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“It’s only for a little while,” Cora coaxed, but her control of the situation was quickly slipping.
Slice began to back away fast.
In swift strides Liam covered the distance between them until they were face-to-face. “Look, man, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You come along without making a fuss, and you’ll make that sweet thing happy. See?” He tipped his head toward Cora, keeping his gaze on Slice. “You want to make her happy, don’t you?”
Cora pasted a huge smile on her face and nodded in encouragement. She felt ridiculous, like an adult trying to persuade a grumpy toddler to eat a spoonful of mashed vegetables. She also wasn’t thrilled with Liam’s comment, but hey. If it worked, she wasn’t going to complain.
Slice blinked owlishly at her, and for a moment it seemed he was going to capitulate. But somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared, and that was all it took to yank him from his stupor. He was off like a startled deer, diving through the rosebushes and making a mad dash across the neighbor’s yard.
Liam tipped his face to the sky. “Why do they always have to run?”
Cora pulled handcuffs from her pocket and dangled them in front of his nose. “Go get him.Sweet thing.”
For a drunk person, Slice was surprisingly fast. He also knew the neighborhood better than Liam, so he was five houses away by the time Liam tackled him to the ground. He put up a good struggle, but quickly lost steam once the handcuffs were on and Liam was reading him his rights. In a matter of minutes he was stumbling toward the car, so exhausted that Liam had to drag him the last few steps.
By the time they got to the police station, Slice was passed out cold in the backseat.
“What now?” Liam peered over his shoulder at the snoring man. “Should I give him a good wallop on the face to wake him up?”
Cora turned the engine off. “Absolutely not.”
“Very well,” he said decisively. “A bucket of icy water works better, anyway. I’ll drag him onto the pavement while you fetch that bucket near the ice machine in the lunchroom.”
“Don’t you dare,” Cora said, half laughing. She knew Liam well enough that he might just do it. He was unconventional, and she wouldn’t put it past him. “We’re going to put Mr. Biddlesworth in a holding cell and let him sleep it off, then we’ll question him tomorrow when he’s sober.”
“That will take too long,” Liam said matter-of-factly. “And frigid water works quite well to wash away the cobwebs of inebriation. Believe me, I’ve firsthand experience.”
“Why does this not surprise me?” Cora said, getting out of the car.
“It works like a charm,” he assured her. “There was this horse trough back in my village near the tavern, and in the dead of winter, even the town drunk would emerge sober as a priest on Sunday after being doused in that frigid—”
“He’s going in the holding cell,” Cora said over the roof of the car.
“Fine,” Liam said with a sigh. Then he gave her a cheeky grin before opening the back passenger door and hauling the young man out. “But an ice bucket would be much more fun.”
By Tuesday afternoon Cora thought Slice might have benefited from that bucket of icy water, after all. The nervous young man sitting in the interrogation room across from them smelled like he’d been marinated in stale beer and sweat. With dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and a scratch across his cheekbone from his dash through the rosebushes, Slice looked even worse than he did yesterday. He kept shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but Cora knew from experience it wasn’t going to happen. The interrogation room was a cramped, cinderblock-gray chamber with a spartan set of chairs and a steel table. It was cold and uninviting, which was by design. People tended to spill information quicker if they were out of their comfort zone.
Slice took a sip of water from his paper cup, glancing uneasily at them while Cora reviewed her notes.
Liam was silently regarding the young man with a cold, unyielding expression. He’d slipped seamlessly into “bad cop” mode, leaving Cora to be the understanding good cop, which suited her just fine. Something about Slice brought out her protective instincts. He reminded her of a lost puppy, with his sad, soulful eyes and scruffy hair. But she’d been in her profession long enough to know that looks could be deceiving. If Slice had anything to do with Lindsey Albright’s death, she was determined to find out.
Cora flipped her notebook to a fresh page. “Let’s start from the beginning, Mr. Biddlesworth.”
“Slice,” he said, nervously. “Just Slice.”
Cora nodded. Maybe it was a Booze Dog thing, and they all had vaguely menacing nicknames. Bear’s had certainly been appropriate. He’d growled like a grizzly and looked strong enough to crush a human head with his bare hands. Cora tried not to think of reasons why Slice got his nickname. She doubted it had anything to do with expert chopping skills as a culinary chef.
“It’s my real name in case you’re wondering,” he added. “On my birth certificate and everything.”
She looked up from her notes. “Does it mean anything?”
He scoffed. “Only that my mom’s the queen of dumb decisions. She got a greeting card in the hospital when I was born that said, ‘Congratulations on your little slice of heaven,’so she chose to name me Slice.”
“It’s very unique,” Cora said with a smile.
“I’m okay with it.” He relaxed back in his chair. It was a good sign. The more comfortable he felt with her, the more forthcoming he’d be with information. “I hate Biddlesworth, though. It was my stepdad’s last name. I’m changing mine to something cooler and more legit someday, but I haven’t decided yet. Dangerfield, maybe.”
“Right.” Because Slice Dangerfield sounded very respectable. Not at all like a cartoon villain. “Well, it’s a big decision. Definitely take your time on that.”
