Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (7 page)

“
Yeah, I eat fucki
n
’ Moon Pies.  So what
?
”
 
He locks arms across a barrel chest resting on a beer belly.

Plenty of Moon Pies down that garbage disposal.
 
I’
m having a hard time imagining there are women walking the planet who think i
t’
s okay to be called someon
e’s“
old lady
.
” 

“
Can you explain how Moon Pie crumbs showed up on a body dumped in that alley behind Oma
r’
s tonight?  Where you just happened to leave your illegally parked service truck?  Where you chased Alaina Colby
?
”

“
Alaina Colby?  Hey, wait a minute here
.
”
 
He shakes his thick head.
 “
You got this all ass backward, officer. 
I’
m
the victim.  Some sumbitch out there in that alley tased
me
.  Wh
y’
re you asking me all these dumb assed questions
?
”

“
Your empathy astounds me
,”
I say, my tired brain fueled by sarcasm.  Even if h
e’
s murdered my latest vic, or all of them, could
n’
t he at least ask about her? 

“
Huh
?”
he says.  Perplexed, he shoots me a blank stare. 

I wonder who tased Theodor
e—
Wes or one of the boots wh
o’
d shown up
?—
but I do
n’
t want to distract myself. 
I’
ve seen suspects actually shoot themselves to lead police off their scent.  Theodore could easily have done the murder and then tased himself.

“
Murde
r’
s the reason
I’
m asking
,”
I say, jaw clenched.
 “
I
t’
s not a charge yo
u’
ll be pleading down this time, Theodore
.
”   

Light dawns in his blue eyes, surrounded by a layer of droopy porcine fat.
 “
Hey, man, wha
t’
re you layi
n
’ on me here
?
”

“
We found a gir
l’
s body in the alley earlier tonight
,”
I say, watching his expression shift.
 “
She had crumbs on he
r—
Moon Pie crumbs
.
”

“
Whoa!  Hold your horses, Nellie
,”
he says, starting to lumber to his feet, both hands on the table to hoist himself up.
 “
I ai
n’
t had nothi
n
’ to do wit
h
—” 

“
Sit
,”
I say, hoping h
e’
ll think ther
e’
s a squad of detectives watching from the other side of the one-way mirror.  I
t’
s a ruse.  The only one out there at this hour of the mornin
g’
s my new rookie partner, DeeDee Laws, and sh
e’
s pissed as hell at me.

“
I still got questions
,”
I say, wishing h
e’
d sip from the bottled water or nosh on the candy bar
I’
ve brought him.  I want a bite impression.  I want DNA. 

He ignores both the water and the candy bar.
 “
Am I under arrest
?
”

Damn, bro, yo
u’
re dense.  It usually takes guys of your ilk light year
s
’ less time to get around to asking me that
.
 
“
Not yet
,”
I say.
 “
Yo
u’
re just being questioned.  You cooperate, Theodore, and maybe the
y’
ll go easy on you down at the court house
.
”

His eyes bulge like yellow grapes through the fat beneath them. 
I’
ve at last got his full attention. 

“
Aw, hell
no
!  I ai
n’
t murdered no damn girl
!
”

I kick back and let him jaw.  I like it when perps get dribble mouthed.  They leak out information without realizing it.  Kind of surprising, too.  With Theodor
e’
s rap sheet, I figured h
e’
d clam up.  This intervie
w’
s different, though, from his usual.  The M wor
d—
murde
r—
tends to unnerve even hardened criminals.  H
e’
s definitely amateur hour.

“
Le
t’
s try this again.  Wh
y’
d you follow Ms. Colby into the alley
?
”

“
I followed her because I . . . wanted to help her.  I saw her take off running and you and that blonde broad was chasing her.  I thought
I’
d give her a hand. 
I’
m a gentleman, you know
?
”

“
Uh-huh
.
”
 
I scratch my chin.
 “
And
I’
m Prince-fucking-Charles
.
”

“
Who
?”
he asks, and then shakes his massive head.
 “
Look, I did
n’
t know you and the blonde broad was cops.  Tha
t’
s the truth
.
”

Truth?  When I hear that word from mouths like Theodor
e’
s, my bullshit radar pings me hard.  He shoots me a gaze, half pleading, half mean-assed.  I guess w
e’
re no longer best buddies.  Then he asks
,“
She ai
n’
t dead, is she
?
”

I’
d like to believe h
e’
s got at least one empathetic bone in his body, but I do
n’
t think so, not really.
 “
You tell me, Theodore.  Is she dead
?
”

“
I ca
n’
t believe it
,”
he bawls, realization finally dawning.
 “
Alaina
ca
n’
t
be dead.  She took off with my fucki
n
’ service truck
.
”

I’
m fully aware Alaina, and whoever she drove off with in that alley, stole my suspec
t’
s Coca-Cola truck.  I smile to myself.  Sh
e’
s not just over-the-moon beautiful but sh
e’
s also adventuresome. 
Sweet.
 

