“I’m going to take your official statement. We’re going to do this by all the steps, Russ. I’m going to warn you Blake’s going to try to pressure you and your family to take a payoff, let the kid slide.”
Color, nearly as red as his hair, rode up on Russ’s cheeks. “There isn’t enough money in the world. My mama bought that chandelier in Waterford, Ireland, had it shipped all the way back here just for that parlor. It was her pride and joy. For that alone, Brooks.”
“I know it. I’m going to record this.”
“Okay.” Russ closed his eyes a moment, nodded. “Okay.”
When they’d finished, Brooks took a long study of his friend’s face. That angry color had faded so the freckles stood out like mottling on the sick pallor of his face. “I’d like to have Jeff drive you home, but you’re going to want to go back to the hotel.”
“I have to.”
“I know it. He’ll take you. I’m going to be a while here. I’ll come over to your place when I’m done, if you want.”
“I’d appreciate it, Brooks. If you could call anyway, let me know how you think things stand.”
“I will, and I’ll come to where you are after I do. I don’t want anybody cleaning up that mess yet, all right?”
“How long do you think—never mind.” Russ held up a hand. “All right.”
“I told Boyd to put police tape on the door. I know it’s not what you’d like, but the tougher we make this, the better chance we have of getting it all the way through if the Blakes decide to go to court.”
“You do what you have to do.”
“There’s one last thing.” Brooks opened a drawer and took out a digital camera. “Say shit.”
Russ let out a little laugh, sighed. Then scowled at the camera. “Shit.”
When Brooks left his office, he noted Blake was no longer in the outer area. Probably gone off to hound the mayor, or burn up the cell towers with calls to the state rep, the freaking governor.
“It’s a sorry shame,” Alma said, and handed Brooks an envelope. “I took a boatload of pictures, like you said. About broke my heart, too.”
“This won’t.” Boyd held up a trio of evidence bags. “We got your marijuana, your cocaine and some Oxy to round it off.”
“That’ll work. Did you log it in?”
“All nice and official. We got the video camera like you said we should, and Ash ran it while I did the search. Can’t document much clearer.”
“Good work, all of you. Is Harry still back there?”
“He hasn’t come out.”
“I’m going back, starting with the ringleader. Boyd, why don’t you take Chad Cartwright, and Ash, you talk to Doyle Parsins. You remind them of their rights again, you hear? And you get everything on record. If either of them says ‘lawyer,’ you stop.”
“They didn’t ask for one yet, or for a call, either,” Ash told him. “Last I checked, both of them were passed out back there.”
“Give them a wake-up call.”
Brooks went back to the tiny conference room. He banged on the door, shoved it open. “It’s time you and I had a talk, Justin.”
Justin continued to sprawl in the chair, one arm thrown carelessly over its back. He only curled his lip.
“Chief, if I could have a word with you.” Harry got up, murmured something to Justin that had the boy jerk a shrug.
Harry came out, closed the door. He was a head shorter than Brooks and about fifteen years his senior. Back in the day, Harry had coached Brooks’s Little League team to a championship.
“Brooks, I realize that between the three of these young men there was some damage done to the hotel suite, and I understand there was some underage drinking. The fact is, they’ll make good on the damages, if indeed there are any, and my client is permitted an independent assessor in that matter. And we both know the drinking’s not going to go anywhere. Slap on the wrist, some counseling maybe. As for the claim of assault, Justin tells me Russ was understandably upset, and there was some mutual pushy-shovy. Now—”
Brooks pulled the digital print of Russ’s split and swollen lip out of his file. “Does that look like pushy-shovy to you?”
Harry stared down at the photo, then just sighed, raked his hands through his short thatch of brown hair.
“Don’t you ever get tired of doing this dance?”
Harry waved a hand, shook his head. “I’ve got to do my job, Brooks.”
“You know there are days I think my job sucks. Yours sucks more.” Brooks opened the door. He took out a tape recorder, put it on the table.
He noted the night had taken some of the shine off Justin’s gold and bronzed prince-of-the-city looks. Good, Brooks thought, looking into the cocky, bloodshot eyes.
“Were you read your rights, Justin?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the right to say fuck you.”
“Justin,” Harry warned.
“Freedom of speech.”
“I’ll exercise that same right. You want to look at these, counselor.” Brooks poured the photos on the table as he sat.
As Harry studied them, Brooks studied the boy.
Justin Blake, the only child of Lincoln and Genny Blake, had been born into money, prestige and good looks. Chiseled features, sulky mouth, sizzling blue eyes and thick sun-kissed hair likely ensured he’d had his pick of girls through his high school years.
He might have made something of himself, Brooks considered—maybe he still would—but up to this point the money, prestige and good looks had translated into arrogance, a mean temperament and a vicious disrespect for any kind of authority.
“Justin Blake, you’re charged with destruction of property, vandalism, underage drinking and three counts of assault.”
“Big fucking deal.”
“Oh, it will be. As will the possession charges. We have the weed, the coke and the Oxy you and your fellow morons had in the suite.”
Justin only smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’ve got your prints on file already. I’ll just bet we’re going to find them on that bag of weed, the bag of blow, maybe even on the pills. You’re on probation, and one of the terms of that probation is no drugs, no drinking, no trouble. You did the hat trick.”
“My father’ll have me out of here in an hour. If Harry wants to earn his big, fat fee, he’ll have the rest fixed before morning.”
“No, and no. Not this time. Russell Conroy has just officially pressed charges. My deputies have interviewed witnesses. We have, as you can see, photo documentation of the havoc you wreaked. We have the drugs, the alcohol and shortly we’ll be picking up the girls you entertained last night. I just think it would be icing on the cake if any one of them happens to be under the age of eighteen, ’cause then I get to add statutory rape and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. But even without the icing, you’re not getting probation, counseling and community service this time. You’ll do some time.”
Justin lifted his middle finger. “An hour.”
“In violation of your probation, and look at the time! It’s after eight o’clock. Too late for a bail hearing tonight. You’ll be a guest of our fine facilities until ten tomorrow morning, at which time we’ll go before the judge and lay it all out.”
“Bullshit.”
“Chief Gleason,” Harry began, “my client’s parents are respected members of the community. I believe we can safely release Justin into their supervision for one night.”
Brooks leveled one look, hard as granite. “That’s not going to happen. He stays. I may not be able to stop
