Caging the Beast by Sydney Jacolby

Author:Sydney Jacolby [Jacolby, Sydney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00CELD1PO
Publisher: Siren Publishing
Published: 2013-04-15T12:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The interview room wasn’t a small room, but Tate Bronowski’s large body seemed to take up most of it. Charles Walton watched the interview from behind the two-way mirror. His focus was not on Bronowski, but on his attorney, Deacon Delacroix. Everything about the man irritated Charles.

“Tate, tell me about the MMA match on Friday. How did it come about?” Mike asked, flipping open his note book.

Tate glanced at Deacon before answering. Deacon nodded his head, letting Tate know it was okay to answer. Deacon had made Tate promise to follow his lead when answering any of the detective’s questions.

“Beau and I have met in the ring about a half a dozen times in the past. I’ve beaten him every time. He didn’t take defeat well. About three weeks ago, Beau and his buddies jumped JD Crew’s daughter, Teresa, when she was leaving work. They scared her pretty bad. Told her to tell her dad and me that we should start losing or she was going to get hurt.” Tate paused, taking a shaky breath.

“JD wanted to outright kill Beau. He practically threatened to rape Teresa. I told JD we should set up a nonsanctioned fight. No sanction means no rules. I pounded Beau until he couldn’t stand anymore. After the fight, Beau’s goons took him away. I slept at the gym,” Tate said, his eyes never leaving Mike’s.

“You didn’t see Toussaint in the parking lot? That night?” Mike asked.

“What part of he went to sleep at the gym was hard to understand, Detective?” Deacon asked before Tate could answer.

“Just making sure I have the facts correct. What about the Markova boots? Records show you purchased two pairs.”

“No! I didn’t buy two pairs. I bought one pair. They shipped me the wrong size. I returned them, and they sent out the right size. I have credit card statements that show one charge.” Tate looked at Deacon, his hand starting to shake.

Deacon touched his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Before you launch into how Tate’s fingerprints got on the car, we can provide work records that show Tate was working on a day Toussaint had his Ford in to be detailed.”

Walton gritted his teeth. Deacon always had something up his sleeve. He turned to the lieutenant who was standing next to him. “Have we got the test results from the boots taken from Bronowski?”

“Not yet. Milberg just brought O’Bannon in, and his boots are on the way to the lab now,” Lt Joe Santana answered.

Paul opened the door to the adjacent interview room where David O’Bannon sat, arms crossed, glaring. “What the fuck did you need to take my boots for?”

“To test for blood. By the way, you might want to think about getting some odor-eater soles, my friend. Your shoes stink.” Paul tossed his notepad on the table, sitting down.

“Fuck you!” O’Bannon snapped. “Ain’t no blood on my boots.”

“Not that I don’t believe you, Dave, but I think I’ll withhold judgment until the lab confirms that.” Paul smirked. “Now,

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