“
Really
?”
I say, bastard that I am.
 “
She jacked your fucking truck?  Awwww
.
”

I let him blubber a few more seconds, and then I tell him
,“I’
m not talking about Alaina Colby. 
I’
m talking about her friend, Angie Miller.  Angi
e’
s dead.  You know her?  You want to
date
her, too, Theodore?  What about it?  Did you try to make Angie you
r‘
old lad
y
’ and she did
n’
t want anything to do with you?  Maybe she sent you packing?

“
Did her rejecting you hurt your eg
o—
bro
?
” 

I bang the table with my fists and flip his rap sheet at him.  It explodes in his face, and then drops in cascading sheets to the floor.

Sweat pops on his forehead.  My per
p’
s gaze tightens, and he starts talking nonsense.
 “I—
I did
n’
t have nothing to do with it.  You gotta believe me,
I—
I was just going to help Alaina when some sumbitch tased me
.
”
 
Anger flushes his face, highlighting his reddish-blonde bear
d’
s stubble.
 “
I swear, I do
n’
t know nothing about no damned fucki
n
’ girl named Angi
e
—”

The door opens and DeeDe
e’
s eyes sweep my perp and then me.  I wonder if sh
e’
s still pissed because I shook her loose and called Wes when I got the call about the vic in the alley behind Oma
r’
s.  Sh
e’
s not ready to process a homicide scene, so I sent her back to get the cruiser and then called Wes.  When sh
e’
d argued,
I’
d told her
,“
I should have to carry your inexperienced ass around with me and investigate a homicide
?
”
 
That did
n’
t go over well.

“
His lawye
r’
s here
,”
she says, snarling and letting Theodore know what she thinks of him, or maybe that hot glar
e’
s for me.

Her snarl is lost on Theodore, though.
 “
M-m-my lawyer
?”
he says, looking confused.
 “
I ai
n’
t got no gawddamned lawyer
.
”

A tall dark man with intense eyes pushes into the room, ignoring me, except to slap a business card into my hand, and then walking straight across the room to my perp.
 “
Mr. McCloskey
,”
he says
,“
Do
n’
t say another word
.
”
 
He picks up the water bottle and candy bar, wrapper and all.
 “
Nice try, Detective Hawks
,”
he says, turning to me and dropping them into his brief case.

“
B-but I did
n’
t ask for no lawyer
,”
Theodore says.

“
Shut up
.
”
 
Rakesh wipes his han
d—
and the doorknob to the interview roo
m—
with a pristine white handkerchief.
 “
Omar Jain sent me
,”
he says, barely glancing at his client.

I
t’
s my turn to be confused.
 “
Why would Omar do that
?
” 

“
Are you charging Mr. McCloskey
?”
Rakesh demands, his turbaned head and fierce demeanor causing me to succumb to stereotyping and conjure images from the FB
I’
s most wanted poster in the coffee room.  H
e’
s easily Osam bin Lade
n’
s brother. 

I shrug.  He knows
I’
ve got nothing on Theodore, nothing connecting him to my latest vi
c’
s murder, other than crumbs and a Moon Pie wrapper.  The
y’
re evidence, and probably belong to Theodore, but I keep this info to myself.  Let Gupta and his nasty client find out in discovery.

I smile.  I know something Gupta does
n’
t, but so far none of i
t’
s helpful.  The other two bodies found have all been just as clean as the most recent vi
c’
s.  Until we get DNA, prints, and other forensic analysis back on this vic, my only hope tonight was that Theodore McCloskey would give me something in this interview.  He has
n’
t.  Sure, he beat me into the alley when we were chasing Alaina out Oma
r’
s back door, but his story about wanting to help he
r—
who would
n’
t
?—
holds water.  At least for now, h
e’
s just another thug. 
I’
ve no doubt about that, but h
e’
s not a suspect.  I know it.  Theodore knows it.  Gupta knows it.