She refocused on the screen. "I want to be there."
Sitting on the "other side" of the interrogation table, Veck was on the edge of violence.
Someone, or something, was lining him up to take a fall, and, man, they'd done their homework. Between the condition of Sissy's body, the bullshit about this earring, and the connection with his father, he was looking at a crossroads, all right.
No choice for him, though.
It was like the autopilot on his life had recalibrated a course right into the side of a mountain, and he couldn't get the controls back. And the ass-slapper? His colleague across the way here, Detective Stan Browne, was using all the standard interrogation techniques. Hell, Veck could write the dialogue, and he knew the tricks; how the interviewer could shade things or suggest the truth even if there were gray areas. So there was no way to be sure exactly how much hard evidence they had against him.
At this point, he had one and only one thing going for him: he actually was innocent and the law favored innocent men.
"Don't bother to get a warrant," Veck said as he took his keys out and put them on the table. "Go through my house. Search my shit. You will not find a single thing that will tie me to Sissy Barten or Kroner."
Assuming whoever was after him hadn't planted their own version of a dove earring.
Shit.
Browne reached across and took the keys. "Do you want counsel?"p p width="1em">"I don't need it. Because this is going nowhere."
The other detective rubbed over his eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. "You sound very sure of that."
"I am."
"So how do you explain the fact that the earring was not accounted for immediately after the truck was impounded and searched, and that it showed up after you'd been in the evidence room?"
"Like I said, how many people were in and out of there over the last few days? Have you looked at all the digital files from the security cameras?"
"We will. We're just starting our investigation."
"Well, you better get going. Because what I don't see, Browne, is anything concrete."
"Yet."
"Ever."
"Will you take a lie detector test?"
Veck paused on that one. If they asked him whether he intended to hurt Kroner that night? How was he going to handle that?
"Yeah. Sure."
Browne turned the page on his pad, even though he'd done nothing but scribble circles on the top sheet. "Okay, good. And I appreciate your giving your consent to go through your house."
As if he had a choice? They were going to get permission from a judge anyway. What he really wanted to know was who the hell had implicated him in this -
Reilly, he thought. That was what the conversation had been about last night - she'd already turned him in at that point. Either that, or she'd been about to.
But why the hell did she think he'd taken any earring? And she'd been there at the quarry with him when Jim had shown them where Sissy was. They'd both been surprised.
Unless she didn't believe any of it. And if that was true, what had been the tipping point?
Fuck that ... more like who.
"Would you mind doing the lie detector now?"
The subtext being: while we search your house.
Would Reilly go with them? he wondered. Probably. That was what he would have done in her shoes.
Veck lifted his eyes to the camera that was focused on him ... and knew she was on the other side of it.
"Get the machine," he said to the lens.
Browne rose to his feet. "It'll take us a little time to get set up. You sit tight."
"Like I have a choice."
"Coffee?"
"No, thanks."
As Browne left, Veck kept staring up at the little black eye on the buff-colored unit in the corner.
In slow motion, he mouthed, I'm ... being ... framed.
He was dead clear on the fact that she wouldn't believe him, but he wasn't the type not to fight. And after that mute salvo, he refocused on the door. It didn't take a crystal ball to know that he wasn't walking away from this one with a reprimand letter or a really beautiful shadow from IA. His career in law enforcement was over, even if he were cleared.
Which, given how thorough this setup appeared to be, wasn't a given.
As he chewed on this new reality he had going on, that anger, that dark, vicious anger, took another crank behind his sternum. Tighter. Tighter still.
"So what do you think, Jim," he said softly.
The angel had been standing in the opposite corner the whole time, looming behind Browne - to the point that when the detective had first sat down, the guy had looked over his shoulder as if he'd sensed the presence.
Jim's voice echoed in his head. This is just the setup. The question is, where is this taking us. And you need to lie on the test. You tell them you went out there to kill Kroner and you're f**ked - they may not let you out of here, and that makes my job harder.
In the silence that followed, the fury multiplied yet again in the center of Veck's chest, and in a terrible moment of clarity, he realized he was fully capable of killing someone. Right here. Right now. With the chair he was sitting on. With that blue-and-gold CPD pen Browne had left behind by mistake. With his bare hands.
And it would not be murder as in a "go apeshit, lose your mind, and white out" kind of event - as he'd assumed had happened with Kroner. This would be a very calculated murder, the sort of thing that would leave him in control of himself and his victim.
The sort of thing that took you away from this furious impotence and made you feel like a god.
No wonder his father had been addicted to the rush. And weaklings like Kroner craved it. The ultimate power was to take away life, to see someone beg, to hold in your hands the future of another person and their family and their community ... and then crush all of it.
Fear was the master and pain was the weapon.
And in Veck's current state, even with the angel right behind and sticking with him, he was only a step away from filling his father's shoes.
Sweet spot, indeed.
Chapter 41
As Reilly drove over to Veck's house with half a dozen other officers, she was prepared to let her colleagues' fingers do the walking.
She was in observational mode and going to stay that way: eyes peeled, but hands staying in her pockets. Frankly, she was lucky to be allowed to come along at all.
By the time the various cars were parked in Veck's driveway, it looked like a cop convention, and as she got out of her unmarked, she caught sight of a couple of neighbors peeking through blinds. His reputation in his neighborhood was not her concern anymore, however.
Now, she was worried about keeping these people safe from him.
As the front door was opened with his own keys, the talk of her colleagues faded into background music for her, everything receding from notice as she entered behind the others.
The first thing she did was look at the couch. There was a pillow down at the far end, as if Veck had spent the night there, but no blanket, even though it was still cold at night. An ashtray full of butts along with two crushed packs of Marlboros and a red Bic were on the floor ... right where his wallet had landed three nights ago.
Reilly fled that scene fast, and heto the kitchen, not out of any design, but just because that was where her feet took her.
Cursing to herself, she knew she had to put her detective hat on. Boxes ... where would the moving boxes be?
"Is this the cellar?" someone asked as they opened the door to the hall bath.
She almost pointed the guy in the right direction, but held off. The last thing she needed to do was demonstrate how well she knew the house.
"It's over here," somebody else replied as they opened a different door and hit a light switch.
Reilly went over and followed that officer downward. As she stepped off onto the concrete floor below, the musty air tickled her nose and the chill made her pull her coat in closer.
"And I thought the upstairs was empty," the officer muttered, his voice echoing around.
You got that right, she agreed. Aside from the furnace, and the hot water heater, there didn't appear to be anything in the basement.
Even still, they walked around, taking separate routes, and then she stood to the side as he took a flashlight out to check behind the HVAC stuff.
"Nothing?" she said.
"Nada."
After they returned to the first floor, she stayed in the kitchen, and got a look at the back of every cupboard Veck hadn't used and the bottoms of all the drawers he hadn't filled and the empty rods of the closet he hadn't hung anything in. Officers were taking photographs of all the vacancies, and there were the sounds of people walking up above on the bare floors.