(Cassidy Spenser, #1) Judgment by Baldwin Carey

Author:Baldwin, Carey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Monday, September 16

Phoenix Police Department

Mountainside Precinct

SPENSE SHIFTED IN a flimsy, aluminum-­legged chair made of cheap red plastic. The seat he’d been offered in the precinct computer room was identical to the chairs in the interrogation room. This one must’ve been designated specifically for suspects because a screw had been loosened and raised and was currently poking him in the ass. The seat itself wobbled, and the girth was far too narrow for his frame. It was damned uncomfortable, which of course was the point. Detective Thompson had pulled up a similar chair for Caity, but Spense had put the kibosh on that fast and scavenged a comfortable spinner for her from another room.

Although she’d sworn off the good stuff, she was eating ibuprofen like candy, and he knew her flank hurt like hell. If you asked her, she’d deny it, but he could tell by the way she grimaced when she thought he wasn’t looking. Caity hated being babied, and he didn’t get that at all. Personally, he loved being on the receiving end of a little extra attention when he was sick. But maybe that was a guy thing. Stretching out his legs, he gave her shoe a gentle kick.

“Quiet.” She flicked her hand at him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But I’m trying to concentrate, and you’re bothering me.”

“The interrogation is being recorded, obviously, since we’re watching a computer feed. If you miss something, we can just rewind.”

“Shh.”

Temporarily giving up, Spense rested his forearms on the counter that ran the perimeter of the room. On top of the counter, computers were spaced every few feet to accommodate multiple officers engaged in various tasks. That’s why they called the place the computer room. Cops were clever like that. Caity’s eyes were fixed on the live feed coming from the interview room. The suspect interrogation was just getting started, but the warm-­up was one of the most important parts of the process. The lights in the room and the multiple computer screens running at the same time were distracting him, but Baskin was interested, for once, in their observations. Shaking the cobwebs from his head, Spense made an effort to focus.

The interrogation room was set up to maximize the suspect’s discomfort. The more dependent he felt on the officers for his basic comfort, the better. At the moment, Detective Thompson was trying to convince a Mr. Silas Graham, aka the suspect, that he was a Mets fan. Thompson was a diehard Yankees man, but to hear him tell it now, he had the Mets’ starting lineup tattooed on his dick and jacked off to the “Star Spangled Banner” every morning. This was Thompson’s idea of building rapport, and Spense had to give him credit, because he’d managed to get Graham talking and waving his hands around, arguing over who was the best relief pitcher. Thompson was even faking a Bronx accent. That was some serious police work going on in there because what Spense knew of Thompson, the guy had a low opinion of suspects, usually referring to them as assholes and motherfuckers.

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