CHAPTER TEN
Stella paused outside the questioning room. It was the same room she had met Arthur Bishop in. This time, she would be facing Richard “Howler” Halloway. After Stan suffered through a knuckle sandwich, Stella decided to take the more rambunctious of the two detainees. Steeling herself for a loud, unhappy greeting, the woman pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The man inside appeared a few years younger than Bishop. Minor scars dotted his jawline, and one particularly bad one sliced from the corner of his lip. He hunched in his chair, arms crossed, and prepared for anything. When Stella entered, his blue eyes simmered with quiet rage.
She strode further into the room, her heels clicking on the tiles. As she neared the table, she set down Halloway's file along with miscellaneous papers pertaining to the cocaine found. She glanced back up at him, deciding the best play was cutting right to the point. Halloway didn't look like a man who enjoyed beating around any metaphorical bushes. “How long have you been involved in drug running, Mr. Halloway?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he snapped instantly, and his lips twisted into a scowl.
Stella sifted through the papers, pulling out a print-out of the photos taken of the substances, “Then why were these vials found on your motorcycle?”
Halloway leaned forward, eyebrow cocked. The pictures provided also showed his unrolled bedroll with a pair of black gloves beside them. His eyebrows furrowed angrily as his gaze returned to Stella's face, “They must've been planted.”
“Right. Well, they were in your bedroll.” Stella tapped one of the images with his hunter green blanket. “So you see why I have a hard time believing that, I'm sure.”
“Not really.” The man's gaze never faltered and his tone never shuddered. He leaned back in his chair, moving his hands behind his head, “I just got back from near the New Mex border. I leave my shit on my hog when I go about my business. Plenty of time for someone to shove 'em into my bedroll.”
Stella pursed her lips, “And who would want to do that, Mr. Halloway?”
Halloway eyeballed her for a breath. He weighed his options carefully. Instead of answering, the man decided upon a segue. Leaning forward again, he tapped a finger against the pictures, “Do you got my fingerprints on that shit?”
“The results haven't come back yet,” Stella lied. The vials had been dusted, repeatedly. Nothing on them. They were clean as a whistle, probably wiped down after each touch. “Although, the gloves lead to reasonable belief that you still handled them.”
“Having gloves isn't illegal,” Halloway countered.
“Yes, when they're not wrapped up with cocaine,” Stella sighed. Forensics hadn't even found cocaine on the gloves, but they looked rather new. Possibly, bought recently. The woman flipped open Halloway's folder. Inside, a much younger Halloway leered at a camera as he got his mug shot taken. “Plus, you have past drug charges.”
The man snorted, his lips quirking into a smirk, “For weed.”
“Marijuana is still a drug, Mr. Halloway,” breathed Stella, holding tight to her professionalism as if it were a security blanket.
“It's been legalized here, sweet cheeks.”
“But it wasn't legal in Oklahoma at the time of your charge,” Stella countered, firmly.
“That's in the past, honey,” Halloway sighed, exasperated. “Weed is nothing like crack, so you're stretching to tie me to this investigation.”
Silence fell over the interrogation room. The man had a point, and Stella had to admit that. Everything was circumstantial, other than the cocaine being found inside Halloway's bedroll. And, as he said, it could have been put there by someone else. Halloway was part of a well-known motorcycle club. All it took was one rival gang member or even someone with a beef. Time to change tactics again. Stella sat down and crossed her legs. “How about you tell me why you went to Fairview?”
“The tits and ass,” grunted Halloway. Stella rolled her eyes as the man's grin took on a lecherous curve.
“Was it related to the 7T?” She pressed on with her questions. The longer the interrogation, the more information she'd get out of him. Hopefully.
“Look, lady, you know Bishop isn't going to let drugs run through Grand River. We were just asking our brothers to keep an eye out for anything and give us a head's up. That's all I'm going to say.”
