Reese took the phone and studied it. There were no drag marks, no stray blood droplets. It was too clean to be real.
Or maybe that was Reese’s wishful thinking because he still wondered why Baz had lied to him about where he went on Thursday. But if they didn’t have bodies, they wouldn’t have time of death, so how were they able to tie it back to Baz? There would have to be evidence. DNA or fingerprints. Something to put him at the scene.
Granted, Reese was sure there were plenty of sophisticated tools they could use to do all that. Reese wasn’t up to speed on crime scene investigations, so maybe they had it all wrapped up with a neat and tidy bow. Except for the lack of bodies. Were they assuming that, based on the amount of blood, whoever it belonged to wouldn’t have survived?
There were just too many unanswered questions.
***
Even after an hour of interrogation, Bazfigured he should’ve been concerned since he’d been hauled down here in handcuffs, handed a cup of coffee by a detective who was looking to get him to confess to a crime he didn’t commit.
Oddly, he wasn’t worried.
It was almost comical how Detective Larson outlined a story straight out of a fiction novel. He still hadn’t seen the crime scene photos, and he was even more convinced that the folder in front of her was empty. She’d stopped drawing attention to it after he suggested she show him the photos to gauge his reaction.
“Look, Sebastian,” she said, attempting to sound sympathetic. “We can work out a deal here, but we need to know the truth. Can you at least give me that much?”
“Of course I can,” he said. “But you’re not gonna like it.”
He saw the gleam of triumph in her eyes. “Try me.”
While Baz wasn’t concerned about the situation, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew better than to talk at length with the police in a situation like this. He was already uncomfortable sitting in this hard plastic chair that was just a few inches too short for his legs to bend correctly. They’d also turned up the temperature on the air conditioner, the room warming several degrees. Enough that Detective Larson had removed her jacket.
That was part of the game, though. Make him as uncomfortable as possible until he was willing to blurt out exactly what they wanted to hear with a promise that there were only good things to come. Good things like spending twenty-five to life in a six by eight cell, sleeping on a lumpy mattress, and eating pig slop.
But it was amusing because it was as though they hadn’t bothered to see who he was. They acted like he hadn’t spent years as a detective for Austin PD, where they had a similar approach.
“Why don’t we try it this way?” Detective Larson suggested. “I’ll set the scene, and you tell me what happened afterward.”
Since they weren’t showing him the photographs of the crime scene, she would have to get creative for him to see it in his mind.
“Go for it,” he told her.
She shifted in her chair, hooking her arm over the back and regarding him with a carefree expression.
“Whose idea was it to go to the storage unit?”
Baz didn’t respond. He didn’t ask what storage unit she was referring to. He simply stared, cataloging that information for later.
“We’ll say it was Sonny’s,” she decided. “I assume he called you. Asked you to meet them there?”
Again with a question he had no intention of answering.
“Was there something in that unit? Something you didn’t want the police to find?”
“You’re really not good at setting the scene,” he told her.
Her eyes flashed wide for a second, but she schooled her expression. “You’re right. I’m not. It would be so much easier if you’d just tell me what happened. What did you do with their bodies, Sebastian? Where did you take them?”
Baz fought a smile, but it didn’t work. Detective Larson had just revealed everything she’d been hoping to keep hidden. They didn’t have a body. In fact, they didn’t have either body. Which explained why she wasn’t showing him the crime scene. They had no idea whether Sonny and Molly were dead or not.
Sure, there was something they were going on that led them to believe they were. A significant amount of blood, maybe. But did they even have a murder weapon? If they were going to pin this on him, they had to have something that tied him to the scene. If he had to guess, his fingerprints were somewhere. Those wouldn’t be too difficult to get. Well, maybe for Sonny and Molly. They weren’t the brightest bulbs.
Maybe they had a water bottle he’d drank from. They could’ve picked that out of his trash. Or hell, Molly might’ve kept something he’d used back when he’d come to her apartment. She was obsessed, so it wouldn’t surprise him. Toss it at the scene to prove he was there. But why the fuck would he take the bodies and leave something that could incriminate him behind?
It just wasn’t adding up.
“Look,” Detective Larson said, obviously realizing she was up against the wall now. “We know about your prior relationship with Molly Ryan. We also know that Molly is in a relationship with Sonny Gilmore. Were you in a jealous rage when it happened?”
