraid that someone will one day see through his deception. Afraid that the little child inside him will be discovered. His tough guy persona is nothing more than a show for the tougher, stronger men around him. John is known for his ostentation in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and whenever he goes to Quantico, the FBI training camp in Virginia, the female students always seem to suddenly find reasons to talk to him.
Tim can see all of this in him and more.
Detective Anderson knows that John and several more members of the FBI blame Tim and Kenny for the death of their friend and colleague, Special Agent Jack Mitchell.
The file on the table in front of Tim displays colorful photographs of a dead man and several unidentified bodies, as well as a massive crater in the Golden Gardens area of the city. Tim pulls one of the photos out of the file with two fingers and slides it over to look at it. It’s Jack. A numbing sadness washes over Tim as he stares down at it.
“Agent Mitchell was a friend. Well liked in the FBI, Detective. He had a wife and child that he will never see again,” John says. “If there is anything that you’re not telling me, say it now.”
Tim leans forward in his uncomfortable chair and it squeaks across the floor. He looks very serious and important.
“No. I didn’t leave anything out. What you need to remember, though, is this: I’m a cop. I’m supposed to protect and serve just as you are. I did my job the best way that I could. Jack died and it was horrible. He was my partner, just as Kenny Johnson is. Now, what I told you is the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not.”
“Would you?” he asks. “Would you believe that ridiculous story?”
“If you would’ve asked me that question eight days ago, I would’ve said ‘No way in hell!’ But something happened to change my mind; my eyes were opened.”
Tim knows it is pointless to try and impress his innocence upon this man. He only hopes that Kenny is having better luck with his SAC, or Special Agent in Charge.
On the other side of the glass wall in the interrogation room, a tall agent is talking on the phone to some unknown source. His mind is closed off to Tim and Tim is completely unaware that he is there watching him.
“No, he’s telling the truth. Detective Anderson looked him in the eye at all times, his expression reached his entire face, not just his mouth. He’s speaking in contractions, instead of formally… That’s right, sir. Yes, look at the video feed—he expands himself outwardly in his communication. His body language is clear. A liar doesn’t do that, a liar withdraws. Not only is this guy telling the truth, he’s relaying facts… No way we can prove it though. No damn way… What? If that’s what you want, sir… Goodbye.”
He closes his phone, drops it into his pocket, rubs his nose with his long fingers, then pushes an intercom button on the wall. His voice echoes into the earpiece of SAC John Thompson.
“Release him, John. It’s over.”
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