Scratches? With eyes wide, he sucked a rush of air into his lungs, unable to let it go. And when all eyes turned on him, he avoided their stares, probably looking guilty as hell.
“I know you’re not gonna believe me, but I didn’t do this.” He swallowed. His throat was parched. “I don’t know how I got here. And I don’t know that woman.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing, kid,” one of them said. “I ain’t gonna believe ya.”
A cop behind him chuckled, but the ones closest to the bathroom weren’t laughing.
While the cops worked at containing the scene and starting their investigation, Seth tried hard to think, connecting the dots through his doped-up brain. No doubt he’d been drugged, but he couldn’t remember how or when it had happened. His memory had been wiped clean. And by the looks on these men’s faces, another cold fact was undeniable.
In the next room, the body of a brutally slain woman lay sprawled in the tub. The shocking image was forged into his brain when he caught a better glimpse of the dark-haired woman steeped in gore, courtesy of the harsh light overhead. He looked away, but that only made things worse when he noticed his clothes covered in blood. Too much blood to be considered an accidental brush with the body. And the cuts on his cheek ached, another not so subtle reminder of how crazed he looked to the cops.
By the deranged splatter on the bathroom walls, he knew only a certifiable maniac with anger issues would have done such a thing. And Seth figured every cop in the room was convinced he was that maniac.
For them, the truth was as plain as the bloody scratches on his face.
Pullman Police Station
South Chicago
Friday, midmorning
“I’m Detective Cooper out of Harrison. I’m here to observe the questioning of a suspect, Seth Harper. Which interrogation room?” Detective Samantha Cooper showed her badge to the desk sergeant on duty, keeping the worry she felt for Seth under wraps.
“Yeah, I heard you was comin’.” The sergeant gave her quick directions. “Someone’s already up there. He’s expectin’ ya.”
Sam headed for the observation room knowing Detective Ray Garza would be waiting, a homicide detective out of Harrison.
Chicago was split into five detective districts. Sam worked Vice out of Harrison Station, but because of where they’d picked up Seth Harper, he’d been taken for questioning to Pullman. Off the Calumet Expressway on 111th Street—not far from where she worked—Pullman Station covered sections of South Chicago. And Sam believed Garza would grease the skids to get her an inside track on Harper’s case.
At least, she hoped the man would help her.
Detective Ray Garza had gotten wind of Harper’s situation and given Sam a reluctant heads-up phone call an hour ago. He knew she’d want to know about the kid’s troubles and had done the right thing. But he wasn’t happy with her and Harper’s close connection to Jessie Beckett, a local Fugitive Recovery Agent and her best friend since childhood.
Sam had heard the reluctance in Garza’s voice when he called her earlier at work, but he made his point clearer when he said, “That bounty hunter is gonna ruin your career, but you know how I feel about her. ’Nuff said.”
“Yeah, I do, Ray.” She sighed, making sure he heard it over the phone. “But I sure wish you’d quit worrying about my career.” She regretted saying it. Even though she’d spoken her mind, the last thing Sam wanted was to alienate the guy. “Thanks for letting me know. I’m going to Pullman. Will you meet me there?”
She had no right to ask, but she did anyway. Now it was Ray’s turn to sigh on the phone, but without much hesitation, he had said, “Yeah, I’ll meet you.”
Sam headed for the observation room now, walking down a corridor near the elevators.
She took a deep breath, contemplating Harper’s situation along with her looming face-to-face with Garza. Seth was up to his honey brown eyes in a brutal murder investigation. Ray had told her what he knew over the phone, but before she called Jessie, Sam had to size up the case for herself.
Whenever Jessie got involved, drama usually ensued. And her friend would do anything for Seth Harper, a kid she’d been looking for since she’d gotten back from her harrowing trip to Alaska three months ago. Harper was a young guy Jessie had called her summer intern and employed for a while before he disappeared from her life, taking his secrets with him. He’d played a major part in the rescue of a missing girl, but Jessie never got a chance to thank him. Harper had his own problems, Jess had told her. But she never said much more about him.
Now this. Seth Harper was definitely a puzzle.
Sam walked into the darkened observation room. And Ray Garza turned toward her, his handsome face and full head of dark hair silhouetted by the light coming from the interrogation room next door. Ray was dressed in khaki slacks and a navy sport coat with a white oxford shirt that looked good against his dark skin. His subtle cologne always triggered something feminine in her. It could have been his cologne, but she had a suspicion that his dark eyes had more to do with how she felt.
“They just started up again.” He kept his voice low so she could hear the questioning from the overhead speakers. “But I gotta warn you. The kid looks guilty as hell.”
Sam almost gasped when she saw Seth Harper under the stark fluorescent lights of the interrogation room. He was dressed in a faded red jumpsuit. And he had marks on one cheek that looked red and swollen. He’d been given a washcloth, but he’d missed more than a few spots, leaving streaks of red on his pale skin. And the dirty washrag, stained with blood, had been placed next to him on the table.
“What happened to his clothes?”
“Evidence. They were collected and bagged,” he said. “And they printed him and got photos. You should’ve seen him. The kid was a real mess when they brought him in.”
Seth’s dark wavy hair looked disheveled. A departure from his normally endearing boyish appearance. And stubble had grown over his chin and jawline. With his normally alert eyes lacking their usual luster, he looked worn down and lost. She didn’t know the kid like Jessie did, but she’d have bet money Harper would be the last guy to kill a woman.
“They ID the vic?” she asked, crossing her arms and watching Seth.
The detectives in the next room were repeating questions that Harper now refused to answer for the hundredth time, another ploy from a cop’s playbook to break him.
“No, nothing yet.” Ray glanced her way, enough for her to notice. “The crime scene was brutal, Sam. That woman was butchered with a knife. And she had small puncture wounds on her stomach and breasts like she was tortured. If you’d known her, I doubt you’d recognize her now. I’ll spare you the details, but if that kid had anything to do with her murder…” Ray didn’t finish, but she had a feeling he wasn’t an advocate for death-penalty reform, an impression he reinforced when he added, “For some crimes, a needle in the arm is just not enough.”
“You said they arrested him at a motel. How did the police hear about it?” she asked.
“They got an anonymous tip off a nearby pay phone. Techs are dusting for prints there, but you know how that goes. A real crapshoot.”
“An anonymous caller, meaning no real witness to question?” After Ray shook his head, she continued, “How convenient. A brutal murder, and no one hears anything?”
“She was gagged, but a killing like that?” He winced. “It took some noise.”
They’d both seen it before. A woman gets hacked to death, and no one had seen or heard a thing. A solid witness might have condemned Seth or helped him. Now, if no one came forward, circumstantial evidence would be all that remained. And Harper would make a convenient sacrificial lamb.