by Mary Stone
He still wasn’t sure how he felt about all that. The biggest part of him wanted to be pleased that Winter and Dalton had found each other and appeared to be very well matched. But that little part…the part he refused to examine too closely, felt the knife turn somewhere where in his spirit.
He wanted Winter to look at him like she did Dalton. The way she used to look at him before…before Justin seemingly reappeared in her life, and he’d been forced to share his honest opinion about her beloved baby brother. The brother who was now more likely a savage than anything else.
“What are you after?”
Pulled back from the memories, Aiden eyed Dalton. He had to give the big guy credit. He wasn’t exactly pushing back against the request. Instead, he appeared to be genuinely curious as to the purpose of the question.
“Hackers aren’t normally physically fit,” Aiden replied. “Too many hours in front of the computer make them soft, delay their reactions.”
“He could be an Xbox fanatic,” Noah countered.
Aiden inclined his head. “True. Which would keep his mind reaction sharp, but not his muscle memory. His agility seems to point in an interesting direction. I want you to uncover what it is.”
He didn’t want to babysit Dalton, give him a list of questions to ask. In Aiden’s opinion, it was still early in the process. They were still in the interview portion of this interrogation. Fact finding. Question after question. Building rapport and establishing a relationship with a perfect stranger. A relationship that would, hopefully, lead to a full confession.
True, Aiden had yet to meet with Rossway face to face yet, but he wasn’t treating this as a normal interrogation. There was too much at risk. Too many lives at stake. He needed to see what made this man tick before Aiden made a mistake and caused him to lawyer up.
Right now, Phil Rossway was feeling superior. He was feeling like he was the smartest person in the building. He was feeling confident but also curious.
Rossway wanted to know what the bureau knew. He wanted to discover how good or bad the next few hours could go for him. He wanted to laugh in their faces, tell them to prove him guilty of his crimes.
Hatred was bred from arrogance, and Phil Rossway had arrogance in spades, that much was clear.
Where did it come from? His parents?
From what they’d been able to gather so far, Phil Rossway’s parents had divorced amicably. Lydia Rossway was described as a happy homemaker, who paid the bills by sewing in her home. Winter had reported that the woman and her house had reminded her of June Cleaver in the old Leave it to Beaver shows.
The father, a long-haul trucker, was nowhere to be found, and they’d secured a warrant to search his house an hour ago. Aiden didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything useful, but it needed to be done.
He needed to be thorough.
Lives were at stake. The pressure of that reminder weighed heavily on Aiden’s shoulders as he watched Dalton enter the room.
“How’re ya doin’?” Dalton said to the hacker, laying on his Texas drawl abnormally thick.
Aiden approved. Dalton would be a skilled interrogator one day since his friendly demeanor seemed to warm just about everyone, men or women.
Except this man. This man, Phil Rossway, only laughed, sitting up straighter, both feet planted on the floor. It was a nasty sounding laugh filled with scorn, but it sounded more like a bully than it did of genuine disgust.
“Better than you, I’m guessing. How many dead leaves did you have to pick out of your teeth?”
Noah just laughed in return, good-natured as ever. “A shit ton. You got me good, for sure. What were you, running back or receiver?”
Rossway snorted and crossed his arms over his chest again. “QB.”
They already knew that, of course. Phil Rossway had been a standout quarterback for his local high school team, actively being recruited by a number of D1 colleges. Until one of the cheerleaders accused him of rape. Then another. And another.
Though the charges had been eventually dropped due to lack of evidence and the women’s flip-flopping stories, the colleges that had been banging at Phil Rossway’s door had turned on their heels.
Rossway had gone to college, but on the Pell Grant instead of a full ride scholarship. He’d gotten his degree in computer science, and…what? Become a hacker? Been groomed into a woman hating cult?
Or had he started the cult?
Had his hatred and missed opportunities bonded him to like-minded men? Men like Kent Strickland and Tyler Haldane? And was his hatred so deep that he wanted to kill innocent people? Men, women, and children alike?
“Where did ya play?” Noah asked, and Aiden watched Phil Rossway turn into a block of stone.
“I didn’t.” The feet were back on the floor again, the hands on the table, palms spread. “It was stolen from me.”
This was interesting, and to his credit, Noah turned in his chair to mirror the man’s movements. “You’re shittin’ me. What happened, man?”
The next hour was spent with Rossway spinning a tale of woe so filled with expletives that it would have made any sailor blush. But it was an important hour, and Aiden learned something important. Noah Dalton was the man for this interrogation.
Not himself.
As former athletes, the two had a natural comradery that no other person in the building could compete with. Within moments, Dalton had gotten more reaction from Rossway than anyone else.
Aiden watched and waited for another three hours. He waited through a bathroom break and a meal compromised of the two men inhaling sandwiches and some chocolate looking croissants. The meal and breaks were important. Also unlike on television, it was important to break bread with the accused, make them feel like the interviewer was on their side.
They couldn’t come in like they did on crime stories, slamming doors and tossing chairs. The accused needed to feel listened to, they needed to feel respected before they would let down their guard enough to talk.
