I nod quickly, but internally, I’m in disbelief that he’s giving me a chance. “Perfectly.”
Miles’s shoulders sag just a smidge with relief, and he pivots toward the door. “Ready?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before he reaches for the handle, turns it, and strides inside like he’s about to own this arrest. He’s one of the best for a reason.
I follow closely behind him and shut the door as soon as I’m through. Then, I turn toward the table and the man sitting behind it.
He’s shockingly thin, the kind of thin addicts usually are, so it’s no surprise that they found him intoxicated. If he were at full health, he may have been a handsome young man, about my age, but by the track marks on his arm, that ship has long since sailed.
The clothes he’s wearing don’t seem like his own, loose and too large for his emaciated frame, and his head ofmid-length blonde hair looks like it hasn’t seen suds in a week.
Miles sits down and glances at me, silently telling me to come fully into the room. I do as he asks and lean against the wall just behind Miles, and then glance at the one-way window to where I know Captain is watching this, and me, carefully.
I still can’t believe he let me in here. Not after the reasons for putting me on desk duty, and certainly not for being a rookie who has probably no business in an investigation like this. But I’m not about to utter those words aloud.
Miles sits back in his seat, appearing relaxed as he stares at the suspect. He stares so long that even I grow uncomfortable. The young man fidgets, but he doesn’t break his gaze from Miles, even though I can tell he wants to.
Finally, Miles speaks. “What were you doing with the body, Peyton?”
Peyton glances away and flexes his weak jaw. I shift my weight and rest the sole of my boot against the wall, waiting for him to answer, but the answer never comes.
“Why did you kill her?” Miles presses.
Peyton closes his eyes briefly and then opens them to stare at the wall to his left.
I don’t know what Miles sees, but he leans forward as if Peyton just gave everything away. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”
Slowly, Peyton looks at him.
“Who did?”
Again, Peyton says nothing.
There’s a folder to the left of Miles’s elbow, and he slides it to himself, flips it open, and takes out the pictures.I do my best to not show any sign of emotion as he places the pictures in front of Peyton.
“I bet you didn’t even see her body when it was put into your trunk. Mutilated, right arm torn off, eyes open to witness it all until she took her last breath.” Peyton glances at the pictures of the naked woman and then turns a hard glare at Miles. Hell, even I have a hard time looking at the woman. She’s indeed missing an arm, as though it had been ripped clean off. There is no clean cut in the flesh. Instead, it’s shreds and chunks of skin where her arm once connected to her body. The rest of her body is covered in bruises, and half of her left breast is gone.
What the hell am I witnessing right now?
“Did you know she was raped?” Miles presses on. “Was that before or after she was dead?”
Peyton remains silent, keeping his cold, twitching gaze on Miles.
He leans into the table, and I watch as he smirks at Peyton. “Do you know what they do to pip-squeaks like you in prison?”
I suppress a shudder. I do. We learned about it in the academy.
“This woman won’t be the only one who gets raped and mutilated.” He bites out his next words. “You have one last chance before I walk out that door and throw you into the wolves’ den with the other heathens that’d make one hell of a snack out of someone who looks like you.”
I watch as Peyton’s jaw grinds so hard that I swear I hear a tooth crack. In an angry whisper, he says, “No, I didn’t know any of that.”
“Then what do you know?”
Peyton breathes out a slow breath and then looks at me. I don’t move a muscle under his scrutiny. To me, hemutters, “It doesn’t matter if I tell you or keep it to myself. Either they’ll kill me, or prison will.”
“I suppose it’s how you want to go out then, isn’t it?” I clamp my mouth shut, having forgotten that I’m not supposed to speak.
Miles doesn’t flinch at my disregard for the rules because Peyton is still looking at me, and he looks so damn close to being ready to talk. I don’t know if it’s because I have a friendly face or if it’s because we’re so close in age, but he wets the corner of his lips before pressing on. “I didn’t kill her.”
