Harry
Although it tasted bitter, that was what Harry liked. He emptied the pot into the paper coffee cup he’d been carrying with him all day since this morning. His day started out as usual, stopping at the gas station for coffee on the way to work.
The sign above the coffee maker instructed the person who drank the last cup to brew another pot. Harry guessed that was him. He had every intention of making more, except he couldn’t find the filters. Of course, he didn’t bother looking further than the end of his nose. One quick sweep of the area and he was done. No filters. Bummer.
The DNA results from Heidi would take up to six weeks. Mia’s had revealed nothing.
Cam Blackwell sat down the hallway in Interrogation Room 3. Harry had peeked his head in the observation room before getting some coffee and found his suspect with his head down. The guy rested his cheek on the steel table, hands hooked behind his back. Unbelievable. Was he used to the position?
Harry slammed a hand into the door, banging it into the cinderblock wall inside the interrogation room. He spilled some of his coffee onto the floor. Cam snapped upright, leaving a tiny pool of drool on the table. He blinked a few times.
“Man, what time is it?” Cam asked, yawning.
“Four,” Harry told him, yet had no idea why he even bothered. More than likely the asshole wouldn’t be leaving except to go spend more time in a jail cell.
Harry set his coffee on the table, and focused on Cam’s face.
The suspect stared at him for a long moment. “Are you planning on interrogating me, or did you want to stare at me some more first?”
Harry crossed his arms over his chest.
Cam flicked his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes.
Harry slapped a folder and small recording device on the table and took a seat opposite Cam. “I’m recording this interview, all right?”
Cam shrugged. “You asking my permission?”
“State your full name, date of birth, and occupation.”
“Cameron Blackwell, July 11, 1991, and you know what I do.”
Harry took a deep breath. “State your occupation.”
“Receptionist at Ink Addiction Tattoo Parlor. You know you can’t hold me more than twenty-four—”
There was a knock at the door, and Harry answered it. Rudy motioned him out onto the hallway.
“Judge Merlow’s on the phone.”
“This why you’re interrupting me? Tell him I’ll call him later.”
“He’s insisting.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Harry went back inside the room. For Christ sakes. The judge had called him six times since he and Mrs. Merlow identified their daughter’s body.
Harry swigged his coffee and made a face at the bitterness.
Cam smirked. “Police stations always have terrible coffee.”
“Spend a lot of time in them, do you?”
“Not a lot. Some.”
Harry kept his expression stony. He wasn’t sure if the guy was lying. Cam didn’t have much of a record and nothing in the last several years. From what he read, he had only been arrested for public intoxication and minor-in-possession as a teenager. Hardly one to frequent police stations. “Care to explain?”
“You know, wrong place, wrong time—nothing that stuck.” Cam scratched his cheek on his left shoulder.
“No. I don’t know.”
“Is this relevant to why I’m here now?”
“You tell me. Is it?”
The guy didn’t answer. Harry opened the folder then drank a gulp of coffee again, this time suppressing a cringe. He laid a photo down in front of Cam, who leaned over, studying it. The bridge of his nose crinkled.
“Who am I looking at?”
“Mia Dixon,” Harry humored the man. “You’re new in town, when did you arrive?”
“‘Bout two months ago, give or take a few days.”
“That means you were in town at the time her body was found.”
Cam glanced at the photo again. “Read about that in the paper. She was found in the woods, wasn’t she?”
Harry emptied his cup into the back of his throat.
“Man, she suffered,” Cam muttered under this breath, looking at the ceiling, although Harry heard him clearly.
“You’re right about that.”
“What?”
“I said, you’re right about that, I believe she suffered. Did you lose a pair of snowshoes?”
“No. Never owned any. Why?”
The question seemed abrupt and ill-timed. Harry was getting ahead of himself. However, Cam hardly noticed, which struck Harry as odd. He shoved a picture of Heidi under his suspect’s nose.
Cam flattened his lips into a thin line. “Damn,” he breathed, and closed his eyes.
“Tell me about Heidi Merlow. You were the last person to have seen her alive.”
“Man…” The guy breathed deeply through his nose and shook his head. “I was afraid you’d tell me that.” He paused before continuing. “We…ah, she blew me in the back seat of my car.”
“And then?”
