Chapter Seven
Suds
When the officers detain me as an accessory after the fact, I grin because I am going to make their lives a living hell. Whatever they think they found in our apartment, it had to have been planted by the guy who broke in last night. No way would we leave evidence out in the open for the cops to find. How stupid do they think we are?
They put Sam and me in separate squad cars and drive us to the local precinct. Inside, I wave to a few of the guys and they laugh because it ain’t them doing the interrogating.
I wonder if I can break my record. By my count, my last ramble lasted ten hours and thirty-six minutes but I was just getting warmed up.
I’m not too worried about the murder charge. Forensics these days don’t lie. For some reason the cops have decided to harass us which is a real bad idea considering her father is chief of police and protective as hell.
Maybe it’s politics? The social climate is changing and there’s a whole lot of people who want her dad out of the chief’s big chair. In my mind, it’s like throwing the baby out with the bathwater but what do I know? I suppose having his daughter arrested for murder could help their cause.
Suddenly, I’m real glad Slate called in Andy Quinn. We’re going to need him.
Sitting inside the empty room, I put my head on the table and nap. In the service, I learned to catch a few z’s whenever the opportunity presented. They may think they’re making me nervous by waiting but I’m refreshed as a fucking daisy.
“I’m Detective O’Shay. I have a few simple questions and then you can go home.”
“Lawyer.” I cross my arms and jut out my chin. As much as I love a good ramble, I’m no idiot.
“You don’t need one to hear me out.” He can talk all he wants but there’s no way I’m saying anything until my advocate shows up. These assholes must have some serious shit on me if they’re pressing charges.
I feign disinterest as he shoves a laptop under my nose. The video’s vantage point seems to be coming from inside the trunk of some car. Gloved hands reach for a gray case and spin a combination lock. Once the cover is open, fingers wrap around a pistol and remove it from view.
“Your wife stole evidence.” The fortyish man across the table watches my face but I’ve played poker with the best. He ain’t gonna see nothin’ I don’t want him to.
Besides, his little ol’ movie don’t prove she did it. A clever guy with the right program can make you believe just about anything nowadays. Again, I keep my thoughts to myself. However, I know for a fact, after I arrived at the apartment building, Sam never left my side. No way did she steal that evidence.
I smile. While I wait for my lawyer, there’s no harm in riling up the detective. “Huh. What do y’all figure her motivation was?”
“Simple. She was drumming up business. Your agency has been slow since the pandemic and you two need the cash. She saw an opportunity and took it.”
“Huh. Well that there is an interesting theory.” I lean back in my chair.What an ass.
“You want to give me another?” The hot shit detective spins another yarn, so I close my eyes and when I wake, Andy Quinn walks in the door.
He nods, we shake hands, and I ask, “What time is it?”
If I’m going to beat my personal best, I need to be accurate.
“Three-oh-five AM.” He unbuttons his Italian suit jacket to reveal a starched shirt so white, I need sunglasses.
It’s times like these I’m real glad he owes me and Sam a huge favor because otherwise, it’d take a lifetime to pay his fees.
Opening his leather briefcase, he pulls out paperwork and reads so slowly, you’d think he had a learning disability. I know better. I’ve seen him at work. He wants to rattle the folks behind the mirror.
Finished, he glances up with a smile so big and so wide, it’s more fit for an alligator than a man. “Go ahead, Detective O’Shay. You may begin.”
The interrogating officer has no idea he is about to become the stuff of legends. He starts his recording, announces the case number, and states our names.
As if we were having a conversation in a local bar, he slides his chair adjacent to me. “Tell me what you were doing in Bed Sty on the night of the fifteenth.”
I can almost hear a collective moan from the guys behind the two-way glass.
“Y’all ready?” Eyes all a-glitter, I wink up at them while Andy makes a triangle with his fingers and puts it to his lips to keep from laughing.
Taking a deep breath, I go for the gold. “Three nights ago? Hmm. Let’s see now. Was it Tuesday? No. I’m sorry. It was a Monday. Sometimes days just flow together. But, for sure it was the day after Sunday. Gawd almighty. The priest started with the loaves and the fishes, moved onto what the eels looked like as Moses parted the sea, and then something about Jesus, sandals, and washing feet. Hell, the moment he was done, I stood, and applauded.”
