The Interrogation Read online

  Hunt smiled a little in the late morning light. This was a really good party.

  “ANTICIPATING MY intimidating presence makes you smile?” Cam shut the door and twisted the knob lock. Closing the distance between them, Cam ran his open hands over Hunter’s chest and shoulders, down his arms and up, pulling him close to reach his back. He spoke quietly, almost whispering, “I must be losing my touch.”

  Hunter did not agree.

  Eyes on his Dom, unresisting, Hunt’s body moved with the pressure of Cam’s touch. He loved Cam’s strong, permanently-calloused hands. Blood rushed to his groin in anticipation of hands-on-skin contact.

  “You left your coat in your office and your shoulder rig locked in your drawer. You might as well be naked.” Cam stepped forward, forcing Hunter against the wall.

  Heat on heat.

  “My God, you are beautiful,” Cam whispered. Palms on the wall next to Hunt’s shoulders, Cam leaned in and dragged his lips over Hunter’s ear.

  “Cam…”

  The 1812 Overture sounded from Hunter’s pocket.

  Dispatch.

  Cam’s lips pressed. But he fished the cell out of Hunt's pants and held it to his ear.

  “Dane,” Hunt said quietly. After a few seconds, he came off the wall and took the phone from Cam’s hand, giving him a stressed look with a slight head shake. Cam backed away and unlocked the door.

  Murder always trumped sex.

  CAM WENT DOWN the hall to the Unit offices to get started gathering details. Cam planned to leave the Unit in a few weeks to work on his nonprofit full time. But knowing the scope and seriousness of the case they’d just been handed, Hunter was immensely grateful Cam was still with them.

  Cam had gone to work for Hunt after injury had cut short his ski career. Everyone but Hunter assumed the international sports celebrity would be anything but a seat-holder until he got a job commentating with ESPN. Cam had become the nerve center of the Unit. Lightning fast at gathering data, uncannily accurate in anticipating needs, Camden Snow kept everyone informed and connected.

  Hunter moved through the party crowd and caught Mike Merisi’s eye. Barely off rookie status, the young detective had already been wounded saving the life of a civilian, as well as Hunter’s. Merisi was rock-solid on the street and a rebellious pain-in-the-ass in the office. Hunt had hand-picked him for the Unit and never regretted it. Which wasn’t something he thought Mike Merisi needed to know.

  Even in the midst of a party, Merisi knew by Hunter’s tense expression something was up. He made his way over to diminutive, ever-perky Carol Twee, their crime scene specialist. Every cop who dismissed her for her lisp and five-foot-nothin’ stature, ended up respecting the hell out of her erudition, acumen and professionalism.

  Twee followed Merisi to the door, snatching up plates of cake and sausage rolls on the way by the buffet table. She’d never met a food she didn’t like and somehow remained a slender black slash of a woman—a fuzzy-haired, kewpie doll of boundless energy.

  Diane Natani was chatting with another assistant district attorney. Hunter moved behind her colleague and into her sightline. She glanced around and saw the door closing behind Twee and Merisi.

  Excusing herself to her friend, she joined Hunter.

  “Sorry, Natani. Looks like a good one.” Good meant serious. “We’re going to be working it out of HQ homicide bureau. ”

  “Okay. Can I join you in a while? You don’t need me right away.”

  “On this case, I especially need you right away.”

  She studied his grave countenance and led the way to the door. When they reached it, he gave her a brief explanation of the case. She left to join the others, and he went back inside to find Carson Sanchez. The genius programmer volunteered his time in the morning before going to his paying job at an online news magazine.

  “Listen, could you host this thing and apologize to everybody? We’ve been called out on an assist and have to get going.”

  Carson was used to the kinds of emergencies that made news and required people to leave their own birthday parties. “Anything my bosses would like to get a heads-up on?”

  Hunter let out a deep sigh. “Not unless they want to do an exposé on how criminally understaffed the foothills sheriffs departments are.”

  “Sounds like a local issue,” Carson told him. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Thanks. If we find Jimmy Hoffa stuffed down a mineshaft or something, I’ll give you a call.”

  “You’d better!” Carson laughed.

  Hunt gave him a wave as he left, closing the door firmly behind him.

