Page 142 of Dark Romeo

“Espo,” I hissed at him out of the corner of my mouth, trying not to let my cheeks flare with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe what he was saying to Roman. Each word like a stab in my own gut. “Leave him alone.”

Espinoza shot me a look. “Excuse me?”

“You’re being unnecessarily rude to a suspect.”

“Roman is tough. Aren’t you, Roman? You can handle it. I imagine your father has had harsher things to say to you, judging by his reputation.”

“You’re quite right, Detective Espinoza,” Roman said. “My father is an unforgiving and unrelenting teacher. I’ve developed a skin thicker than steel. Nothing you say to me could possibly have any effect other than to stroke your own prejudices.”

I began to protest. “I don’t think?—”

“I don’t need you, of all people, to fight my battles for me, Detective Capulet.”

I was stunned into silence. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

At the station we put Roman in an interrogation room. We placed a very snotty Rosaline, who had followed us in her car, in a spare office to “wait for my Romy away from all the riff-raff”.

Usually we made the suspect sweat it out in the interrogation room for some time before we began our questions. Espo and I watched Roman through the live feed of the camera from the tech room. He sat casually in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other. He looked like he hadn’t a care in the world, while inside I was in turmoil. I alternated between glaring at Roman on the screen and at Espo beside me. “What the hell was that about in the car?” I blurted out.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Excuse me?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were picking sides.” Espo narrowed his eyes at me. “And the side you were picking was his.”

JULIANNA

____________

Espo and I sat opposite Roman in the interrogation room, the cold metal chair biting at my legs through my skirt. Espo glared at Roman. I stared at the table. Roman watched me. He seemed so calm, so collected. Meanwhile I was a fucking mess inside, trying not to let it all leak out all over my face.

Espo pressed the start button on the recording device, spoke our names, the time and date.

He pulled a blown-up copy of Eddie’s driver’s license photo out of his file. “Do you know this man?” he asked Roman, as he pushed the photo across the table.

Roman leaned over the table and gave the picture a cursory glance. “No.” He sank back against his chair, which gave out a low creak under his bulk.

“Of course, he didn’t exactly look like that when you last saw him, right? Perhaps this image will jog your memory.” Espo slid out a second picture, this time of Eddie’s pale, dead face taken from the crime scene, the bullet wound leaking blood, his eyes frosted over and his mouth open as if mid-begging for his life.

Roman glanced down to the second picture.

Nothing. There wasn’t even a flash of surprise on his face. Did he know already? Did he have something to do with it?

Roman lifted his eyes up to meet mine. For a second there was an accusation in them. An accusation? At me?

“Hey,” Espinoza snapped as he bristled beside me. “I asked you a question.”

Roman slid his gaze back to Espinoza, coldness wafting off him like he was made of ice. I shivered inside.

This is just the mask he wears for the world, I reminded myself. You know the real man. The good man inside. The man who is worth fighting for.

“Like I said,” Roman said, his voice sharp and deadly like the edge of a blade. “I don’t recognize this man.”

“Lay your hands out.”

“Why?”

“Are you refusing?”

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