by S. J. Coles
“Or he expects you to lie for him.” Seeing James’ stricken expression, she held up a hand. “We’ll park that. Just tell me what happened.”
“I got there at twelve. I rang the bell. There was no answer. I stood outside the door for a while…”
“You stood outside the door?”
“I was…debating.”
“How long for?”
“About five minutes.”
“That’s a lot of debating.”
“There was a lot to debate.”
“Too fucking right there was. If only you’d debated a bit longer maybe you’d’ve made the sensible, non-career-ending decision.”
James winced.
“Okay, you debated,” Gibson motioned him to carry on. “What happened next?”
“I went to leave and met him on the stairs.”
“So this was twelve-oh-five, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I checked my watch a lot during the debate.”
Gibson leaned back in the seat and stared at the ceiling. “So we have his movements from twelve-oh-five. That’s still at least twenty minutes of the kill-window that he’s unaccounted for, since it’s only a few minutes’ drive from the trailer to Winton seafront.”
“He doesn’t have a car.”
“Oh really?” Two high spots of color flushed on Gibson’s cheeks. “Something else you gleaned from your little unofficial interrogation session, right?”
James looked back down at the floor.
“Okay, no car,” she agreed in a more reasonable tone. “But it’s at most a fifteen-minute walk. That means he still has five minutes in which he could have shot Muntz.”
“He was carrying groceries.”
“What?”
James took a moment to steady his voice and tried again. “He was carrying groceries. Paper bags. They had the Murgatroyd Store logo stamped on them.”
Gibson’s eyes bored into him. He made himself meet and hold them, even as his stomach slowly filled with cement.
“You’d better pray to whatever gods you believe in that that store has surveillance footage of that kid buying your booze and condoms, Agent Solomon.”
James grimaced.
Gibson went to the door. The anger was gone from her face, leaving bitter disappointment behind. She sighed and, finally, her expression softened. Slightly. “You know we have to hold him, right?” James nodded. “Good. Go back to the hotel. Bury yourself in paperwork. We’ll finish the interview in the morning when everyone’s had a chance to cool off—and I’ve had a chance to decide what to do about this.”
Chapter Eight
James stared at the wall with his pulse throbbing in his ears and temples. The muffled sounds of other guests moving around in the room next door had long since gone quiet. The air smelled of clean sheets and hotel nothingness. He checked his phone again and saw it was past one in the morning. He turned onto his back, staring at the shadowy ceiling, but his mind still raced.
He sat up, swearing into the silence. He fought himself for two long minutes, then pushed back the covers, dressed and left. Not even as he climbed the stairs to entrance of Winton PD did he admit to himself what he was doing there. After showing his badge, the duty sergeant showed him through to the cells with a raised eyebrow but no comment. He unlocked Leo’s cell, James stepped in and the door closed behind him.
Leo was sitting on the cot, leaning against the wall. There were dark shadows under his eyes and the lively green had dulled to the color of stagnant pond water. “What the hell do you want?”
That was the question, James thought bitterly. He opened his mouth to speak, couldn’t find anything waiting to be said, rubbed his neck and stared at the floor. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Gee, I really feel for you.”
“Leo—”
“Go away, James.”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
“Leo,” he started again, daring to take a step closer.
“I’m not helping you with his one,” Leo snapped. “You’re supposed to feel guilty. That’s what happens when you screw someone over.”
“I screwed you over?”
“Literally hours after you finished screwing me. Guess you wanted to make a complete job of it, huh?”
“They found your cigarettes at the trailer. There’s five minutes of the kill window you’ve got no alibi for.”
“Check with the fucking store.”
“You were at the store from eleven fifty-three to twelve-oh-one,” James said in a low voice. “That still leaves eight minutes.”
“And that’s enough time to have shot Renny and got back to town?” His face was crumpled in a mix of annoyance and exasperation that James desperately wanted to believe was genuine.
“What am I supposed to think, Leo?” he said, voice tight with anguish. “I’m a cop. You had motive, means and opportunity, and you’re using me as your cover.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, you idiot,” Leo stood, face flushing hot with anger. “What the hell do you think I am?”
“You lied to me.”
“I what?” His green eyes blazed.
“All that shit about Torez’s argument with Benson—” James stopped and took a breath to steady himself. “You need to tell the truth, Leo. You’re only going to make it worse for yourself by holding out like this.”
“The truth about what?”
“About what you did yesterday morning,” James pushed, keeping his tone without inflection with an effort.
Leo’s fists clenched then unclenched. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, then transferred his glare to the wall. “All right, so I was there. But earlier. Breakfast time.”
“You’re admitting to being at Muntz’s trailer Sunday morning?” James said, feeling his heart sink.
“I’m not admitting to anything. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Why were you there?”
“The guy’s on his own,” Leo went on with an impatient gesture. “We’re both off on a Sunday. I went to say hi. We had coffee, smoked a few cigarettes. But then I left. He was alive. He was fine.”
“You told me you’d be sleeping in.”
