“So, why won’t you tell me why you have brought me here?” Matt asked for the fifth time since he’d been placed in the back of the police cruiser. But the cop’s answer was still the same.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Now take a seat.”
He led Matt over to one of the chairs facing the door, and before Matt sat down, he removed the handcuffs.
“You’re not going to do anything foolish are you? Because if you do, these are going straight back on again.”
Matt shook his head and uttered a muted ‘no’.
“Now you just sit tight and a detective will be with you shortly.”
Then he turned around and left, and Matt could hear him locking the door. Even if he had wanted to escape, he wouldn’t have been able to.
Matt placed his hands over his face, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and wished he would wake up from the bad dream he hoped he was having.
But that was of course an exercise in futility, because this wasn’t a dream, this was reality. And he had somehow managed to get himself into this absurd situation. He had been arrested for having committed a crime, although he had no idea what type of crime. It had to be the money he withdrew from his bank account earlier that day. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. He had taken a calculated risk and it had backfired and blown up in his face.
He had been aware of the consequences, and he had known that he was engaging in an illegal activity when he did it. But not in his wildest dreams had he suspected that the cops would pull him over in his car, handcuff him and bring him down to the police station twelve hours later.
He had anticipated a lengthy drawn out process when the bank finally discovered what he’d been up to, and he had expected that he would be given the opportunity to repay what he had taken. And he had not expected any charges to be laid, nor that he would be arrested. This was something completely different. This was just way over the top.
It had not taken him long to put two and two together and realize that it had nothing to do with him driving whilst under the influence. The moment the cop had slapped the cuffs around his wrists and placed him in the back of the cruiser, he had known that it was something more serious than that. The cop hadn’t even bothered asking him if he’d been drinking.
They had been on the lookout for him, and the patrol in question had just happened to be in the right area at the right time.
Why hadn’t he just placed his belongings in the car straight away after returning home from his ATM withdrawal spree and left town? If he had, he wouldn’t be sitting here now, scared shitless and wondering what the hell was going to happen next.
Would they drive him over to the prison after they had finished interrogating him? He hoped not, but it was a real possibility. He was thinking about this and a lot of other things, when he heard the lock on the door click open and saw two individuals whom he assumed were detectives entering the room.
They were both older than himself, by at least fifteen or twenty years. And they had what he would describe as cop faces. Eyes and mouths that seemed to have been chiseled in place and that showed absolutely no emotions whatsoever. Likewise, their demeanor made it obvious that they had seen everything there was to see on numerous occasions, and that Matt was nothing special. He was just another number in the statistics.
The two detectives sat down in the chairs opposite him, and placed two identical plastic folders on the table in front of them. The one that was closest to the wall and directly opposite Matt, placed his forearms on the table and looked Matt in the eye.
“My name is detective John Morrell, and this is my partner detective Antonio Valdez.” Detective Morrell flicked his head toward the man sitting beside him, then after the introductions had been taken care of, he got straight down to business.
“Do you know why we have brought you in for questioning?” he asked. His brown eyes were cold and appraising.
Matt held his gaze for a few seconds, before giving the guy’s partner a quick look. Then he slowly looked back at Morrell again and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t been told of my alleged crime, which I believe is a violation of my civil rights. The police are not allowed to arrest a suspect without informing said suspect of the crime that he or she is supposed to have committed.”
“So you can think of absolutely no reason why we have brought you down here to the station?” Morrell continued without even batting an eyelid, Matt’s words seemingly having no effect whatsoever on him.
Matt took a deep breath, turned his head and stared down at the floor. Despite never having been in situations such as this before, he knew what was going on. It was a mind game. The two of them obviously knew that he had a clean criminal record, and they were banking on the fact that they could intimidate him and subsequently get him to crack. To admit to every little crime they would try to pin on him. To get him to admit that he had wrongfully taken money that technically didn’t belong to him, even though it had been sitting in his bank account. Morrell was trying to guide Matt along a path of his choosing, and get him to walk straight into his trap.
But Matt had no intention of playing their games. He would not give an inch. He looked back up at Morrell and stared at him for a long time without saying anything. And he only started talking when he noticed that Morrell was about to ask him another question. It was a deliberate tactic on Matt’s behalf. It was a way to rattle the detective and knock his rhythm. Although it was debatable how effective it was.
“I’m not going to say anything until I’m informed of why I’m here. As far as I’m concerned, I am being unlawfully held here against my will.”
Matt leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest and looked at Morrell with what he hoped was a casual expression, even though inside, his mind was in a complete disarray.
The two detectives exchanged glances, and after a few seconds Morrell gave his colleague a tired nod.
“Very well,” Valdez said. “You have been brought here because we have strong reasons to suspect that you’re guilty of killing Miguel Rodriguez, a senior member of the Meridional Cartel.”