“You saw me come back into the restaurant. She left or…got out of my car.”
“Expect me to believe she gave you a blow job and that’s it?” Even when Harry was in his early twenties and unmarried, he’d never been that lucky.
“Didn’t have a condom on me, so just a hummer. She didn’t swallow though. What I mean is, I don’t think you’ll find my ejaculate on her, in her.”
Ejaculate? Why had he used that term? Why not ‘cum’ or a less clinical word? Who the…who was this guy? “What did she do with it?” He only asked for the sake of DNA collection, although it sounded much worse out loud.
Cam snorted. “What do you think she did with it?”
“Outside your car or on the floor?”
Harry’s suspect shook his head. “On the ground. Outside. She was a lady, thank you.”
“Okay. What happened after she left your vehicle?”
“I fixed my pants and went back to the party inside Cocoa.”
“Did you see where she went afterward?”
“I assumed she got into her car and went home. But I honestly hadn’t paid attention.”
“Did you happen to see her after you left the party again?”
“No.”
“What time did you leave the restaurant?”
“I helped Mikey clean up and we left at the same time. About 10:30. The parking lot was almost empty by that time.”
“You’re using Mikey as an alibi?”
Cam pursed his lips. “He and Grace saw me.”
“Mind giving me a sample of your DNA?”
“Why, was Heidi sexually assaulted?”
“You’re rather precise with your terminology there?”
“Was she or not?”
“Yes. There was evidence of that.”
“I didn’t sexually assault her, so why not? You got a cup?” He grinned.
Harry rubbed his forehead. “We swab the inside of your cheek.” He tipped his cup back once more, hoping for one last drop. For years, he’d hidden his addiction by sneaking Jim Beam into his coffee. Long gone were those days. “So let me get this straight. You admit to having sex with Heidi—”
“Oral.”
“You had oral sex with Heidi Merlow. Did you have any contact with Mia—”
“Never seen her before until you showed me her picture.”
“You’re positive? Come on, maybe once.” When you killed her…
“I’m positive I didn’t know her. And I didn’t kill anyone.”
“You’re looking guilty from here.”
“Because you want me to, not because I am.”
Harry stared at Cam, narrowing his eyes. He clenched his jaw. They guy had a point. “You keep popping up on my radar.”
“Don’t know what to tell ya. I’m being set up.”
Pfft. If Harry had a dollar for every time he’d heard that line. Someone knocked on the door. “Dammit, Rudy,” he muttered. “Just a minute!” Harry lowered his voice, “Who do you think is setting you up?”
“Probably the person who ran your daughter off the road. I’d start there, if I were you.”
The door swung open. “I said—”
Rudy escorted a young man who didn’t look much older than twenty-five into the room. The blond-haired newcomer wore a navy pinstriped suit. His clothing reminded Harry of a gangster from the forties, like it had been borrowed from a costume shop.
Don’t tell me, this ass-clown is an attorney?
Gangster stuck his hand out. Harry shook it.
“Stan Ipkiss.” He handed Harry a business card with perforated edges. It looked like the print-from-your-home-computer kind.
Where had Harry heard that name? It had a familiar ring to it. He studied the card so he didn’t have to look at the ridiculous suit.
“Are you charging my client?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m advising Mr. Blackwell not to answer any more of your questions.”
“He agreed to a DNA swab.”
Ipkiss looked at Cam. “That true? Because you don’t have to unless he has a warrant. Shouldn’t have arrested—”
“I arrested him for probable cause.” Gangster should know Harry hadn’t violated Cam’s rights on that one. Had Ipkiss passed the bar and had anyone checked his credentials?
Cam waved his lawyer off. “I’ll do it. It’s not a thing.”
Ipkiss’s face paled.
“One more thing, if I may?” said Harry.
“Ask away,” Cam said.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“Ten and a half.”
Harry nodded, except there wasn’t much difference between ten and half and eleven. He left Cam and fancy pants in the room and asked the evidence collection guys to send someone in for a swab.
“Letting him go, Harry?” Rudy asked from his desk in the squad room.
“Did you check his lawyer’s credentials?”
“Of course. Are you letting him go?”
Harry grumbled in response. After collecting his coat, he headed for the exit.
“Harry?”
“Yeah, let Blackwell go.”