You’re safe.
Trying to focus on that, she went upstairs to her bedroom and did her best to make herself comfortable in the recliner. She drew her comforter up to her chin, closed her eyes, and was soon asleep.
Darius signedhimself into the Boulder County Jail and followed Deputy Marcs through the guarded entrance into Intake, where new arrests were fingerprinted, photographed, and booked into the system. They made their way to the Tank, an area of holding cells furnished only with steel benches.
An officer waved to Marcs, a grin on his face. “What are you doing down here?”
“I’ve come to chat with some of humanity’s finest.” Marcs looked over at Darius. “I ran Watts through the system and found nothing. He served a short time in the army but received an other-than-honorable discharge for drug use.”
Darius wasn’t surprised. “Uncle Sam doesn’t want him.”
“I asked the jail captain to hold them in separate cells.”
“Good thinking.” That would deprive them of the chance to sync their stories. “I’ll talk to Riggs first, while you question Watts. Then we’ll compare notes and switch.”
“Sounds good.”
Darius found Riggs sitting on the floor of his cell, looking uneasy. His cellmate—a big, bald guy with prison tattoos—was dozing on the bench, arms crossed over his chest. Ifthismade the kid uncomfortable, he’d have one hell of a hard time in prison.
A corrections officer unlocked the cell and motioned to Riggs. “Come on, sweetheart. This nice detective wants to have a little chat.”
Looking petulant, Riggs got to his feet and walked out of the cell. The CO cuffed him and led him and Darius to a secure interview room, locking the door behind them.
Riggs sat, his gaze on the wooden table.
Darius sat across from him, put his notepad and pen on the table, and waited, watching Riggs closely, allowing his silence and the tension of the situation to put Riggs more on edge than he already was.
Riggs lasted less than a minute. “What the fuck do you want? Are you going to ask me questions or just sit there?”
Still, Darius said nothing, watching Riggs, allowing the tension to build.
“Look, yesterday when you came to my house, I thought you’d come to bust us for violating the closure. That’s why I didn’t want to admit that we’d been there.” Riggs shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “They’re threatening me with a thousand-dollar fine and jail time over a bunch of fucking bats.”
When Darius said nothing, Riggs went on a rant.
“This is supposed to be a free country, but there are places onpublicland where they won’t let us climb. Those routes are closed forever now because of bats. All we did was climb and smoke a joint. We didn’t go near the bats. Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”
Darius knew it was time. “How stupid are you? You violated a wildlife closure, and, while you were there, you looked straight into a wildlife cam. That’s first-rate idiocy, man. Truly top-notch. Congrats.”
“I didn’t think they checked them.” Then comprehension dawned. “You asked them to check, didn’t you?”
“Do you think I wouldn’t try to confirm your alibi? It turned out not to be much of an alibi, by the way. Violating the wildlife closure and acting like a dick to the ranger are the least of your problems.”
Riggs looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Let me spell it out for you.” Darius leaned closer, pinned Riggs with his gaze. “I’m going to need an hour-by-hour account of what you did the day Ms. Dillon was attacked. If you can’t provide that, I’m going to believe that you and Watts were in that vehicle and that you tried to kill her. And that big, friendly guy in your holding cell? You’ll end up in prison surrounded by men who make him seem like a puppy.”
Darius let that sink in. “If I were you, I’d cooperate and save myself some grief. Your buddy is probably spilling his guts to Deputy Marcs right now. Maybe he’s cutting a deal, ratting you out to save his own ass.”
Riggs’ pupils dilated—an adrenaline response. “You can’t put me in prison for something I didn’t do!”
Darius glared at him. “Convince me! I want to know every damned thing you did on September fifteenth—everything. Give it to me hour by hour, and don’t bother to lie. When we finish here, I’m getting a warrant to search your phone records—texts, social media, location data. That will give us a good idea of where you were—and when.”
Unsurprisingly, Riggs’ version of events was different this time. Rather than the two of them returning to his house to get high and talk about future climbing projects, Riggs had returned alone. He’d jerked off to his favorite porno, smoked a bowl of marijuana, and fallen asleep.
“What time did you get home?”
“I don’t know—about one-thirty, I think.”