  “SO WHO GOT DEAD?” Twee ate a sausage roll in two bites and licked her fingers. Merisi pulled the plate closer to himself.

  “Three little boys. The fourth went missing this morning. If this killer’s M.O. hasn’t changed, the boy’s not dead yet.”

  “You’re talking about the Wilderness Killer,” Natani said. “That’s McCauley’s case. How is our unit getting it?”

  “McCauley and his team haven’t gotten anywhere in a year. The newest victim’s name is Brian Trowbridge and he’s the governor’s nephew. The governor requested us. We’re taking over.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t cause any resentment.” Merisi popped a whole sausage roll into his mouth.

  “It’s a recipe for a clusterfuck, Boss,” Twee said.

  "True. It’s also exactly the kind of case this Unit was created to handle."

  Natani tossed down her pen. “We have political interference, departmental incompetence, personal resentment, and a boy who will die within eight hours. Somewhere.”

  "No problem,” Merisi said. “We just find the killer, get him to tell us where in over a thousand square miles of Colorado wilderness he staked out the governor’s nephew, and rescue the boy.” Merisi punctuated this with an eyeroll.

  “Sounds right,” Hunter said. “The first part got done about an hour ago.”

  Natani picked her pen up. “We have a suspect?”

  Hunter nodded. "We do. Now I just have to get him to talk.”

  “Just get him to talk?” Merisi tilted his chair back. “He’ll lawyer up before you can say ‘You have the right’ and a keyhole satellite couldn’t find this kid.”

  “You're forgetting the Boss’s cardinal rule.” Twee pulled the plate back toward herself and Merisi’s chair came down with a sharp bang.

  “Yeah? What's that?"

  “Never assume.”

  Cam already had the information up on the big wall monitor. “There’s no case report available. Just what kind of case is this?”

  “The kind we keep away from the press.” Hunter briefed them on Officer Xavier’s action. “McCauley’s been reassigned for now and we’ll be working with his team.”

  “Long as one of ‘em’s not that fucking DiMato.” Merisi caught a look from Hunter. “I’ll play nice if he does.”

  “Just focus on the job. Go make sure the door’s locked. .... You all set up?” Hunter asked Cam, who nodded. “We’re video conferencing with the governor and a few people.”

  “How few?” Natani asked.

  “Don’t know. Someone from the mayor’s office and FBI, for sure.”

  “I thought this was our case.”

  “My understanding so far is they want me to have full responsibility,” he said. “But we, which includes the case detectives already assigned, are to carry out whatever plan the governor approves.”

  “The governor has zero legal authority over DPD case investigations,” Natani said.

  “That’s why the mayor will be there. He’ll order whatever the governor decides.”

  “They’re ready to start,” Cam told him.

  “Okay. I want everyone but Natani out of video range. You need to hear everything, but they don’t need to know you’re here.”

  “You’re giving us deniability,” Merisi said. “That sucks ass. We stand by each other.”

  “The loyalty really complements the insubordination,
Detective,” Hunter said. “You and Twee move over behind Cam.”

  They did.

  Homicide

  * * *

  “Jesus has landed, Ed. The Great Dane himself cometh to redeem us, Apostles in tow.”

  Detective Sergeant Kevin DiMato, 31, tilted back in his desk chair, his cowboy-booted feet crossed on his desk. His accent was all Brooklyn. “If I’da known he was coming back, I wouldn’t have taken his old desk.”

  Detective Ed Chang peered over half-glasses at the five people passing the reception desk into the squadroom. He didn’t answer. A quiet guy in his early forties, Chang rarely commented on the behavior of others or the conditions in which he worked. When he did speak, people listened.

  The Unit cops found seats at desks in the mostly empty squadroom. Hunter glanced into Lieutenant Zac McCauley’s empty office, but stayed in the squadroom.

  Next to a whiteboard set up at the far end of the room, an older detective nodded a greeting. John Fulton was a graying, black bear of a homicide detective closing in on retirement. Hunter had always found him a comforting presence: smart, experienced and without an ounce of ambition. John Fulton was a man who’d never have a heart attack from stress.

  They shook hands.

  “Good to see you, John. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Heard the powers that be pulled a few strings,” Fulton responded. “‘Bout time somebody did.”

