Page 56 of Honorable Sins

He doesn't say anything.

I wait patiently to see if he will answer what should be a question with a low resistance threshold. This isn't television. Real interrogations aren't emotional. They're methodical.

Silence is a tool too. So, I let it stretch. Most men will fill it because they fear what they imagine in the gaps. Lars does not. He keeps his mouth shut and his eyes open.

"I know who you are, Lars Nyström." I begin to read off the details Wraith's team accumulated on him.

His known address. Two of his safe houses. Names of family members that I doubt even the Swedish mafia he works for know about. Details of his last three jobs.

The Reid technique calls this direct positive confrontation. Present certainty. Remove denial pathways. Force cognitive load.

I finish with, "You're a hitter. Or do you prefer the title assassin? You met with former mob lieutenant Kenneth Shaugnessy on..." I name the date and time of the meeting, as well as the location.

His jaw flexes once.

Is that for my knowledge of his life and activities or the detail he didn't know? That Kenneth is no longer a lieutenant in our mob.

"What I want to know is why?" Is he ready to admit he was hired to take me out?

Is it the primary plan now things have gone awry for Kenneth, or a secondary plan?

"Ask Kenneth."

His English is clean. Accent there, but not heavy.

"I will." I step closer. "After you."

Theme development comes next.

Not the moral sort police use when they want a confession dressed up as regret. Lars isn’t sorry. I don’t need him to be. I give him a professional frame because that is the only one he’ll respect.

"You took a contract through channels. You did not create the terms. You were sent to do a job. That makes you a tool, not the architect."

His eyes change minutely.

A man like Lars does not mind being called dangerous. He minds being called a pawn.

"What are the terms of that job?"

Lars' dispassionate look is cracking around the edges. His jaw is growing slack. He has to lick his lips and close his mouth. Twice.

The compounds are working.

I stand and reach for my slapjack. "You work for Kenneth Shaughnessy."

That gets an almost-there negative jerk of his head. He doesn't consider Kenneth his boss on this job.

Noted.

I hit him in the lower ribs with the slapjack, short and precise. Air leaves him in a controlled grunt. He tries to lock down the reaction, but the compound is taking hold. Pain lands bigger than he expects. His wrists strain against the cuffs, adding more pain.

"You were hired as insurance."

His gaze sharpens slightly.

I hit him again, same spot, not hard enough to crack bone. Not yet. The second grunt tears out rougher. "Insurance for what?"

No reaction.