“Sienna, stop.” Sam places an index finger to the country singer’s lips but her hand is slapped down.
“Yeah, I’ll shush. You won’t hear another word out of me. Goddamn it. I never catch a break.” She juts out her arms, waiting to be handcuffed while her manager watches, horrified.
The younger detective glances at the older who shrugs and indicates with a roll of the hand to proceed. Moments later, wrists manacled, Sienna is led to the door by two of Brooklyn’s finest, and I use the term loosely.
As she passes by me, she grimaces. “Tell Andy not to worry. I know the rules.”
“You hang tough, darlin’.” My hands clench of their own accord. If those cops had any idea what she has gone through in her young life, they’d understand her outburst.
“Wish to join her?” Detective Mulligan, a twentyish, freckled redhead, glances down at my fists.
“No sir.”Asshole.
“Excellent. Could I have your name and address?” He picks up an iPhone, thumbs up and ready.
Slowly, I reach into my back pocket, dig into my wallet, and hold forth my business card.
He snaps a picture, snatches it out of my hand, and reads with his green eyes narrowing. “Private investigators, huh? What were you doing? Chasing ambulances? Hoping to get more work?”
“Yup. That’s what we was doin’ tonight. Me and my partner? We go to concerts, sit in the front row, and pray to the good Lord a musician will be electrocuted and fuck if it didn’t happen. A goddamned miracle, if you ask me.”
Sam, now standing beside me, snickers. She’s generally the sarcastic one. Maybe, it’s rubbing off. Now, that would be some scary shit.
“You think this is funny, Mr. Sutcliff?” The snot-nosed kid tries to look tough but after you’ve almost been blown to bits in Afghanistan, not much rattles my cage.
“Why don’t y’all do your job and start askin’ questions.” I speak loud enough for the older detective, to hear which causes the little twerp to blush.
Mumbling into the phone, he holds it forth. “I’m recording. Tell me what you saw.”
Normally, this would be my cue to ramble on for hours but today I’m a witness, not the accused. “The band walked on stage and started to play but the bass player grabbed a cord and knelt to plug it in. The lights dimmed and when his eyes bugged out of his head, I jumped next to him. Sienna pulled the power and I began CPR.”
“Did he say anything?”
“The guy was unconscious, so that would be a solid negative.”
“How well do you know Mrs. Quinn?”
I scratch my head. “Not well at all, officer.”
“It’s detective. Did you notice anything else?”
“No sir.” I shoot the cop my most earnest look and avoid Sam because sure as hell she’s rolling her eyes.
He shoves his phone under her chin. “What about you?”
His tone pisses me off but I bite my tongue because if we’re going to be of any help, we need to stay outside of the police station.
My girl glances at me and only after I nod does she begin. “The band came out so I stood and applauded with the crowd. I saw Calvin pluck his guitar but it didn’t make a sound. He looked confused, then knelt down, picked up a cable, and plugged it in.”
Shivering, she bites her lower lip, and closes her eyes. “Th-the lights blinked on and off. Then, Sebastian jumped on stage. He shouted for me to call nine-one-one and I did. That’s all I got.”
She shrugs. “Sorry.”
Mulligan frowns and taps the phone with his index finger. “You can go but don’t leave town. We’ll probably have more questions for you.”
“Understood.” While she says her goodbyes and hands out cards, I touch base with Slate, my boss and one of my best friends.
“Check out #Sienna on Twitter. Can you see to it she has legal counsel until Andy arrives?”
