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I crossed to the one-way window. Through the murky glass I could see a brightly lit cubicle similar to many I’d visited over the years. Fluorescents overhead. Battered table and chairs at the center. Phone high on one wall. I didn’t see a mic, but a humming speaker at my back made it clear the interview room was wired for audio.
I noted two deficiencies. No duress alarm. No CCTV camera.
Three.
No Stribbe.
Five minutes passed. Ten.
I was getting antsy when the door opened, and Monck strode in. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. Fatigue again? Drink? Or was that the guy’s normal look in the morning?
“How you doing?” he asked, joining me at the observation window.
“Couldn’t be better.”
“I pulled Landers’s report. Rough night.”
“The highlight not being Officer Friendly and his sidekick.”
“Landers could use some sensitivity training.” Delivered so deadpan I couldn’t tell if Monck was serious or joking.
“Where’s Stribbe?” I asked.
“They’re bringing him over. Weird dude. Hostile as hell. Could be anger, could be nerves.”
“That should work in your favor. You go in, all Mr. Nice Detective, apologize for the big bad officers who busted him. That approach might help break him down.”
“Good cop bad cop is such a cliché.”
“There’s a reason clichés exist.”
“Stribbe ain’t exactly John Wayne Gacy. Guess who he contacted with his one call?”
“Who?”
“His mother.”
“In case you didn’t notice, Adeera Stribbe is one controlling mama. She may be Uri’s main authority figure. Use that, too.”
“Male-child guilt,Psychostyle?”
“Hopefully, not to that violent extreme. Anyway, Adeera’s old. She’s made so many sacrifices for him. He’s all she has. He’s letting her down. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Good point. The mother-son tie could be a vulnerable area.”
Sounds spit from the speaker behind us.
A door opening. Heels clicking.
Monck and I watched an officer lead a handcuffed Stribbe to the table.
Chair legs scraped.
Stribbe sat, shoulders hunched, head hanging so low I couldn’t see his face.
The cop said something I didn’t catch.
A beat, then Stribbe’s manacled hands clinked onto the tabletop, fingers clenched into tight fists.
