THE THOUSAND DOLLAR FIGHT: A Colt Ryder Thriller by J.T. Brannan

Author:J.T. Brannan [Brannan, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Arrow Publishing
Published: 2023-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“So, you’re Mark Callan, huh?” asked the police investigator as he took a seat opposite me in the interrogation room.

It looked like it hadn’t just been friendly cops who’d been allowed into Mansion in the end; the thing had blown up way beyond that, and there had been no controlling which members of the emergency services had turned up. As a result, everyone who’d been working there had been hauled in for questioning – especially me, because I was the one with the body on my lap, covered in other people’s blood.

At least the cops had allowed the paramedics to clean and bandage the knife wound to my arm before hauling me off to the station though. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was good to have it covered up, and clear of infection.

“That’s right,” I said.

“Long way from Delaware,” he said, referencing the address on the drivers’ license they’d found in my wallet.

I shrugged. “I guess so. Am I under arrest, or what?”

“Helping with enquiries, let’s say. For now, anyway.”

“So I’m free to go?”

“It’s not as easy as that, I’m afraid. You’re under suspicion for murder as of this time, and we have twenty-four hours to hold you until we decide whether to charge you or not.”

“You’re shitting me,” I said, wondering who was going to feed Kane if they kept me here that long. “You’ve checked the security cameras, haven’t you?”

The detective shrugged. “Technical problems, unfortunately,” he said. “No footage of what happened.”

I cursed inwardly. Of course, the recordings would never make their way to the LPS – they would show the bouncers dealing drugs, plain as day. And then no matter how many friends McCoy had in the department, it would be hard for it to be covered up.

“So you’ve got witnesses then,” I said, “customers, bar staff, whatever.”

“Why don’t you just start by telling me your version of events, eh? We can only help you if we know what went on in that club.”

“Oh, you want to help me?”

“Of course.”

“Then tell me if my friend made it. Gibbs. Is he alive?”

The cop shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have that information, I’m afraid.”

I didn’t believe him, but he obviously wasn’t in a sharing mood. The crazy thing was, he was probably an honest cop – ironically, at about the only time in my life when I needed a corrupt one.

“I want a lawyer,” I told him.

“You’re not being charged with anything yet.”

“But I can’t leave.”

“Not until we get to the bottom of this. So you might as well just answer my questions.”

Instead, I just grunted and sat back in my chair, arms folded across my chest. I wasn’t going to say one damn word to this guy. There would be absolutely no benefit to me to start telling the story, and maybe plenty of downsides. They would be talking to all sorts of other people, and it was impossible to know what they might be saying – and if there were any inconsistencies in our stories, it would give the cops a loose thread they could start pulling away at.

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