Matt felt his body go limp, and his forearms that had up until that moment been resting on the table, collapsed down to his side. He wanted to speak, to ask them if this was some kind of a joke, but his mouth refused to cooperate and he just sat there gawking at the two of them. During the drive over to the station, he had mentally tried to prepare himself for what was about to happen. That he would most likely be charged with theft, and he had thought of several things to say that he hoped would soften the blow. But this was not something that he had anticipated, and it was something he was completely unprepared for. The closest thing he could think of was being hit by a battering ram in the solar plexus.
His eyes desperately searched for a clue that would tell him that the two detectives weren’t being truthful with him, but he found nothing. Only cold hard eyes staring back at him from uncaring faces.
My God, they really mean it. They are convinced that I have murdered another human being. He shook his head for a couple of seconds and exhaled, as if the movement would somehow reboot his brain and snap him back to reality again. Then he opened and closed his mouth a few times, before he finally managed to speak.
“But that’s absolutely insane. You can’t be serious.” His voice was low and confused. He looked Valdez straight in the eye, and held the detective’s gaze until Morrell started talking again.
“Believe me, this is not a joke, Matt. We’re not in the habit of falsely accusing people of murder. And trust me we have very strong reasons to suspect that you are responsible for Mr. Rodriguez’s death.”
And before Matt got a chance to protest, Valdez jumped in.
“Where were you on Sunday night between eleven and one o’clock?” His voice was aggressive, and it was meant to throw Matt off balance, to shake his composure and make him cave. Matt looked dumbfounded at him, and a voi
ce somewhere deep inside him told him that it was time to snap out of it, that it was time to start to stand up for himself.
He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to get his act together. They would make mincemeat out of him if he let his guard down, regardless of whether he was innocent or not.
Matt realized that he had to focus on his breathing. He had to get it under control and back to a normal pace. Once that was taken care of everything else would follow.
“Why do you want to know where I was on Sunday night?” Matt asked in a deliberate attempt to stall and buy himself some extra time until the worst of the shock had passed. He realized that Sunday had to be the day when the murder had taken place.
“Just answer the question,” Morrell said, his irritation of having to explain why they wanted to know shining through. “Where were you during those hours?”
Matt’s heart was pounding hard inside his chest and he began to feel lightheaded. But the debilitating feeling that had momentarily taken hold of him was starting to dissipate. Just focus on your breathing he told himself, just get it under control and you’ll be fine.
He took a few seconds to shift his position in his chair and placed his forearms back up on the table again. Then he looked at Morrell and shook his head.
“I’ve got nothing more to say until you tell me why you are suspecting me of having murdered this person.”
Matt steeled himself and was determined not to look away, not to be intimidated by the detective who wanted him to admit to a crime he hadn’t committed. Not to be intimidated by the cold calculating eyes and the unfriendly face that told him that the man on the other side of the table wouldn’t hesitate to go for the jugular if he got the opportunity to do so.
Morrell held Matt’s gaze for a long time, and Matt could see him chewing the inside of his cheeks. And he wondered what thoughts were flying around Morrell’s mind there and then. Then at last the detective let out a deep sigh and nodded, and Matt was happy that he had managed to poke a tiny hole in their strategy. That he had been able to show them that he wasn’t going to roll over just because they wanted him to. He was going to fight them tooth and nail every step of the way, and under no circumstances was he going to admit to a crime that he had no knowledge of.
Morrell picked up the pen that was lying next to his plastic folder on the table, and started turning it over slowly in his hand.
“Well, there are several reasons why we believe you are the killer, Matt,” he said. He still had the hard calculating look on his face, but his tone had softened ever so slightly. Matt didn’t know whether that was a direct consequence of having his plan hampered, or whether it was a deliberate tactic. Nor did he know if Morrell would switch back into attack mode again when he felt the time was right.
“The primary reason why you are our number one suspect is because we have received a very detailed tip that names you as the killer.”
“A tip?”
Matt shifted uneasily in the chair. Things just seemed to be getting stranger and stranger by the minute. Who on earth had implicated him in a murder case, and for what reason?
“What kind of tip, and who is it from?”
But Morrell ignored his question, and instead he started moving in a different direction.
“So you work as a karate instructor is that correct?”
Matt was slightly taken aback by the change of topic, but decided to play along for the time being. He was sure he’d find out who the tipster was eventually.
“Yes.”
Morrell pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose.
“And that’s your only job?”
“It is.”
“And the pay is ok, is it?” Valdez cut in and studied him with what Matt took as feigned disinterest. He was starting to realize where this was going.
“It’s ok,” Matt replied.
“Are you sure about that?” Valdez continued. “Because we’re not. You see we went through your bank statements for the last two years earlier today, and I wouldn’t describe your income as ok. On the contrary, I would describe it as quite a meager salary, one that I personally would find it very difficult to survive on.”
