Page 25 of Girl Lost
Charles Abercorn, a scrawny man with more tattoos than teeth, slouched at the table. Handcuffs bound his thin wrists to the metal ring bolted to the table. A sheen of sweat glistened on his shaved head. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth like a cornered dog. Nervous or high?
Corbin leaned against the mirrored wall with his arms folded. His injured shoulder throbbed, and he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Blade sat across from Abercorn and tapped his pen on the table. “All right, Charles. Let’s start with something simple. Where were you this morning?”
Abercorn’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s it to you?”
Corbin almost rolled his eyes. Why did they have to go through this with every single suspect? “Just answer the question.”
“I was at work, all right?”
“Where’s this job?” Pushing his drugs on the corner, probably.
“I work landscaping around town.”
That surprised Corbin. Most meth addicts were incapable of holding down a job, especially something that involved early hours and physical labor. “What’s the name?”
“It’s a small crew. Just me and Juan, and our boss Mr. Sánchez.”
Blade paused his writing. “Does Mr. Sánchez have a first name?”
“Ernesto. Ernesto Sánchez.” Abercorn tried to throw his hands up, but the shackles caught. “Look, you can call him. I’ll give you his number.”
“What time did you go to work?” Corbin asked.
“Started around six this morning, finished around noon.” Abercorn rotated his wrists, and Corbin could see the red lines where the metal bit into his skin. “I left my house at five thirty this morning ’cause I gotta walk. Lost my license a while back.”
Corbin glanced at Blade. A quick phone call should confirm that.
Blade pressed on. “And after your morning shift?”
“Mr. Sánchez dropped me off at Waffle House up on the corner. I was walkin’ straight home from there. That’s when I saw my house on fire!” Abercorn banged his fists on the table as much as he could. “You burned my house down and then you guys arrested me. For nothing!”
“For nothing?” Corbin laughed. “You call cooking meth in your bathtub ‘nothing’? You call rigging your house with a trap to start a fire that could’ve killed four officers ‘nothing’? You’re lucky we’re not charging you with attempted murder.”
“Meth? What?” Abercorn yanked his hands toward his lap, but the chain caught again. “No. No way, man. I wasn’t cookin’ meth. I don’t even know how!”
Corbin and Blade exchanged a quick glance. Either this guy was lying, or someone had planned to take care of Abercorn and make it look like a meth lab explosion.
Blade said, “You saw the police cars at your house, and you took off running.”
“Innocent people don’t run,” Corbin said.
Abercorn shifted in his seat. The cuffs rattled. He looked down at the table. “I ... I panicked, okay? I didn’t know what to do.”
They let the moment stretch a few more seconds.
Blade tapped his pen on his chin. “Okay, let’s talk about those Tasers.”
Abercorn’s gaze snapped to Blade. “What Tasers?”
“The ones you purchased with a prepaid gift card three weeks ago.”
Abercorn swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his stained T-shirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Blade leaned back. Corbin heard the chair creak beneath his weight. “We have the receipts, Charles. We know you bought those Tasers. We know where you bought them. We know when you bought them. Now, why don’t you save us all some time and tell us why you needed three Tasers?”
“I told ya,” Abercorn said. “I didn’t buy no Tasers. You cops are crazy! Burned down my house for nothin’! I’m gonna sue!”
