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“I know.”
He drives quietly down the flat country highway for a few minutes. “Even if you are right, it’s too dangerous. You cannot consider flaunting yourself as bait for that psychopath.”
I turn to look at him. “I’m not going to be alone. You said it yourself, there’s a connection between you, me, and him. Besides, if we’re correct about The Seven Deadly Sins, he’s only got two more sacrifices. He’s moving fast now. We do not have time to argue. Nothing can be disregarded. Every single possibility needs to be tried.” I face the window again. “This is the best one. The only one the department has, as far as I know.” And frankly, it scares the living hell out of me.
* * *
There wasn’t much more conversation during the ride. I felt like I was at the edge of a minefield planning my every step through it, and Ignatius was fuming beside me knowing I had to do it. When we got to the station, the place was mild chaos this time.
He got out of the car and opened my door. This time we walked silently to the door. Inside, he placed a palm on my back as we walked through the station.
“You don’t look shaken up, Detective,” a male voice startles me.
Shocked, appalled, and stunned speechless, I stop and turn toward it. It’s the uniform from the third crime scene at the betting establishment, the one who’d been standing guard outside.
“Why would you even say something like that?” I throw at him, my tone on the verge of disgusted.
“Well, I bet if a normal girl had some sicko leaving heads at their door, she’d be pretty torn up. Guess your boyfriend here isn’t much of a threat.”
Wait.
Hold. UP.
Breathe.
He did NOT just say that.
Before I’ve had a chance to regroup and respond, Ignatius has his hand wrapped around his throat and has got him slammed against the wall.
In other words, Ignatius is assaulting a police officer. In a police station.
“You sorry redneck piece of shit,” Ignatius snarls, his face practically smashed against Officer Asshole. “Apologize to her. Then I’ll only smash your face in one time.”
“Why should I? It’s the truth. All the victims are not normal girls,” he laughs in Ignatius’ face.
I grab hold of Ignatius’ arm and try to pull him off. “Stop! You’re going to get yourself arrested!”
My hold has no effect on him, his grip is vice-like, his muscles are hard as stone. Even though I wrap both hands around his bicep, it does nothing.
He pulls back with his hand locked on his throat, then smashes his head into the cinder block wall three times. The sickening crack echoes through the now quiet room.
“Your whore mother obviously wasn’t a normal girl either because she gave birth to a fucking pig,” Ignatius spits in his face.
“What the hell is going on here!?” Sergeant Harris bellows from behind us.
Two officers are on Ignatius. They finally get him pulled off. Ignatius fights them like a madman. Officer Asshole - What the hell is his name? - is hunched over with his back still pressed against the wall trying to catch his breath. His eyes are wild and angry as they slide back and forth from me to Ignatius.
“Take him in!” Sergeant Harris yells.
My eyes snap to him. “WHAT? Are you serious? This guy,” I motion to Officer Asshole still leaning against the wall, “started it.” I jerk my face to glare at him, and to look at his name badge. “Officer Bertrand.” The name is foul on my tongue. I get in his face. “I don’t know what your problem is with me and Ignatius, but where I come from, we look out for our own.”
A slow grin lifts the corner of his mouth. Apparently, his head has cleared. “I have no problem with you, Detective Chavelle.”
What a complete and utter sick asshole!
The officers are leading Ignatius away, presumably to file charges on him and get him processed. Even if he makes bond, he’ll be in there for hours.
As the officers lead Ignatius down the hall to booking, he yells, “Call Hattie to come get you, Dominique! I’ll come for you at her place!”
