This is the seventeenth in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, and Part XVI before continuing.
“He’s not talking,” Officer Chen said as he closed the door to the interrogation room behind him.
“We don’t need him to talk,” Sergeant Malkin said. “We have him at the scene of the crime with the kid’s blood all over him. Case closed.”
“He has no motive, and we still haven’t found the murder weapon.”
“Those things would make bringing a case against him easier, but they’re not necessary. A hobo waltzing into a nice neighborhood like this makes friends with a kid, and as soon as you turn around the kid is dead? That’s an easy case to make.”
“I’d still like to bring the parents in for questioning.”
“Why? So you can twist the knife? This is the worst thing that can happen to anyone, and you want to make it worse for them?”
“I want to see if they can help us make an airtight case against the guy who slaughtered their son. I know it won’t be easy, but I think that’s something that would motivate them. Besides, the wife says she wants to talk to the suspect.”
Sergeant Malkin practically choked on his coffee. “She what?”
“She wants to confront him. And I think it might be a good idea. Maybe she can get him to confess.”
Sergeant Malkin considered this, his coffee cup hovering in front of his face as he turned the idea over in his mind, weighing the pros and cons.
“I’ll think about it,” he said finally. “I’ll give you my decision by the end of the day. In the meantime, get our suspect back to holding, and make sure everyone is out looking for that knife.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“I gave you a job. We took you into our home.”
“And I’m grateful. I never would have hurt Michael.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“I told you, my brain-”
“FUCK you and your brain!” Mrs. West stood up abruptly, slamming one palm on the metal table that stood between them.
Charles looked down at the table, knowing there was nothing he could do. There was no solace for a woman who had lost her child, and if she didn’t want to hear him plead his case, he couldn’t force her.
Mrs. West stood there for several long moments, breathing heavily as she regarded the man she believed to be her son’s murderer.
When she had gotten herself under control, she stalked out of the interrogation room, slamming the door behind her.
Charles had to sit there, chained to the table and the floor beneath it, waiting for someone to take him back to his cell. It took a long while.
Charles had just managed to nod off when the sound of his cell door opening woke him back up. He suppressed a groan as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and forced himself up from a sitting position.
“You’re free to go,” said the officer.
Charles was sure he hadn’t heard right. “I’m what?”
“You’re a free man again. You can pick up your belongings from storage.”
“I don’t understand,” Charles said, too sleepy to restrain himself from looking a gift horse in the mouth. “There’s been another murder.”
To be continued…