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“Thanks, Captain,” she said as they left the room and stood outside the interrogation room door.”
“No problem,” he said. “Just remember, I’ll be watching. So please don’t stab him in the other eye.”
“I’ll try my hardest,” she assured him as she opened the door and stepped inside.
Detective Alan Trembley was already in there, as was one uniformed officer. Trembley smiled at her knowingly, oblivious to his own unkempt curly blond hair and the glasses halfway down the bridge of his nose. In addition to being boring, the guy was a bit scattered. But he’d come a long way since she’d first met him. More importantly right now, she knew he wouldn’t get in the way of what she needed to do.
She looked over at Kallas, who was staring at her dully.
“Is he medicated?” she asked Trembley.
“He is,” Kallas said before Trembley could reply. “But don’t let that stop you from attempting to outwit him. But before you try, I wanted to ask: how’s your detective buddy doing? No brain damage, I hope?”
Jessie smiled at him. Something about the guy’s smarm seemed pathetic when he wasn’t in his medical tower office.
“No new damage,” she told him. “He’s alert and remembers your attempt to murder him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I was purely concerned for his welfare,” Kallas said. “I want him to be in tip-top shape when I sue him for police misconduct for attacking me without warning in my place of business.”
Jessie leaned in and spoke slowly, relishing every word.
“Good luck with that. Oh, by the way, I just thought you should know—we have video from your office building showing Michaela leaving on three separate occasions, long after business hours.”
Kallas didn’t seem fazed.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Kallas insisted. “I agreed to see her at that time because she was worried about being recognized.”
Jessie nodded sympathetically.
“I see,” she said. “We also found video of a man in a hoodie driving your car about six blocks from Michaela’s place on the night of the murder.”
Kallas nodded expectantly.
“I’ve been meaning to file a police report about that. I think my car was stolen and taken for a joyride that night. I parked it on the street and when I found it the next morning, it was in a different spot and missing gas.”
He smiled as he said it, not even trying to sound convincing. Something about his brazen willingness to lie when the truth was obvious felt strangely familiar.
“How unfortunate that you didn’t file that report then,” Jessie noted.
“Here’s the thing, Jessie,” he said, leaning in himself now. “If you really had anything on me, you wouldn’t be in here right now trying to work me. This is a sign of your sad desperation. My attorney is going to have a field day with you.”
Jessie leaned back in her chair and studied him, wondering how he was able to compartmentalize the different parts of himself: the man in front of her now and the creature who had committed that vile act two nights earlier.
“I’m not desperate, Dick,” she said softly. “I just wanted to give you a chance to tell me how you did it in your own words. It will likely be your last chance. Once your lawyer gets here, you won’t have the chance. And I know you’re dying to.”
“This is the best you’ve got?” he asked haughtily, though his one working eye betrayed some apprehension. “You’re trying to bait me into some kind of false confession?”
“We found the video, Dick.”
“What?”
“The video of you assaulting and stabbing Michaela to death, we found it. Thanks for letting me know it existed. We might never have thought to look for something so depraved on our own. But because of your tip, we looked, and we found it in that innocuous-sounding computer file you titled ‘graft analysis.’ As you know, it’s definitive. You’ll be convicted. It’ll probably take the length of a sitcom episode for the jury to complete their deliberations.”
Kallas stared at her silently. She could tell from his expression that he knew she was telling the truth. She continued.
“So like I said, the only reason I’m in here is to let you give me your version. I don’t need it. We’ve got you. It’s not like a confession will make much difference. They can’t execute you twice, after all. But as you know, I’m a profiler so I’m inherently curious about this kind of aberrant behavior. So I’m giving you one last chance to come clean. If you’re not interested, that’s your call. I’ll head out for a late dinner. Just know that once I walk out that door, you’ll have lost the last sympathetic audience you’ll ever get.”
She stood up. He said nothing.
