chest. Being on the wrong side of a raid? Not as much fun as you might think.
I saw newspapers spinning in to fill the screen, headlines shouting NEW EVIDENCE IN BERTRAND SLAYING. But wasn't I protected under double jeopardy?
I said, 'I assume you have a warrant.'
Bunched beneath Kaden's fist, the document appeared before my face. I was being arrested for murder, though the warrant didn't name names. That would be, I assumed, my job.
Kaden threw me in the back of an unmarked sedan and climbed into the driver's seat. Delveckio sat in the passenger seat. My neighbors were on their front steps or at the windows.
'You could have just called,' I said. 'I would've driven in. I've always cooperated.' A few more blocks in silence. My alarm was finally ebbing, giving way to outrage. I cleared my throat. 'I say, 'What's this about?' and you say, 'I think you know, punk.' Then I say, 'I want to talk to my lawyer,' and you say, 'As soon as you're booked.' '
The backs of their heads did not respond.
We were on the freeway now, flying toward downtown. The first time I'd ever been on the 101 without traffic. The freeway, usually bumper to bumper, was deserted, postapocalyptic.
I was not surprised, some fifteen minutes later, to see the Parker Center through the windshield. Home to Derek Chainer. And to LAPD's elite Robbery-Homicide Division. A glass-and-concrete testament to fifties architectural cost-effectiveness, Parker's rectangular rise blocked out the emerging sun.
I was steered upstairs to an interrogation room. They kept the door open, cops coming and going with papers and whispered updates. Once again I felt disoriented, nervous, shoved out of my rightful place. I knew these halls. I knew this building. I'd researched men like these and written about them in flattering fashion. After my first book came out, I'd taken the buddy-buddy tour with the public-information officer, watched a real-live interview from the other side of the one-way mirror. What a distance between that side of the glass and this.
'Why am I here?' I said.
Kaden said, 'Take your clothes off.'
'Okay, but it's fifty bucks up front, and I don't kiss on the mouth.'
'Off.'
I glowered at him. 'Not until I talk to my lawyer.'
'After we search you.'
'In case I'm secreting a bazooka up my ass?'
'You can keep your boxers on.'
I kicked off my shoes, and Kaden stared at my bare feet and said, 'Stop. Band-Aid off, please.'
I complied. He snapped his fingers at the door, and a guy came in with an oversize Polaroid and took a picture of the slice in my flesh while I stood on one foot.
I finished pulling off my clothes, and they made sure I had no other scrapes or slashes. As I dressed, the photographer withdrew and closed the door, leaving me with Kaden, Delveckio, a table and chair, and a shiny mirror on the wall. The lights were hot, and someone had brought me coffee. My job was to drink it and get jittery and have to take a leak and spill all my secrets so I could get to the can. I could've been more compliant if I knew what my secrets were.
Delveckio nodded at my foot. 'Looks to be a fresh knife cut, wouldn't you say?'
'You talk, too?'
'Answer the fucking question,' Kaden said.
'Yeah,' I said. 'It looks like a fresh cut. Now, what the hell's this about?'
'Got a little careless?'
'Doing what?'
'You tell me.'
I palmed sweat off my brow. The hot overheads were working. 'I might have had an intruder two nights ago. I think someone broke in when I was sleeping, cut my foot.'
'Sure thing,' said Delveckio. 'Easter Bunny maybe?'
I glared at him. 'Not in January. I was thinking tardy elf.'
'Why didn't you call the police?' Kaden asked.
'You guys haven't exactly been sympathetic.'
'And this… mystery assailant cut you and you slept through it?'
'I was really out of it. My first night home. I woke up just after, I think. Guy might've even still been in the house, but then I wasn't sure '
Kaden placed a thick hand on my chest and shoved me so I fell back into the chair. He kicked the table so it slid over and stopped right in front of me. I was now seated at the interrogation table. Neat trick.
'Where were you last night between ten-thirty and two A.M.?'
Last night?
'Okay,' I said, struggling to keep up and failing. 'Okay.'
Delveckio handed me my coffee, an oddly civil gesture, despite his motivation.
'Getting smarter, aren't you?' Kaden said. 'Moved the body this time. Washed it down with a bleach solution.'
I believe that anyone is capable of anything.
I felt a flutter-beat of panic. 'Is it April? Is she all right?'
They stared at me, arms crossed, spread stances, Delveckio a skinnier version of the big guy.
'Tell me she's okay,' I said. 'You already dragged me here. No need to add insult to injury.'
Delveckio reached over and cuffed my head. Openhanded but hard. 'You're a piece of shit,' he said. 'That's insult to injury.'
My chest felt tight. I couldn't move enough air through it. 'Just tell me this isn't about April.'
Kaden set down a crime-scene photo on the table in front of me. I shuddered so hard that coffee spilled over the Styrofoam lip and scalded my knuckles. Woman on a coroner's slab, familiar deep gash in the pit of the stomach. But not April.
A great hope fell over me like a blanket of light. Two bodies, same MO. If I hadn't killed this woman, I likely hadn't killed Genevieve. My name could be cleared. My relieved exhale was cut short by a renewed understanding of my situation. Interrogation room. Parker Center. Logically, the prime suspect.
'I didn't do this. No way. You think I… what? Slipped while stabbing her in the stomach and cut my bare foot?'
'You undressed to make sure you didn't get any spatter on your clothes,' Delveckio said. 'Manipulating the body, holding the knife, mistakes happen.'
'Come on. That's hardly concrete evidence.'
'Oh, you want evidence?' Kaden asked.
Here we go again. Deja fucking vu.
'We found a plastic drop cloth in your trash can. Like for, say, the trunk of your car.'
My breath left me in a silent cough. I didn't know anything except to keep fighting. Blindly. And take it on faith that I wasn't a murderer, let alone twice over.
'Why would I leave it in my own trash can?' I said.
'You wouldn't,' Delveckio said, 'You burned it first. But you missed an edge. And it's sporting residue matching the adhesive from the electrical tape binding her wrists.'
I couldn't manage a response.
Kaden laughed at my stunned expression, though there was no amusement in his eyes. 'Framed again, huh? One-armed man on the grassy knoll?'
'I didn't do this,' I said quietly.
'That's odd, because the killer duplicated every specific. The precise angle of the stab wound. The positioning of the body. The way the head was turned, hair down over the right eye. Not exactly the level of detail we put out for the six o'clock news.'
My thoughts bled one into the next.
'Here's the kicker,' Kaden continued. 'That little piece of unburnt plastic drop cloth we found in your trash can? It had some more surprises for us. The victim's blood. Your blood. And as for your bleach bath? Missed a few
