Page 72 of Wired Justice

“I’ll say,” Freitan growled. “Is she in any shape to answer our questions?”

“We asked her who attacked her. She said it was a group of people, she didn’t know or couldn’t identify who—in effect, she refused to answer. She’s stable. You should be able to talk to her just fine. Whether or not she will answer is another question.”

Jake slid in behind the detectives as they entered the room, trying to stay unobtrusive and in the background. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall as the detectives pulled up plastic chairs beside the bed. He didn’t want to get sent out and cut off from the investigation at such a critical point. He slid his phone out of his pocket and thumbed on the Record feature to capture the interview for Sophie to hear later.

“Holly.” Wong was the one to gently shake the woman’s shoulder. Rayme’s eyes flew open in alarm, and Wong patted her arm gently. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Detectives Wong and Freitan. We talked with you when you were first arrested, remember?”

Rayme’s gaze flickered around the room and landed on Jake. “I recognize you.” Her voice was sandpapery thin.

Jake inclined his head. “Sorry you’ve been injured. We were concerned that you might be in danger.”

Freitan shot Jake a look, telling him to back off. “We are here to help,” she said smoothly, turning to Rayme. “Tell us what happened.”

Rayme plucked at the white sheet covering her lap. “I’m not sure. It all went down so fast.”

“We had called down to the jail, requesting that you and Webb be transferred to solitary for your own protection after we got new information that might involve you. Webb turned up dead, and you were attacked, both within the same hour.” Freitan wasn’t pulling any punches.

Rayme’s eyes filled and overflowed. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Jimmy is dead?”

“Afraid so.” Wong patted her arm again. “They got to him before he could be pulled from gen pop.”

“And the reason we called over here was that we thought you might be in trouble, since someone whacked Chernobiac out at his house,” Freitan said.

“Oh God!” Rayme rubbed her eyes with fisted hands. Her voice trembled. “I’m the only one left.”

Jake was impressed with how matter-of-factly Freitan had delivered that piece of news, as if expecting Rayme knew Chernobiac—when they still had no evidence that she did. The detectives exchanged a quick glance with Jake. Now they were getting somewhere.

“We really want to protect you,” Wong kept up the arm rub and soft voice. “What can you tell us about who is trying to kill you?”

“I can’t. No.” Rayme opened those childish fists and covered her mouth with both hands, as if to keep the truth from emerging. Her voice came out muffled. “I can’t tell you anything. He’ll kill me if I do.”

“Kind of seems like he’s going to kill you even if you don’t,” Frietan said dryly.

They waited a bit for this to sink in.

Sure enough, Rayme dropped her hands and clutched the sheet. “You have to offer me a deal.”

“Don’t have to offer you anything,” Freitan said. “We can just leave you here, and let nature take its course. Makes no never mind to us. One more dead tweaker is one less for us to worry about.”

“But don’t you want to know what has been going on with Chernobiac?” Rayme’s voice rose an octave or two.

“Either you want to talk with us or you don’t.” The detective studied her short, plum-colored nails, and frowned at a chip she saw on one of them.

“Then you have to protect me. Because he will kill me to shut me up. And you need me to put him away.” Rayme’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Protection can be arranged,” Wong assured her. He turned to Freitan, frowning in exaggerated concern. “Detective Freitan, we have to take care of this poor girl.”

Jake worried that Wong was laying it on a little thick, but Rayme’s head nodded like a marionette. “Yes! I’ll tell you everything if you just make sure he can’t get to me.”

Freitan shifted in the cheap plastic chair and brushed imaginary lint off her black jeans. “All right. We’ll see what we can do. I’m going to record this conversation for future reference.” She took out her phone and turned on a Record feature, stating the people present, the date, time, and location, and she Mirandized Holly Rayme.

Once the formalities had been observed, Rayme was in a rush to tell her story. “We had a side hustle going on. Me, Jimmy, Akane Chang, and Paul Chernobiac. It was working great until that Weathersby girl messed things up.”

“Side hustle? As opposed to . . . some other kind of hustle?” Freitan’s eyebrows made inquisitive arches.

“As opposed to the Chang family’s main sources of income. I know it isn’t news to you that the Changs are heavily involved in prostitution, gambling, and drugs,” Rayme said. “The cops are always hassling them. We got to know Akane because we worked in the Changs’ meth factory for a while. Akane is their main enforcer. One of the cousins. He is . . .” Rayme gave a theatrical shudder. “He is not right in the head.”

Jake kept his face serious with an effort. Rayme obviously considered herself just fine in her mental capacity. Apparently insanity had degrees.

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