“So, how did your parents take the news of the rape allegations?” Dalton asked Rossway after taking another sip of his soda, causing Aiden to straighten in anticipation. He had coached Noah to ask that very question just before it was time to break again.
Rossway snorted. “How do you think?”
Dalton lifted a broad shoulder. “I’ve seen it go a number of ways. Some families deny, deny, deny, thinking their sweet little boy could never do such a bad thing. Some are too shocked to speak.” He lifted another shoulder. “And some pretty much wipe their hands of their kid, sputtering something like ‘he was good for nothin’ anyway.’”
Rossway leaned back in his chair, tossed his ankle over his knee. Comfortable again. Good.
“Father basically clapped me on the back, congratulating me on getting such fine pieces of asses while my mom twisted her hands in her apron and said nothing.” Rossway crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like she was supposed to.”
That was interesting.
Dalton smiled, tapping his thumb on the table. “She stayed barefoot in the kitchen, huh?”
“Damned straight. Don’t find women like my mama these days. They all talk too much or show their tits then gasp when you reach out to touch them. They spend more time getting manicures than making meals and feeding their families.” Rossway leaned forward, a look so earnest on his face it caused the hair to raise on Aiden’s neck. “That’s the real reason the world has gone to hell. Women don’t know their place. Letting the kids do whatever they want to do. Instead of cooking, they’re stuffing fast food in everybody’s faces.”
Beside him, Winter shivered. She’d apparently felt it too.
“But not your mom,” Dalton said, giving Rossway a pleased looked that Aiden knew he was faking.
Rossway grinned. “That’s right. My mom knew her place. Still does.”
“What about your father? What’s his place in all this?”
The smile dimmed, then fell away, but only for a second. Recover
ing quickly, Rossway stretched, planting both feet on the floor. Then he yawned, a sign that he was fighting an adrenaline dump in his system. He covered well, but not well enough. Aiden knew Dalton saw it too, and instead of pushing, the agent looked at his watch. “Need another break?”
Friendly. Caring. I’m on your side, the question represented.
Rossway was on his feet in an instant, the adrenaline giving him some spring. “Yeah. That chair sucks ass.”
Noah laughed as he turned to open the door. “Thought your ass would be tougher than that from sitting at a computer all day.”
Rossway laughed too. “Yeah, but my chair is ergonomically correct, man. Gotta take care of the body, you know.”
Then they were gone, chatting like old friends to the restrooms.
“He’s doing well,” Winter said, standing up to stretch.
Aiden nodded. “Good ole boy works in situations like this.”
Winter immediately bristled, coming to her lover’s defense. “You might try it one day, SSA Parrish.”
Then she was gone.
Well, hell.
For what many people called a smart man, he could also be a bumbling idiot. He was about to go over to her, but another woman who he often became a bumbling idiot in front of swept down the hallway, her black hair swinging side to side with every step.
“Parrish.”
He inclined his head. “Sun, what did you find?”
She lifted her chin, and he realized he should have used some bit of greeting pleasantry, but before he could correct yet another bumble, she handed him a file. “Blood spatter. No body, but we’ve called in the canine cadaver dogs.”
Aiden flipped through the file, noticed the pictures of the blood spatter she spoke of, high on the wall of what he knew was Phil Rossway’s father’s home. “Thank you. Let me know what you find out.”
Without another word, Sun turned on her heel and retreated in the direction in which she came, almost bumping into Phil Rossway as he exited the men’s restroom. Aiden watched the man’s entire body stiffen when Sun simply marched past him, forcing him to stop on a dime, not even muttering the briefest of apologies.
Rossway opened his mouth to say something, but clearly thought better of it and snapped it closed.
The hatred ran deep for such a slight insult to so enrage the man.
Rossway’s jaw was still tight as he passed Aiden and returned to the interrogation room.
Once Dalton had securely closed the door behind the hacker, he shot Aiden a glance. “What now?” Dalton asked.
“Now…” Aiden said, looking him straight in the eye. “You don’t fuck it up.”
29
Don’t fuck it up, said the asshole in the three-thousand-dollar suit.
Noah Dalton kept his face carefully blank, refusing to let his thoughts reflect to the man he’d like to punch in the face.
“Thanks,” he said, letting sarcasm, not anger, drip from the words. “That’s my number one priority.” Noah nodded at the folder in Parrish’s hands, and in spite of himself, his curiosity was peaked. “What’s that?”
Parrish handed him the folder, Kevin Rossway’s name written on the tab. Phil Rossway’s father, Noah knew. Noah flipped through the contents, stopping at a series of pictures featuring blood spatter.
“Is he dead?”
Parrish lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know, but they’ve called in the dogs, so we’ll hopefully know something soon.” He held his hand out. “Leave that with me, and don’t share any of this information yet.”
Noah took his time, skimming the reports just so that he wouldn’t be blindsided with anything later. After a few minutes, he handed it over. “What’s the plan?”
“When the timing is right, I’ll enter the room with any current information. Just wanted to give you the heads-up.”