“I didn’t plan it, James. I never plan anything. I literally just went over to say hi. He never mentioned any disks, money or anything. We didn’t talk about Benson at all.”
James tried very hard to stamp on the tiny flicker of hope that had lit in his chest. “Didn’t you think that was odd? Your boss murdered a few days before and it didn’t come up in conversation?”
“I didn’t think about it,” Leo insisted, spreading his hands. “He likes rockabilly. We talk about music. It’s the only thing we ever talk about.”
“Was there anything odd about him that morning?”
Leo shrugged. “He’s an odd guy.”
“Anything specific? Did he seem preoccupied? Did he say he was expecting someone?”
Leo made an impatient noise. “No. I don’t know. I don’t know him, James. I don’t know anyone.” He blinked, like the admission had startled him.
James chewed on the silence a moment. “What time did you leave?”
“I don’t know. Eleven-thirty?”
“He died at eleven forty-five. You need to be sure.”
“Eleven-thirty then, Christ.”
“This isn’t a joke, Leo.”
“Am I fucking laughing?” His face was taut. “It was eleven-thirty. I remember now. I looked at my phone and realized I needed to get the groceries.”
“Did you see anyone as you were leaving? Any cars? Anyone walking up the road?”
“No.”
James rubbed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell Gibson all this?”
“She didn’t give me the chance. She only asked about eleven forty-five onward. I was in the store…at least, I thought I was in
the store. Then with you, if you care to recall.” His voice was edged like a knife. “I didn’t fucking kill anyone.”
James stared at the wall, his mind doing somersaults, palms itching. He tried to decide if he was making the situation better or worse and wondered when he’d lost the ability to know the difference.
“You’re in trouble, aren’t you? For yesterday?” Leo’s mouth was a flat line, but his eyes were regarding James in that penetrating, level way that made him feel like Leo could see directly into his darkest corners.
“Not nearly as much trouble as you.”
“Jesus, James. Someone shows you they’re into you and your only explanation is that they’re using you as an alibi for a murder?” Leo shook his head, his eyes wide. “What the hell happened to you, man?”
James’ skin flushed hot then cold. He had his hand raised, ready to knock on the door and summon the duty sergeant, when Leo took a step closer, desperation transforming his face.
“Come on, James. I couldn’t have done these things. I had no reason—”
“What about Torez?” The venom in his tone caused Leo to blink, then his brow darkened.
“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”
“No,” James interjected quickly. “It’s about you using me.”
Leo’s eyes flashed. “For the last fucking time, I’m not using you. I had no reason to kill anyone. Benson didn’t care about Torez screwing me, you moron. He cared about Torez screwing his wife.”
“What?”
Leo folded his arms. “Yeah, that’s right. Torez and Melissa Benson were at it behind Benson’s back. It started right after he and I broke up. That’s why they fought. You didn’t know that? Aren’t you supposed to be a detective?”
“You were sleeping with him, dammit,” James said, unable to hold back the surge of feeling, “sleeping with the man you’ve been trying to get me to investigate. And you never said anything. You lied.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“You know what?” James interrupted. “You’re right. I am an idiot—an idiot to ever think you ever wanted anything other than to implicate your ex.”
“That’s not true,” Leo protested. The hurt in his tone flared James’s temper.
“So, pointing me at Torez without any evidence? What was that? The selfless act of a concerned citizen?”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” James cut in, stepping close. They were inches apart. Leo’s eyes widened. The anxiety in them coupled with the mixed smells of tobacco, coffee and peppermint made James fight to remain in control. “Don’t lie any more, Leo. Please.”
“Okay,” Leo said, his voice starting to tremble. “Maybe, in the beginning, in the smoking area…” He had the grace to blush. “Maybe then it was just about pointing you at Horatio, but not for the reasons you think. But everything after that? The beach? Dinner at Buck’s? Sunday? That was nothing to do with any of this shit, you five-star moron.”
“Then what was it about?” James growled.
“It was because I liked you, dickhead.”
James clenched and unclenched his fists. “I don’t believe you,” he murmured, desperately searching Leo’s face for…he didn’t even know what.
A low heat flickered in Leo’s eyes. “Shit like yesterday doesn’t just happen, at least not to me.”
“That’s not what others are saying.”
“Oh yeah?” He scowled, the heat extinguished quicker than a candle dropped into water. “You mean the car crash that was me and Ray?”
“Who?”
“Horatio? Torez. It was a disaster. He’s a disaster. He’s more repressed than you.”
James glared in return. “If it was that bad, why’d you let it go on for months?”
“Why is that even remotely your business?”
“Because I’m the agent trying to establish whether you murdered two people over this man.”
Leo chewed his lip a long moment. “I thought he liked me.”
James unclenched his jaw with an effort. “And you think I’m messed up.”
Leo frowned again. “I didn’t know it could be good. The guys I’ve been with…” He made an impatient noise. “The sort of guys who are into me always tend to be escaping something…or escaping themselves.” He gave James a long, heavy look. “You must know I didn’t do this. I thought you got me better than that.”
“I fucked you. That’s different.”
