“You didn’t want to go to work and refused to put on your uniform, so I dressed you how I selfishly wanted while packing your uniform in a bag. I’m really not sure why you willingly got into our cruiser after protesting going to work in your sleep, but here we are. To be fair to you, you were pretty much asleep when it happened.”
“We both need some coffee,” I informed Bailey, and I handed her the reins. “I have a critical disaster to attend to in my office. If you can find something for the poor man to drink while you’re at it, that might be a good start.”
“Try one of the calming teas,” Samuel suggested. “Dust it with B or A, but make sure he’s in retention of his faculties. We need to get a coherent interview out of him without traumatizing him. Detective McMarin, your office is wired to be recorded and observed, so notify him he is being recorded and make sure he understands he can request an attorney if he would like for the questioning session. He’s been pretty cooperative, but don’t take any shortcuts.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Good luck. You’ll need it.”
I nodded and headed for my office, to discover a small party in the hallway, in the doorway, and on the couch. According to the chatter, which involved a heated dispute over what sort of hell weather we’d face in the next week, my new co-workers had opted to distract the man seated in one of my guest chairs with small talk.
I took a moment to look him over. From average brown hair to average brown eyes with an equally average appearance with no truly distinctive features, he was the type of man detectives complained about when attempting to pull together a sketch from witness accounts.
He could be anybody, with his skin, eye, and hair color being his most distinguishing features, meaning he could be one of millions of men in the New York City area.
If he turned to a life of crime, I pitied the detective who needed to work on the case. His appearance would complicate the situation more than I cared to think about.
To put an end to the party, I checked the forecast on my phone, listened in until somebody made the correct guess for the afternoon’s proclaimed weather, and said, “According to the meteorologists, we will be wise to bring umbrellas with us in the afternoon, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. We are in New York, after all. Mr. Mortan, I’m Detective McMarin, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Wiggling through the crowd, I offered him my hand and shook with him before circling my desk and taking a seat. “I asked someone to make us drinks, but I think I’m going to get away with that exactly once.”
Alec Mortan grinned at me. “We’d been talking about how you’d just been promoted and transferred to this precinct. I’m just going to apologize now for the trouble.”
“You’re no trouble, Mr. Mortan,” I replied, unlocking my computer so I could pull up the starting notes for the case. Once I had it open, I grabbed the new digital pen for my whiteboard, herded the other cops out, and left the door open so coffee and tea could be delivered. “Be advised that this conversation will be recorded, and if you would like legal advice from an attorney, you may request it at any time.”
“I’m used to the routine. I don’t need any legal advice. I’m just the world’s most unfortunate witness. Honestly, this office is a lot nicer than the interrogation rooms.”
My office was; I’d been in interrogation rooms enough times to understand how uncomfortable they could be, something done on purpose to encourage criminals to start talking. It sometimes backfired on innocent witnesses, but the method tended to work, which resulted in nobody being happy during an interrogation.
As everything I’d heard about the man indicated he wasn’t lying to me, I nodded. Anyone who’d witnessed at least five deaths over two mornings was either cursed or truly unfortunate. “I was brought in to provide a fresh perspective, so I’d like you to introduce yourself and tell me when the trouble started.”
I turned on my digital whiteboard, opened a new file, and prepared to take notes.
“My name is Alec Mortan, I’m thirty-four years old, and I work as a forensic accountant. I’m currently employed by a corporation on Wall Street to expose any internal fraud, embezzlement, and so on. My job is to investigate questionable accounts at the company, identify any suspicious money movement, and learn who might be behind the transactions.”
Well, I already had a pile of potential motivations for someone to target Alec Mortan. Even in Brooklyn, we’d encounter cases of somebody trying to knock off a nosy accountant who’d exposed some form of fraud or another. “When did you start working as a forensic accountant?”
Most witnesses tended to give basic answers, but Alec backtracked to the moment he decided he wanted to transfer from marketing to accounting at the age of twenty-six, guided me through his education, explaining how he’d taken night courses while paying the bills working in marketing, eventually graduating at the top of his class for his first degree in accounting. At thirty-one, he’d accomplished his goal of qualifying to work as an accountant, and it had taken him two more years and more schooling to land his first job as a forensic accountant.
“And that’s when the trouble started,” Alec announced, and he sighed. “It was lunch on my first day, and my new boss took me to a restaurant down the street. It was a nice day, so we had lunch out on the patio. A driver decided to use the sidewalk as the road and killed ten people and injured a bunch more. I still don’t know why he did it. The guy didn’t seem drunk, especially not after he got out and made a run for it. Nobody told me what happened to that guy, but he took off down the street at a sprint.”
On the digital whiteboard, I made a notation of the murder method. “Hit and run, with the culprit running away on foot.” Alec gave me the date, time, and location, which I added to my notes. “Did you know any of the victims?”
“Know? No. Would have known given time? Yes. Two of the women killed were going to be working in the same department with me. My boss was really shaken up. They’d both been working for him for a long time. I hadn’t met them yet; they were doing an audit in a nearby building that morning.”
I made the appropriate notation, drew a box around the note, and marked it as the first case, leaving room to pull out the various case numbers for my digital murder board. “Were you questioned about it prior?”
“Yes.” Alec got onto his phone, and to my astonishment, he told me the case number. “I was told to keep the case number handy in case they had any other questions for me. They said something about me being able to request therapy about it if I referenced the case number.”
I nodded, as the NYPD did what it could to help those who’d witnessed a violent crime. Having a front row seat to the murders of ten people counted. I went to my computer, plugged in the case number, and pulled up the file. “The culprit was charged with first-degree murder, as one of the victims was an ex-girlfriend known to walk in that specific location at the time of day of the crime. He was imprisoned, and he’s still serving his sentence.”
“Good.”
I nodded, returning to the digital whiteboard and making notations with the verdict, case number, and a note to check over the trial’s transcription. “Before that incident, were there any strange accidents around you?”
“What sort of accidents?”
His question worried me, and I wondered how I could get the best information I could out of him. “Let’s start with moderate to severe injuries that could have easily led to death, especially if the accident involved someone else.”
Alec took his time thinking about it, and then he shook his head. “Nothing is coming to mind. There were plenty of rubberneck incidents, but I never saw any of those happen.”
