Page 3 of Rigid

He cleared his throat. “Jones. Trovetti. I’ll be taking this investigation over.”

“Hold up,” Jones said. “This is our murder collar. You’re not going to--”

“Yes, I am.” Watson reached for the chair Jacky had been sitting in, and then paused. “If you’ve got a problem with it, talk to the commissioner.”

Jones’ eyes widened. “The commissioner?”

Watson motioned toward the door. “Close that on your way out, would you?”

Jones pressed his hands against his hips and blinked a few times. “The commissioner?”

Watson nodded. “Yeah, the commissioner. Remember him? He’s a tall fucker with thick curly hair and an addiction to sunflower seeds. His office is at the end of the hallway on the seventh floor. He’s got a plaque on the door in case you get confused on which office is his.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Go ask him, but don’t forget to get the door on the way out.”

Jacky and Jones exchanged an awkward glance, and then left the room.

Watson sat across from me, leaned forward, and looked me in the eyes. He didn’t smell like stale cigarettes or resemble the walking dead. The air around him smelled like expensive cologne, and he looked like an athlete.

He held my gaze, cupped his hands around his mouth, and then looked down at the table. I wondered if he was mad, or if he was thinking or praying. Then, he spoke.

Well, kind of.

“Say I want an attorney present, and say it loudly,” he whispered.

What he said was almost inaudible, but I understood him.

I blinked my eyes in disbelief.

“Say it,” he whispered.

I wondered why he was helping me, but didn’t dare ask. I looked at the camera, cleared my throat, and made the declaration.

“I want an attorney present.”

He looked up. His eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

“I want an…I want to have an attorney present.”

“If that’s how you want to play this.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood. “Fine. I’ll take you to the phone.”

He uncuffed me and motioned toward the door. “Second door on your right. I’ll follow you, it’s procedure.”

I walked down the hall, and into a much larger room than the one I had been in. A wooden table surrounded by chairs was in the center of the room, and at the edge of the table, a phone sat.

Watson pulled the door closed behind him. “This is a private room. What you say here isn’t recorded. You’re not going to call an attorney.”

Even more confused than I was before, I stared back at him, blankly.

He met my muddled gaze. “You’re going to call Alexandra.”

“Lex?”

He nodded. “Tell her you’ve been arrested for murder, and that you need Jay Parsons.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. He just as well had spoke to me in Italian. It would have made an equal amount of sense. My wide-eyed stare must have prompted him to explain further, because that’s what he did.

“Lex, I’ve been arrested on a murder charge, and I need you to call Jay Parsons. They want to interrogate me, and I need an attorney. That’s what you’ll say,” he said. “No more, no less. Understand?”

“Okay.”