Leo’s face creased with rage. He raised a fist. James tensed but the blow never came. Leo lowered it again, his arm shaking. “If I didn’t already know how much longer that would land me in here for, I’d’ve done it.”
James grimaced at the sudden sour taste on his tongue. The shame was hot on his face, the anger at the shame burning fiercer in his belly. “You need to confess,” James forced out.
“Go screw yourself.”
* * * *
“Lord Almighty, you look like hell,” Gibson said before returning her attention to her paperwork. James stepped into the office she’d borrowed from Sheriff Coyle and quietly shut the door. He stared at the wall, trying to figure out how to start explaining. Eventually she lifted her head, took in his expression and blanched. “What’s happened now?”
James swallowed. “I went to see Leo…Hannah last night.”
“You did what?”
James straightened his shoulders. “I thought I could get him to confess.”
“How, exactly?” she said, getting to her feet. “And, please, spare me any anatomical details.”
James flushed. “I thought I might be able to reason with him.” He swallowed the bitter taste and continued. “But he’s still denying it. Although he did confirm he was at Muntz’s trailer on Sunday morning.”
“Forensics have already confirmed that for us,” Gibson said tightly. “But I’ll admit that him admitting it makes things easier. If only your sway over him extended to getting him to admit to the two murders, this might have all been for a reason.” She started gathering the papers, now looking more exhausted than angry. “Let’s go get this done.” She moved to brush past him then paused and met his eyes. “Help me end this, James. It can only help your case when it comes to your review.”
James’s stomach clenched. “Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded, gave him a small and what he hoped was meant to be a reassuring smile, then proceeded him to the interview room.
“Good morning, Mr. Hannah,” she said without inflection as she pushed the door open. Leo was sitting at the table, looking pale and tired, dull anger burning in the backs of his eyes. He scowled at her as she entered. “I trust you found the facilities agreeable?”
“Had to knock a star off my rating because of unwelcome visitors,” he muttered, levelling a glare at James that went right through him like a knife.
“I understand you’ve waived your right to an attorney this morning,” Gibson continued smoothly as she took a seat and activated the recorder. James sat stiffly and pulled out his notepad, mostly so he had something to do with his hands.
“You still haven’t charged me,” Leo said, “which means you have nothing more on me than cigarette butts and, I’m guessing, whiny finger-pointing from Sassy Andrews—who, by the way, has a crush on Horatio Torez hot enough to burn a hole in his pants. Did you know that?” James shifted, glanced at Gibson, but she was wearing her mask. “So, by my reckoning,” he went on with a glance at the clock on the wall, “you’ve got two hours to get me to admit to double murder or I get to walk out of here and never have to see either of your faces ever again.”
Gibson gave a sigh and laid one of the files on the table, resting her hand on top of it. “This file contains the forensic reports placing you at Muntz’s trailer. It also contains the records of your fingerprints on the door handle of both that trailer and Mr. Benson’s office.”
“But not on either of the guns?” he said with a crooked smile. “So I was smart enough to wear gloves to kill them but not sm
art enough to wear them coming in and out of the crime scenes?”
“We also have the statements of your fellow lab technicians, who all say you were working at separate workstations the night of Benson’s death. No one can one-hundred-percent attest to you being in the lab the whole evening.”
“I can’t one-hundred-percent attest to any of them being there all night either.”
Gibson regarded him levelly. “This file also contains your criminal record, Mr. Hannah. Drugs. Antisocial behavior. Assault.”
Leo’s face fell. “That was all years ago.”
“In our line of business, we find that, sadly, people rarely change their criminal tendencies.”
“Criminal tendencies?” Leo bit out. “I was a teenager. My folks were dead. I went off the rails for a few years. Who wouldn’t?”
“You need to be straight with us, Leo.” James heard his own voice like it was coming from far away. “Arguing won’t help anything.”
“Have you spoken to Horatio and Melissa?” he growled. “Has anyone even asked them a single fucking question about all this?”
“Both Mr. Torez and Mrs. Benson have been interviewed, along with everyone else,” Gibson continued in her practiced, businesslike tone.
“They’re fucking. Has anyone asked them about that?”
Gibson still didn’t react, but James thought he saw something shift in her expression. “You have proof of this?”
Leo ground his teeth. “No.”
“Whatever may or may not be between Horatio Torez and Melissa Benson, witnesses confirm they were both at the presentation evening at the time Mr. Benson was murdered,” Gibson went on. “The only evidence we have against them is your word. And given your personal history with Mr. Torez, it can hardly be said to be reliable.”
“Horatio Torez is a tool,” Leo said in a hard voice. “He’s a user and an asshole and, yeah, I’m pissed about the way he treated me. But that is not what this is about.”
“Then what is this about, Mr. Hannah?”
Leo had gone very still. He was looking at Gibson, but James wasn’t sure he was seeing her at all.
James hesitated, steeled himself, then leaned forward so that Leo met his eyes. “Leo, tell us. If it’s really not about revenge, tell us why you’re so convinced Torez has something to do with this.”