Stella pursed her lips, putting a slight edge to her tone, “You're obstructing an investigation, Mr. Halloway.”
“And you're questioning me without my lawyer present.” The man spoke slowly, pointedly. His glare had tripled in heat. Shoving his chair away from the table, Halloway set his jaw and crossed his arms again. “I won't say another fuckin' word 'til my lawyer gets here.”
Stella's jaw clenched and an ache raced along her cheek. Irritation stewed in her gut as she flipped through her mental files for another tactic. Halloway wouldn't talk; she knew that. Most people, once they wised up – or clamped their mouth shut – wouldn't reopen it again for an officer or agent of the law.
A flicker of movement caught her eye near the doorway. Stan stood there, waiting for Stella to exit. Turning back to Halloway, the woman mentally deflated. He still glared at her with fiery blue eyes, lips screwed tightly shut. The man was ornery and obstinate. She was lucky to get any words out of him to begin with. With a nod of her head and a scripted farewell, Stella gathered her papers and marched to the door.
In the hallway, Stan immediately began walking. Judging from his soured expression, he fared no better than Stella. She followed him, and once they rounded the corner, Stan muttered his report, “Williams said he knew nothing of the cocaine. Said they went south to visit some friends and claimed someone had to plant the vials.”
“That's pretty much Halloway's story,” Stella sighed as she shifted her footing. The two were career criminals. It was highly likely they had cobbled a story together before the cops even caught hint of their trail.
“I think we should switch off,” Stan growled. The bruise along his jaw had begun to turn a dark purple with a reddish outline. “I'll take Halloway, you take Williams. We'll say the other told us some interesting stuff. The scumbags would crack.”
“I don't know. Grand River is pretty tight-knit, including the Seven Tribesmen,” whispered Stella, refusing to meet Stan's gaze. She knew what the man would think. She was giving the Seven Tribesmen preferential treatment thanks to a one-night stand. As the man opened his mouth to voice dissent, Stella glanced up, her tone turning icy, “Plus, Halloway is rowdy. I think you had enough bee stings for one day.”
Stan snapped his mouth shut, an indignant flush biting at his cheeks.
“Let them get their lawyers. We got possession, but neither has a record with crack, and no prints have been found on the vials.” Stella shook her head. It wasn't unlikely that the men would get hung out to dry for possession. If they got a good lawyer, the charges could be dropped. If they were innocent, Stella hoped they had the cash for a good lawyer. More to herself than Stan, the woman muttered, “They could have been set-up.”
Regardless, Stan heard her. His expression pinched, and his tone became sharp, “Why are you defending these thugs?”
“Stan,” Stella warned, turning her gaze to the man. He stood stiffly, lips puckered and eyebrows creasing his forehead.
“Come on, Stella! Just the other day you were about ready to bring them all in for rapid fire questioning.” Stan leaned heavily against the wall, his shoulders smacking it loudly. His tone took on a hard, bitter edge, “Ever since the lead monkey took you hom‒”
The loud smack cut Stan off. Stella surprised herself as her hand flew through the air and landed with tingling impact. Barely contained anger roiled inside of the woman as her hand lowered. Indignant thoughts ricocheted around her head. What right did he have to talk to her like that? She wasn't compromised, especially over one night with Arthur Bishop! Even if it had been some of the best sex she ever had.
Her fellow agent stared at her with wide eyes.
“Get your ass off my personal life, Stan,” snarled Stella, pointing a finger at his nose. “I told you nothing happened. Accept that and move on.”
The woman snatched Nathaniel Williams's folder from her partner. He still stared at her with wide eyes and a burning, mortified flush on his cheeks. A few of the local officers whispered and watched. Without another word exchanged, Stella started for her office. The sudden urge to seclude herself stormed through her thoughts. Her fingers trembled, and angry adrenaline pinched at her guts. If she stayed in the vicinity of the others, especially Stan, she couldn't guarantee another physical strike wouldn't happen.