The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (10 page)

The man started to get up as I approached, but Slyder landed a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him back into the chair.

I brushed the back of my hand across my mouth to be sure there was no blood, then reached out and yanked off the man's mask. He shook his head as it came free, flinging sweat from his hair, and looked hard at me, awaiting my verdict.

He was just a kid – barely twenty, if that. His angular face was pink and shiny with perspiration. He was definitely a handsome guy – the kind who could have stolen your girl without trying. Slick blond hair fell into blue eyes, and perfect white teeth glinting at me from his sneer. He stood somewhere around six feet – about four inches or more taller than me – and looked to be close to my weight too.

"You have the right to remain silent," Kevin Slyder grunted, breaking our staring contest. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you can't afford a lawyer, then one will be provided you from the local district."

I watched the kid closely, still working my jaw. "You wanna tell me your name?"

He glared, still breathing hard. "What difference does it make?" he asked finally. "You'll just find out anyway."

I forced a weak chuckle, although I didn't really feel much like laughing. In fact, I felt strange inside – like my guts were housing a growing fire. Maybe it was just leftover adrenaline, or maybe even hunger.

"Just tell me your name," I repeated, wondering why my heart was racing so fast.

The kid set his jaw and said nothing.

"Stikup," Sylder began, but I ignored him. I was through playing with this murderer. He was just screwing around, and I didn't like it.

I whipped out my handgun and aimed it directly between his eyes.

"I asked you your
name
, asshole," I growled.

Instantly, the CSI people in the room – who had been watching the interview with interest – gasped collectively. Despite their inability to act moments prior – when my jaw had been dislocated – they were suddenly all in action, and Sergeant Cready was interposing himself between the thief and me –

The kid was leaning away from me, pushing the chair back against Slyder's beefy legs. His expression had gone from angry to terrified, and he was yelling something back at me – something I couldn't hear past the rushing of blood in my ears –

"Get the press out of here!" Slyder was yelling at his staff, who hurried to comply, but he sounded as though he was a million miles away. Someone's hands fell on my shoulder (probably the lieutenant's; she had been closest to me) but I shrugged them off, leaning around Sergeant Cready, demanding that the kid answer my question –

"
Sheldon
!" he finally screamed at me, breaking as I brought the gun to within an inch of his face.

Suddenly it was silent in the room – except for the kid's ragged breathing. The tension in the air had not abated, but everyone had stopped moving. They were all watching me anxiously – wondering what I was going to do next, maybe planning how to anticipate it.

"Greg Sheldon," the kid repeated, softer this time. The slight waver in his voice told me that he was telling the truth.

I shrugged off the Lieutenant's hands forcefully and used my forearm to firmly propel a stunned Bill Cready out of my path. "That's better," I told Sheldon over the murmuring of the other officers in the room. It was hard to talk all of a sudden, because I could barely draw breath. "If you'd just told me the
first
time –"

"Stikup,
be
careful
!" Kevin Slyder appeared shocked to the point where he couldn't think to do anything but warn me verbally. He took a wild look around the room – to reassure himself that all the cameras were gone – and then lowered his voice to a hiss. "He can sue you for roughing him up! Save the questioning for the interrogation – we can do it then –"

"If he wants a lawyer, he can get one later!" I snapped, and then poked myself in the chest with a thumb. "But right now, I'm running the show, and I have questions. Now's our opportunity to get some goddamn answers before he gums up permanently!"

Before anyone could interject about how that was technically illegal, I stooped and yanked the bed sheet from the woman's face. The officers and CSI surrounding Daniels backed away from me as though I was about to go psycho on them. Ignoring them, I looked back at the kid.

"Did you kill her?" I demanded.

The kid's gaze rested on the woman's cold face for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away again. There was something in his eyes – a flicker of remorse, I thought. But he said nothing.

"No?" As I took a step closer to him, he leaned away – as far from me as he could without falling off the chair. "Did your two buddies do this while you watched? Great stuff, huh? Why watch porn on cable when you can get it in person?"

His eyes burned as they met mine again, but it was a look of dying resistance. And still I got no response.

I sighed heavily, raked fingers back through my hair. "You're not helping yourself any, kid. A crime like this could land you in prison for life – if you're lucky. You've committed five federal offenses tonight, Greg – all punishable by law. Breaking and entering, petty theft, assault and battery, rape, and
manslaughter
."

I crossed my arms over my chest, breathing through my nose to calm my own fury. "Just tell me what happened here tonight. That's all I want to know. We can help you if you cooperate."

The kid looked up at me, some of his anger abated. Now that he knew he was trapped, his ferocity was evaporating – along with his confidence. "It was nothing. It was nothing, just…"

I laughed without humor and spread my arms wide in agitation. The cops and CSI backed away from my gun–arm, as though afraid I would discharge the firearm randomly.

"Just
what
?" I demanded. My voice hit somewhat of a higher pitch than normal. "What gives you the right to violate an innocent woman, rob her of her goddamn dignity, and
kill
her?"

"Tell us where the others are," Slyder broke in loudly, sending me a death stare.

The kid shrugged against the big cop's hand. "Don't know," he mumbled. "They left me here. I was just doing what I was told."

"By your friends?" Slyder asked in his ear.

He shook his head, looking up at me angrily. "No, we were working together. We were hired to rob a house. That's it. This was… This was –"

All of a sudden, however, I suddenly wasn't interested in hearing what he had to say. In fact, his story was the least of my concerns, now that a huge piece of the big picture was suddenly falling into place.

"You were
hired
. So there's a brain behind all this?" I glanced up at Slyder, saw the light of dawning comprehension in his eyes, then looked back at Sheldon. "This wasn't just some ill–conceived, get–rich–quick job, then. Who is this boss?"