  DiMato ignored Hunt, watching the weather play on a wall-mounted TV over the whiteboard. The sound was low, but the chyron scrolling across the bottom of the screen told the story.

  … up to four feet of snow in the foothills ... snow parking bans in effect … flurries expected to start in the metro area at 4pm ...

  Images of roiling charcoal grey thunderheads behind the snow-tipped peaks of Colorado’s eastern slope filled the screen.

  “I’ll assume you’re all familiar with the Amber Alert from this morning and the description of the actions of the traffic officer.” Hunter stood in front of the whiteboard, raising his voice just enough to be heard.

  Chang and Fulton nodded.

  “As of now, we’re a single team and our only job is finding Brian Trowbridge and identifying his kidnapper. There is a plan in place to do that, as well as obtain enough evidence to convict our suspect, assuming the man we’re looking for is the killer. We need everyone using all talents at maximum effort.”

  DiMato was pointedly still watching the weather.

  Hunt lasered in on him. “Brian Trowbridge is a terrified, powerless, eight-year-old boy who doesn’t have time for egos or petty territorial disputes. Decide to do your job and put your feet on the floor, Sergeant, or get out of my squadroom.”

  DiMato flushed dark red.

  Hunter waited, locked on the detective who so reminded him of Mike Merisi. He wanted very much to get DiMato on board.

  DiMato nodded, but took his time sitting up. “You really think a traffic cop found the Wilderness Killer?”

  “Looks good so far,” Hunter told him as if the brief clash of wills had never occurred.

  He went back to addressing the room. “Before we get into it, I’ll make assignments so we aren’t duplicating each other and everyone has access to all the data. We’ll work here in the squadroom except for assistant D.A. Diane Natani”—he pointed her out and she lifted a hand to them—“who’ll use Lieutenant McCauley’s office for privacy.”

  Natani took her briefcase into the office, closing the door.

  “I understand McCauley’s been assigned elsewhere for the moment, but where’s Captain VanDevere?” Hunter asked. VanDevere was notoriously anti-gay, and Hunter didn’t want to make more of an enemy out of the man by usurping his territory.

  DiMato and Chang looked to Fulton. “The captain took August and September off this year for a religious retreat,” the senior detective said.

  DiMato snorted and rolled his eyes.

  Fulton pressed on. “Captain Teller usually subs in when he’s gone.” The big man shrugged. “But Teller’s from Burglary. No experience working homicide cases. So you’re bossman on this one, I guess.”

  “Got it. Okay, assignments.” Hunt gestured at each as he spoke. “This is Camden Snow; he’ll be coordinating. You copy him on everything, keep him apprised of your location and what task you’re on. He’ll pass information along so everyone is current. If he tells you to do something, assume it comes from me.”

  “Detective Chang, Cam usually does our research, but I’d appreciate it if you’d take that over. I heard it’s one of your specialities. Detective Fulton will do witness relations and interdepartmental liaison. Nobody touches the whiteboard but him.”

  “Sergeant DiMato, you’re second-in-command, but I understand you’re an equipment wizard. That’s going to be critical here. … Questions?”

  “What about the rookie and the cutie?” DiMato asked off Merisi and Twee.

  “Detective Merisi, as he’ll be known henceforth, will contact witnesses in the present and previous Wilderness cases and re-interview as many as possible.”

  “You think we missed something?” DiMato asked.

  “You know witnesses recall things later they didn’t think of under the pressure of the first interview. I was serious about no egos, Sergeant. No one from my unit thinks anyone here dropped any balls. Detective Merisi will be doing what fieldwork there is, including some re-interviews. On Trowbridge, we have some statements from the park canvas, some vague descriptions, better ones of the car.”

  “As for the ‘cutie’,” Hunter went on, “Technician Twee has about a dozen IQ points on you, DiMato, and when we find this boy, you can bet now we won’t do it without her.”

  DiMato stood and bowed low in Twee’s direction. “No offense, m’lady. We know each other of olden times and I am your servant, as always.”

  She giggled. “You’re such a doofus.” To Hunt, “I worked the Carlyle Hotel scene with Kevin before I came to the Unit. And it’s at least fifteen IQ points.”

  “I stand corrected,” