Mike said nothing for a few seconds. “Five minutes.” He pushed open the door.
Sara met them in the holding area with Bucshon cuffed to the bench. Hank was a rat-faced guy with a slight build. The burglary he’d committed when Lainie arrested him was a window entry. Wiry and flexible, Bucshon had no trouble getting in and out of small windows. She’d caught him in the alley coming out of one when he tried to run.
Now, he sat on the bench, subdued. Taking a Taser shot tended to do that to people. He’d been checked out by medical personnel and was okay to process.
“You still want to talk?” Lainie asked him.
“I don’t wanna go to jail.”
“I can’t help you there. We saw you about to scalp your girlfriend. I can’t make that go away.”
“You can keep me out of county jail, can’t you?”
Lainie considered this. No one liked going to county jail. Especially those men with small builds and no gang attachments. Hank was only tough when it came to hitting women.
“I’ll listen to what you want to say, then it’s up to the DA.”
He nodded. “I work inside with Vine. I can give you Vine, I promise. Catch your big fish, let the little one swim away.”
“Get up.”
They walked him to an interview room.
As they sat, Lainie’s phone rang and she silenced it. As a matter of form, she advised Bucshon of his Miranda rights and then unhandcuffed him so he could sign the waiver saying he understood his rights and wanted to talk. Once he signed, she recuffed him, hands in front.
“What do you do for Dallas Vine?”
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”
“Specifics?” Lainie tapped on the desktop with her pen. Mike shot her a look that said, “waste of time.”
Bucshon brought a handcuffed hand up to stroke his chin. “I know he ordered that hit two weeks ago on Martin Straight.” He held Lainie’s gaze with washed-out gray eyes.
She fought to keep her face blank. Straight was not her case, but she knew about it. He was a legitimate businessman, unlike Vine. Straight was well-liked and a vocal critic of Vine’s business practices. He had been murdered in his driveway when he pulled in after work. The team working the case had zero clues.
“How do you know?”
“Guys who did it were from out of town, Chicago. They’re back there now. Skiff and Charles are their names. Now, that’s all I’m giving until I get some assurances.”
Before Lainie could answer, someone pounded on the door.
“We’re busy right now,” Lainie called out.
Then Mike’s phone rang. He checked it. “Lainie, it’s the chief.”
She stared in disbelief. The knock on the door sounded again. “What is going on?”
They both went to the door. Frustrated, Lainie threw it open. “We’re in the middle of an...”
Standing on the other side of the door was a tall, dark-haired man in a suit, not a uniform. His appearance fairly screamed “Fed.” Lainie looked up at him and words fled. He could have walked off a movie set he was so perfect. Sharp blue eyes cut into her. He held up an ID that confirmed he was, in fact, a Fed.
Special Agent Benjamin J. Isaacs, Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“You need to cease and desist. I’m taking Mr. Bucshon into my custody.”
“What? He’s our arrest.” Sara was in the hallway, and she jumped in before Lainie found her voice.
“Not anymore.”