Noah nodded his understanding. “Time to turn up the heat.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure you want me to take lead?”
Damn, he was nervous, and he hated like hell to show any hint of it in front of the tenured SSA.
Parrish nodded. “You have the rapport, and you know what to do. I’ll break in if I think things need to turn.”
Noah blew out a long breath and stretched his arms over his head, giving himself a mental pep talk. Just pre-game jitters, he told himself. It’d always happened before a game, but the second he took the field, the nerves disappeared, and focus took its place.
And he needed to focus. He needed Phil Rossway to vomit out the truth and then sign the confession sheet on the dotted line.
The interview part of the process had been easy. Noah could toss the shit around with just about anyone, prying up bits of information as easily as he brushed his teeth. The interview was just a conversation, just like you’d have on a first date. It had been an important time to give Rossway the illusion of trust.
Tell me about yourself.
What’s your favorite food? Least favorite? Most hated subject in school. What are your hobbies?
The questions seemed inane, but the answers could be telling. Useful.
But, unlike most men on a date, Noah’s job was to really listen. Deeply listen. Pick up nuggets that could be used later in the interrogation. Understand the man before him and why he made the decisions he did.
That was the interview, but now they were starting the official interrogation where he would control the conversation. Control the narrative. Control Phil Rossway, leading him down a path of giving them the truth.
Charging himself up mentally, Noah clapped his hands together once. “Let’s go.”
Forcing a friendly smile back on his face, he turned away from Parrish and reentered the interrogation room. Rossway groaned as he sat back into the hard chair, and Noah gave him a sympathetic smile.
“I know you’re getting tired, Phil. Frankly, I am too, and since they won’t be giving us ergonomic seats anytime soon, let’s talk a little more and then we’ll be finished for the day.”
Rossway perked up at that. “Then I can leave?”
“I hope so,” Noah lied, and checked to make sure the cameras were still recording before getting down to business. He also rechecked the folder in front of him, triple checking that the Miranda warning statement had been duly signed.
Once, when he was a newbie detective down in Texas, he’d taken over an interrogation from a fellow detective who hadn’t had much luck. Noah had spent five freaking hours with the suspect, grinding him down until he was prepared to lead him to the body of his pregnant girlfriend. It wasn’t until the man was signing the confession sheet that Noah realized he hadn’t been given a proper Miranda at the beginning.
Even when the man did lead police to the body, they couldn’t use that fact in court either because the “fruit of the poisonous tree” doctrine precluded the use of that evidence against the asshole during his trial. The bastard got away with the crime because of a technicality.
He’d never made that mistake again.
Although an officer of the law didn’t officially have to Mirandize a person until they were in custody and about to be questioned, Noah always read the familiar lines off to the perp as he was being put in cuffs and before an interview, just in case. Once, he’d read the rights to the same individual six times because he needed to be absolutely certain the asshole’s case didn’t get tossed out on a technicality. Some of his Texas friends still ribbed him about that.
Closing the file on Phil Rossway’s signature, Noah leaned back and propped an ankle over his knee, mirroring the stance of Rossway to continue in this ruse of mutual respect and trust.
“I was just thinking about something,” he began. “How did you get to the cabin? We didn’t find a car or any other type of vehicle.”
Rossway shrugged. “Friend dropped me off.”
“Your manager friend? Chris…” Noah made a show of looking at his notes, although the man’s name was burned into his brain, “Erickson.”
Rossway shrugged aga
in. “Does it matter?”
Noah gave him another friendly smile. “Probably not, but it’s important to get the timeline and all the details set in stone. Was it Chris Erickson who dropped you off at his father-in-law’s cabin?”
Rossway sat straighter in his seat, his feet planted on the floor again. “No.”
The change in position indicated a lie, but it could also have been a protective move to brace for the more specific questioning.
“Then, who was it?”
Another shrug. “Don’t know his name?”
Noah arched an eyebrow. “How do you not know your friend’s name?”
Rossway sighed. “Friend might be an exaggeration. An acquaintance is a better word.”
“How did you convince an acquaintance to drop everything and drive you out to a remote cabin?”
“He owed me a favor?”
“Favor for what?”
Rossway waved his arms, growing agitated. “For doing him a favor. That’s how things work. You do something for me, and I do something for you. As the good book says, ‘eye for an eye.’”
Noah ignored the biblical reference for now. “What favor?” he repeated.
Rossway rubbed the back of his neck. “Computer stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“The personal stuff that any honest businessman wouldn’t tell about a client.” The words held a bit of bark in them.
Noah leaned his elbows on his knees. “So, the friend that was an acquaintance is now a client?”
Rossway said nothing, just crossed his arms over his chest. This time, the gesture wasn’t for comfort. He was agitated. Noah had stepped on a nerve, but which one? And how far could he press before the man lawyered up?
He decided to circle back to that one later. “So, this friend slash acquaintance slash client drops you off at the cabin. What happened after that?”
Rossway relaxed the tiniest of fractions. “I hung out there. Relaxed. Read a book.”
“What book?”