Page 32 of Winning Bid

“We have witnesses that put you near Ms. Devlin’s building the night of the crime,” Wachowski says.

“I’d love to speak to these so-called witnesses,” Pym sneers.

Really wishing I had his confidence right about now. I shrug and act bored. “Your witnesses are obviously mistaken.”

“Maybe they are,” Banks says as he leans forward, “but cameras rarely lie.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maintaining a cool exterior is getting harder by the second. If I was caught on camera doing anything outside of my alibi, I am fucked. But I’m not giving them an inch. They might have more than they’re letting on, but they might not.

One thing that always stuck out to me in law school was the fact that cops are allowed to lie to you. Didn’t seem fair to me then, and it’s certainly not now. I don’t want to go to trial, but that’s the only place they’re not allowed to lie to you. Doesn’t mean they don’t do it, but at least they’re less likely to lie in a courtroom.

I glance to Pym to keep up the question-and-answer status quo. But he’s the one who responds. “Was that a question, Detective? Or are you just spit balling ideas for your next empty accusation?”

Banks smiles. “I like you, Pym. I always have. But I need you to understand just how much trouble your client is in right now. We have a mountain of evidence that puts him at the scene of the crime, and if this goes to trial, it won’t go the way you want it to.”

“And you’re telling me this as a favor?” Pym scoffs. “No, you’re saying it to make Mr. West nervous because that’s all you have. Scare tactics. If?—"

“You should be scared,” Wachowski says directly to me. “Prison is mean to pretty boys, especially the rich ones. You rich fucks always think you can do whatever you want, don’t you? This was cold-blooded murder out of jealousy because your girl is a slut. You?—"

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I snap.

But the detective only smirks. “Why? You gonna throw me in the bay, too?”

“Enough,” Pym interjects. “Unless you have something concrete, my client has nothing to say to you.” His gentle reminder to keep my mouth shut.

I’m embarrassed that I needed that reminder, but this guy bugs me, and I’m about to go to fucking prison if I’m not careful. Sweat pours down my back, and it’s not warm in here. It’s me. Feels like a noose is tightening. I still have no clue what evidence they have against me, but they’re making it sound like they got me on camera someplace. Yes, they can lie to me during interrogation, but how far would they keep that lie going?

“We have plenty of evidence against your client, Pym,” Banks says coolly. “But we gave you the chance to talk to us like men and set the record straight. Mr. West, how about you do that? Tell us where you were on the night in question—the truth this time—and we’ll make sure the prosecutors go easy on you. We just want some cooperation so we can put this case to bed. Mr. Johnson’s family deserves some closure.”

I glance at Pym, and he nods. “I already gave you my statement.” Our agreed upon response if they came at me like this.

Banks sighs, then nods to Wachowski, who barks, “That joke of a statement has more holes in it than I-93. We have you, pretty boy. Witnesses, cameras, fingerprints, DNA. It’s gonna be fucking sweet to see your privileged ass behind bars, and on a murder charge, it’ll be decades before you breathe the free air again.” He laughs. “Just imagine June, all lonely and brokenhearted that her man is in prison … she won’t be lonely for long, will she? A slut like her?—"

I want to lunge across the table and punch the detective, but Pym speaks up, “You paint a pretty picture. A shame you won’t be able to see it, Wachowski. We both know if you had any of that, Mr. West would be behind bars right now. So cut the bullshit.”

The detectives sit back in unison before Wachowski says, “When you’re gone, maybe I’ll call June myself.”

I snort a laugh at the thought. “Not sure your pride could take it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’d laugh in your face, and I don’t think your ego would ever recover.”

“So that’s what it was, wasn’t it?” Banks asks. He sounds like he thinks he’s onto something. Too much confidence in his voice, but he’s trying to sound soothing. “Seeing her with him that night—your pride took a hit you couldn’t recover from, right? I mean, I get it. Seeing your woman with another man … that’s gotta hurt. Can’t even imagine how bad. It’s understandable, Mr. West. We’re all human. People make mistakes. Sometimes, those mistakes go too far. Things get out of control fast in a bad situation. My partner thinks this was a premeditated thing, but I don’t think so. This was a crime of passion, if ever there was one. Juries understand these things. So do prosecutors and judges. You don’t have to live with the guilt forever. You’re a good man, so I know this is eating at you. If you sign a confession, this will all go a lot easier on you.”

Pym told me not to be belligerent, but right now, it feels like that’s the only thing I have going for me. They’ve got me in a corner, don’t they? If this were a dog-and-pony show, they would have given up by now, right? Fuck, I don’t know. All I know is I need to get out of here before I say something incriminating. I can’t breathe in this damn room, and the vultures are circling.

I bark, “If I had something to confess, I’d fucking do it by now just to be done with the two of you. In fact … ” I stand up. “I’m not under arrest, so I’m walking out that door. Pym’s right. You’ve got nothing on me. I’m out.” I stomp to the door, trying to project righteous indignation instead of culpability.

18

ANDERSON

As soon as Otto’s car door shuts, he snarls, “What the fuck was that?”

I huff and stare out the passenger window. The problem is, I don’t have an answer. Not a good one, anyway. The truth is, I panicked. In the past year, I’ve dealt with everything from my father freezing my assets to getting shot and almost dying, but this was a different kind of stress. The guy who shot me was at the end of his rope. He was armed and out of his mind, and so I was shot.

What happened with those cops in the interrogation room was planned and intentional. It was a completely different feeling from facing a man with a gun but no less potentially world-ending. They wanted to tear me apart mentally until I confessed or said the wrong thing. Those assholes were out to get me like it was personal.

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