Suspect by Clair M. Poulson

Author:Clair M. Poulson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense;crime;abuse;murder;officer;duty;investigation;mistery
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2018-01-31T22:43:16+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

I was shocked at the speed at which Devonte moved. He had Donald by the back of his shirt and on the ground ten feet short of the door. Donald struggled against the big detective but to no avail. Devonte pulled the man to his feet and slapped cuffs on his wrists before I even had time to get back on my feet.

Devonte grinned at me. “He shouldn’t have done that. Now he will have to talk to us on my turf,” he said. Then he advised Donald that he was under arrest for assault on a peace officer. He said, “Detective Fleming, why don’t you call Felipe and tell him he is out a stuntman for a while.”

As I pulled out my phone, Devonte read Donald his rights. The prisoner struggled, but even though he was a big man, he had no chance against the powerful detective. When Felipe answered his phone, I said, “I’m afraid we are going to have to take Mr. Pearson with us. Detective Brockwell just arrested him.” I did not elaborate.

“I’ll meet you as you leave,” Felipe said in clipped tones. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was not happy. What I couldn’t tell was if he was mad at Devonte and me or at Donald.

We met Donald’s boss in the main lobby. The wiry Italian was seething. “What did you do, you idiot?” he shouted in Donald’s face. Okay, he was mad at Donald. I suppressed a smile.

“Nothing,” Donald said. “This is a false arrest.”

“What are the charges, Detective Brockwell?” Felipe asked.

“So far, assault on a police officer,” he said with a face that betrayed no emotion.

“You hit this man?” he shouted again to Donald. He was indicating Devonte.

“I didn’t hit anybody,” Donald protested. “Detective Fleming stepped in my way, and I accidentally knocked him down. It was not my fault.” It was true: I had stepped in his path, trying to block him from getting away.

Felipe was apparently not a dummy, and he read correctly what had really happened. “You tried to run, didn’t you?” he asked. “Well, Donald, we’ll see if you still have a job when these men finish with you.”

“You gotta come get me out of jail,” Donald begged. “I didn’t do anything in Utah. But I know this cop is going to try to tag me for murder. But it wasn’t me who killed my brother.”

Felipe raised an eyebrow. His unspoken question was clearly directed to me.

“He is a suspect in his twin brother’s murder,” I said.

“You’d think you’d learn. The last time you got yourself in a jam like this, you got a knife to the gut. Get him out of here, detectives,” Felipe said angrily, his fists clenched.

“Who’s going to get me out of jail?” Donald cried.

“Not my problem, Pearson,” Felipe said and walked away.

A few minutes later, Donald sat cuffed in an interview room. Detective Brockwell and I watched him through the one-way glass as he squirmed and looked around the room.

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