Nightbred by Lynn Viehl

Author:Lynn Viehl [Viehl, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780451238795
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Sam looked through the two-way mirror at the suspect sitting in the interrogation room. A tanned, somewhat overweight man in his early forties, he wore an off-the-rack business suit, a wide and rather ugly yellow tie, and a fake Rolex. “That’s our killer.”

“Alleged killer.” Garcia glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. “He’s Eugene Gates, forty-three, divorced, no children. A pharmaceutical rep. Couple of speeding tickets.” He handed her the arrest report. “He gave the desk sergeant a bloodstained diamond necklace, but hasn’t offered a motive.”

Sam looked past him at Jonah Massey, who stood just outside talking with one of the janitors. “What’s he doing here?”

“I want Massey in there with you.” Before she could reply, Garcia shook his head. “The DA wants a full confession on videotape. That means two officers present, my lady.”

It also meant she couldn’t use l’attrait to compel the suspect to tell her the truth. “Massey,” she called, and was momentarily distracted by the hamster-wheel squeak of the janitor’s wheeled bucket as he pushed it out of sight down the hall. “Can you run a video camera?”

Massey ducked inside. “In my sleep.”

“Then you’re in charge of taping and typing.” She handed the clipboard off to him.

Inside the interrogation room Sam pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table, noting the complete lack of reaction from Gates. The suspect, who seemed content to continue staring at a long scratch in the table’s Formica top, didn’t even twitch when she went through the introductions.

“Mr. Gates, I’m Detective Samantha Brown.” Sam turned the chair around, straddled it, and nodded at Jonah. “This is Detective Jonah Massey. Have you been informed of your rights?”

Gates nodded slowly.

Sam breathed in but didn’t smell any taint in the air that might indicate the man was stoned or drunk. “Sir, I’ll need you to answer me with verbal replies.”

“Yes, I’ve been informed of my rights,” he told the scratch. “I murdered Noel Coburn.”

Gates spoke in a monotone. That, combined with his vacant expression and lack of body language, suggested he was mentally handicapped, was in a state of shock, or had been sampling his wares a little too liberally.

“We’re going to videotape this interview, Mr. Gates. What you say in this room will definitely be used against you in court. Do you understand, and consent to that?”

“Yes.”

Sam nodded to Massey, who switched on the camera and recited the time, the date, and their names for the record. What she needed to do first was see if she could shake Gates out of his parrot act. “What’s your middle name, Eugene?”

He looked up at her as if expecting her to provide a hint. When she didn’t, he frowned and thought about it. After thirty seconds, he said, “Victor.”

“Do you know what day it is?” After he answered that just as slowly, she sat back and studied his face. He had the remains of a summer tan, but it had taken on a yellow cast, and the skin around his mouth and under his chin looked loose.

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