Valdez turned to Morrell.
“Wouldn’t you agree with me on that one, John? Just barely enough to keep you above the poverty line.”
Morrell nodded.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “If it was me earning that kind of money, I would be looking for a different job, or at least a way to supplement my income. To make things a little bit easier for myself financially.”
Valdez turned back to Matt again and bore his eyes into him.
“Is that what you did too, Matt? Supplement your income by carrying out a contract killing? Were things just getting too hard for you, and you felt compelled to look for a way out? A way to set yourself up financially for the next couple of years?”
Matt felt the blood rush down from his head and he started to feel dizzy. He tried to hold Valdez’s gaze and not show the other man that he found his accusations deeply troubling, but he didn’t think he succeeded.
“What do you mean?” Matt asked, knowing how silly the question sounded, and knowing very well what was coming next.
“The hundred thousand dollars, Matt!” Valdez shouted and slammed the flat of his fist against the table.
The outburst was so violent and sudden that it made Matt jump in his chair.
“The hundred grand that was deposited into your bank account earlier today from whoever hired you to kill Miguel Rodriguez.”
“Come on Matt, let’s not play games here,” Morrell said, not giving Matt any time to recover from the blow that had just been delivered by his partner. “We know that you killed Rodriguez, and we know that you have received your payment. We also know that you resigned from your job at the dojo, and that you were planning to leave town. We have already been in touch with your former employer, and we searched your house a few hours ago. And when we did, we found all your personal belongings neatly packed inside half a dozen cardboard boxes.”
Matt sat absolutely still and just stared at Morrell, and the only thing he could think of was that he was in serious trouble here. He also realized that the next few minutes would determine his future. Agreeing to talk to the two detectives without having a lawyer present had been a colossal mistake, even though they had never advised him that he was entitled to one.
That was a mistake that he intended to rectify straight away. He would no longer play the role of the scared insect that was tormented by the all powerful predators. The time had run out for Mr. Cooperative. He would no longer be playing this game by their rules and walk headfirst into a lengthy prison sentence.
From somewhere that seemed very far away, Matt could hear Valdez talking about the years that he had spent in the Marines. And how the fact that he had completed sniper school, made him more than capable of killing someone with a rifle from two hundred yards away.
Jesus Christ, they are going to crucify me if I don’t put a stop to this charade right now, Matt thought.
He looked down at the table, took a few deep breaths and when he looked back up again, said what he should have told them straight away.
“I want to see a lawyer.”
6
Tim Osborne looked like a retired boxer, and a mean one at that. He was bulky, and had the appearance of a person you’d want to stay well clear off if you ever saw him coming your way out on the streets in the early morning hours. And in many ways his personality matched his exterior, something that a lot of people had learned the hard way over the years. He was definitely not a person to be taken lightly. He knew it himself, and he was rather proud of it. And it was certainly an advantage in his line of work, which was criminal defense law.
Osborne had been working as a criminal defense lawyer in Phoenix for over twenty years. And in that period, he had managed to secure the release of several thousand individuals that had been arrested by members of the city’s police de
partment.
His main business strategy had always been aggressive marketing. And that meant making sure that every person in town, and especially those who were inclined to break the law, knew his name. So when the time came and they needed someone to bail them out, they knew exactly who to call.
That’s why he had invested heavily in billboard advertising. In the last ten years he had spent close to half a million bucks on it. And currently, his attempt at a bright smile, his slightly puffy face and contact details; 1 800 Lawyer, could be seen in at least half a dozen locations around town. And that was the only reason why Matt had contacted him and not someone else.
Matt had driven past Osborne’s billboards thousands of times, and had long ago memorized the contact details. So when detective Morrell had escorted him over to the payphone at the end of the corridor and slipped him a quarter, Osborne had been his first choice. And it had turned out to be a very smart decision, because the moment Tim Osborne arrived, things had started to go in Matt’s favor.
“I don’t care about your stupid theories,” Osborne had said in a loud voice to detective Morrell as they were seated inside the interview room. “Where is the physical evidence that places my client at the scene of the crime?”
Osborne had his glasses perched on his nose, his head tilted forward and was looking straight at the detective. Lying in front of him on the table were the documents that Morrell had handed him as the two detectives had entered the room.
The bright smile and the friendly face that could be seen on the billboards was gone and replaced with what reminded Matt of a ferocious pit bull looking for a fight.
“Well, at the present stage there isn’t any direct evidence that emphatically links your client to the scene of the crime,” Morrell said, trying his best to keep his voice calm despite the violent verbal onslaught from the lawyer. He was leaned back in his chair, his mouth turned down at the corners, and his arms folded across his chest.
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