He shrugged again, uneasily. "Wouldn't tell us his name. Just offered us a sum. We needed the money, so we took it."

I posted my fists on my hips. "Why the hell would you sign up for this if you didn't know who was hiring you? Why weren't you suspicious?"

Another shrug. He stared straight ahead, jaw set, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. "He told us it was for safety. If either of us was caught, you cops wouldn't be able to trace the other party. Everyone was cool with it."

"Tell me your compadrés' names," I said.

For a moment, Sheldon worked his jaw, maybe considering whether to make up names or not. "Look, I didn't want this, okay?" he spat suddenly, meeting my gaze intensely. His glare was scathing. "We were just going to go in, take some shit, and go out. We didn't think anyone was home."

"And that makes it okay?" I asked incredulously, honestly wondering if that was how he felt. "You damn well know it
now
. I asked you your partners' names. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to frighten you again?"

"Stikup," Slyder began –

"It was Fin's idea!" the kid burst out savagely, scooting to the edge of his seat – as far as Slyder's grip on his shoulder would allow. "He came in here, found her asleep, and wanted to have some fun. I didn't fucking
touch
her!"

A bated silence fell.

I arched an eyebrow at the kid. "'Fin'?"

Sheldon shook sweaty hair out of his eyes, suddenly calmer. "Yeah. Fin. He hates to be called Finigan, so that's what we called him."

"Who's 'we'?" I had pulled out my notebook and was poised to scribble down whatever "facts" he was about to give me. At least we could still search an alias. It was better than nothing.

Sheldon hesitated. "Red Harris and me," he said reluctantly, and from the way he said the name, I could immediately tell there was some type of animosity between him and this Harris character. "There were only three of us."

"Thanks." I tucked the 9mm into my armpit in order to write in my notebook. I scrawled the two names haphazardly in my notebook, alongside of "Greg Sheldon". "What's this 'Fin' character's last name?"

A reluctant pause. "Thawyer."

"T-h-a-w-y-e-r? Like 'Sawyer' with a lisp?" I made a note. "Why'd they leave you behind, Greg?"

His eyes darkened considerably, and he jerked his head towards the door. "I tripped over that fucking table in the hall and hurt my leg. Fin was already outside getting the car, and Red decided I was too much trouble and left me."

Explains why Sheldon's not happy with him.
I frowned, wondering if there wasn't something more. "I guess real thieves aren't like they are in the movies," I said to cover my intrigue. "Brothers forever?"

"Whatever, man." Sheldon sighed. "I told you I didn't have anything to do with the woman. I didn't take anything, either. Can I fucking
go
now?"

I rounded on him, my fury breaking at his ignorance. "You've been caught red–handed in a house, with the body of an innocent woman! For all I know, you're just really good liar!" Unwittingly, my voice had risen in volume until I was shouting. "What do
you
think should be done to someone who rapes and kills a woman, Greg? God did
not
put us on this
stupid
earth to kill and violate one another! How do you justify
that
?"

"Calm
down
, Stikup!" Slyder bellowed, something like outrage in his dark eyes. "I swear to God, I will have you removed, do you understand me?"

I turned away from Sheldon, rubbed my eyes forcefully, then holstered my gun for all to see. "Apologies," I said hoarsely, speaking to everyone, but looking at the floor. I felt heat in my cheeks, and this time it had nothing to do with anger.

Sergeant Cready was staring in disbelief, along with the rest of his team. The lieutenant remained where she stood, poised to intervene again if necessary.

Swallowing my anger, breathing deliberately, I blew out a sigh. "Where were you and the others staying?" I asked, turning to face Sheldon once more.

He had been shaken up by my second bout of shouting but was already regaining his sneer. "We didn't stay in the same place, man – kept moving around so we couldn't be traced. I don't know where we were planning on going next."

"Your partners didn't make any suggestions?"

Greg shook his head. "Not that I know of. Somewhere local, though."

"Great." Turning to Slyder, I said: "That's it for me. Do you have anything you'd like to ask our friend here, Chief?"

"Wait a minute – I want a lawyer." Greg looked around triumphantly, as though he had just won his freedom. "No more questions until I get a lawyer." As though that decided everything; the kid didn't seem to be very bright. I guess it's true what they say about cop shows: crimes on TV are committed by geniuses, but in real life, criminals are stupid.

"Little late now," I said, squashing his sense of victory and loving it. "Should have thought of that earlier and plead the Fifth."

Slyder sucked on his cigarette for a moment, thinking. "What does the name Miles mean to you?"

The kid shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Perhaps he didn't like Slyder breathing down his neck – quite literally – or perhaps he was still thinking about lawyers and loopholes. "Look," he began, blowing out a sigh. "Boss just told us to hit 264, Franklin Drive in Swedesboro. Wasn't our idea – we just needed the money. I don't know why he'd have us hit that guy, but whatever, man – we got the money for it. Was 264 this Miles guy's place?"

It's a personal thing, then. Definitely.
I arched an eyebrow and exchanged a significant look with Kevin Slyder. "Maybe. Same reason why you hit 13, Jackson Boulevard – Mantua?"

The kid frowned, looking confused. "This is only the second place we've hit. This isn't 13 Jackson, is it? I thought we were in Richwood."

My brows drew together of their own accord. "How'd you end up with that car you're driving? The red Ford?"

Sheldon shrugged. "Boss left it at that abandoned cannery downtown Swedesboro and told us to pick it up there. Didn't say where he'd gotten it – only that it would work."

Things weren't making sense, and I didn't like it. That crucial piece of information I had so recently unearthed seemed further out of reach all of a sudden. "Did this boss of yours let on to you whether or not he has any other crooks under his employ?"