Page 83 of Winning Bid

He leans forward, dipping his chin down like he's conspiring with me. His voice lowers. “Come on. We both know what went down that night.”

“What night is that?”

When he sees I'm not playing the same game he is, he sits back and hisses between his teeth. I've always enjoyed disappointing my father, but I think I enjoy disappointing Wachowski even more. “Cut the crap, West. We know it was you.”

“Oh? You know what was me?”

He stands up and throws his chair across the room. “Stop fucking around! We know you killed him! We have all the proof we need!”

I sit back and smile. “I'd love to see it.”

“See what?” Banks asks.

“Your proof, of course. I would assume you have more than just a bloated corpse. Maybe some fingerprints? Or DNA? Or even a video?” I can't say that I know about their little lie, but I can certainly intimate it.

Wachowski slams his fists on the table. “Are you asking for a video just to piss us off? Or are you asking because it's some kind of a sick fetish for you to watch yourself beat a man to death?”

And right then, I know for certain they don't have it. If they did, Wachowski would rub my nose in it.

So I calmly tell them, “I am merely asking for the proof you claim to have. Seems to me that if you don't have any, then I'm free to go. In fact, since you don't have any, I'd be happy to sue for harassment, as you have pulled me in here on more than one occasion with no kind of evidence, harassed my fiancée at her place of business?—"

“Listen, Mr. West,” Banks begins. “None of us need to speak to our lawyers to make this go away. All we need is some cooperation from you.” He does his level best to make it sound like such a simple thing.

“What cooperation is that, Detective Banks?” But I know what he wants. He wants a confession.

He opens the folder. There on a slab is Neil's swollen corpse. The sight of it turns my stomach. “Not a pretty picture, huh?”

“Rather nauseating, actually. But I don't know what it has to do with me.”

“A fresh corpse always looks better. Could almost believe that they're still alive.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Whoever dumped him into the Bay must have thought that he was dead. But he wasn't. At least not according to the coroner’s report.”

I know the police are allowed to lie during an interrogation. In fact, the only place they're not allowed to lie is on the stand, which isn't to say that that doesn't still happen there, too. So, sitting here across from Detective Banks, I know that he's lying to me. His skull was bashed. He had no pulse. He wasn't breathing. June confirmed it. I confirmed it. And Moss, our expert on making dead bodies, confirmed it.

Yet the thought of Neil having survived until we dumped him overboard still makes me sicker.

“That sounds horrifying.”

“It is. The stuff of nightmares, really.” He fans out a few more pictures. I know he's trying to get a rise out of me. “Can't imagine what that was like for the guy. That's why I'm determined to get whoever did this. I need to be able to give his family some closure.”

“I can certainly see why.”

He meets my gaze. “I had a wife once, Mr. West. But this job makes relationships hard. I wasn't always there for her. When I found out about her affair, I went a little crazy. Spent way too much time at the gun range. Bought a new sports car. All that shit. I understand it is hard to deal with a woman who's cheating on you. Guys like us, we don't get a lot of sympathy on that. But I get it.”

I'm impressed. They're still trying. Even without evidence. “Detective Banks, I'm not sure what you think you and I have in common, but I am certain that you're wrong.”

“Your girl got a little action on the side. That could make any man crazy. Juries are very understanding about that kind of thing.”

“My statement is not going to change. I had nothing to do with any of this. And now that I'm here and you two have been wasting my time for close to an hour, I know for certain that you have nothing on me. I'm sure that stings, but that’s not my problem.” I stand up. “My problem is a pair of detectives who won't let this go.”

“Why the hell should we?” Wachowski barks. “You rich boys always think you can get away with murder.”

I shrug. “Maybe you can clear this up for me. Am I a rich boy who thinks he can get away with murder? Or am I a sympathetic man who got cheated on? Which is it? Maybe you two can make up your mind before you bother me again. In the meantime, I'm leaving because you don’t have enough to hold me here. Have a nice day.” I stroll out of there, breathing a sigh of relief. The fresh air smells like freedom.

42

ANDERSON

My first instinct is to go home and tell June the good news. But there are more pressing matters. Moss’ people on the force are compromised.

---