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Franklin nods and reaches across to rescue the sheet of paper from the middle of the table. “You’re right on each account, Doctor Mayet.” He looks to Fentone. “I strongly suggest you stay far, far away from that salon, Laramie. I’d hate to have to call your P.O. to discuss breaches of your parole.”
“This still isn’t proof,” he snarls. Slowly, his temper unravels, and his eyes burn the side of my face until I turn and meet his glare. “I have an alibi. Innocence is on my side. And no, I don’t stand at work all day contemplating murder. So if that’s all,” he rattles his cuffs, “I’d like to go.”
“Not quite yet.” I flash a wide grin and enjoy the way his face pales. “What if I told you that your colleague—you know, the one who provides you with said bulletproof alibi—was picked up last night for a little light break and enter?”
His eyes flicker from me to Franklin. “What?”
“Nothing too violent,” I assure him. “But a crime that ended with him needing to trade information for a lighter punishment.” I run my tongue along my top teeth. “Hypothetically, of course. What do you think would happen to your alibi then?”
“He wouldn’t,” he breathes. Rage bubbles in his eyes. In his flexing hands and expanding chest. “He would never.”
I merely lift my shoulder. “Was he at work today?”
“N-no.”
“Maybe he was just sleeping in,” I offer. “Ya know, tired after his big weekend. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I sit back and bring my cooling coffee with me. “I highly doubt he’s in the next interview room with Detective Franklin’s studious partner, spilling his guts and confessing to his sins.”
“You bitch,” he sneers. “You fucking cunt. It’s illegal to tamper with a man’s alibi.”
“I didn’t tamper with anything,” I laugh. “I was just asking you a question.”
He shoots a look at Franklin. “I no longer waive my right to counsel. And since you have nothing to keep me here,” he lifts his hands once more. “Release me. I’ll speak to my lawyer in my home, on my time. Unless, of course, you have a concrete reason to arrest me.”
Considering, Franklin slides his gaze to me.
I shrug. “He’s requested a lawyer. It would be foolish of us to not do as he asked.”
Reaching into my pocket, I take out my cell, swipe the screen open, and check my emails, while beside me, Franklin recites the end of our interview and switches off the recorder.
“I’m going to speak with my lieutenant for a moment, and I’ll call your legal rep,” Franklin tells Fentone. Pushing up to stand and grabbing the file from the table, he looks to me. “Doctor Mayet?”
“I think I’ll stay a minute longer.” I look up from my phone and wrinkle my nose for Fentone’s eyes to lock on. “He’s cuffed, I’m entirely safe.”
Franklin hovers for a minute more. Curious. Cautious. But when I go back to tapping my screen, and Fentone sits back to sip his water, the detective merely shrugs and heads to the door.
“I know you did it.” The second the door closes behind Franklin, I set my phone on the table face down and bring my attention back to the mandyingto tell someone of his conquests. “I know you hurt Chelsea, and I know you hurt Bella. I’m just waiting for proof.”
“I’m gonna kill myfriend. He can’t testify if he’s dead, and my alibi will remain intact, even posthumously.”
“I knew you were a killer.” Brushing my phone to the side, I lean onto the steel table and meet his glittering glare. “I could see it in your eyes the moment I stepped in here.”
“The record’s off. And even if Franklin believes you, he can’t take it to a jury.”
“You hurt Bella, didn’t you? You’re a killer, and you violated that sweet little girl.”
“Whatever I did,” he snarls, low enough that anyone trying to listen outside the door, or even from the observation room, won’t hear. “It was delicious.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, slurping, and adds another level ofickto his aura. “It was easy,” he continues. “It was fun. And you were right: it was like satisfying a hunger I’d tolerated for months.”
Done.
Picking up my phone and turning it over to show him I was recording, I wink when his nostrils flare. “Thanks for that.”
“It’s illegal in this state to record a man without two-party consent.” He flicks his fingers, unconcerned about my supposed evidence. “A judge won’t even listen to that. And there’s no way a jury will, either. Besides, I didn’t admit to touching those girls.”
“Right.” I lock my phone and slip the device into my pocket. “You just admitted to enjoying it. Whateveritwas.”
“Not a crime. Not a confession.” Then he smiles. “Not a recording that’ll ever make it to a courtroom.”
“You consistently reference the courtroom, Laramie. But you forget the justice that comes outside those walls.” Picking up my coffee, I take a long sip and school my face so I don’t grimace at the cold liquid. “Oh, and before you get your knickers in a knot, your friend wasn’t picked up last night for anything. I was merely hypothesizing.”
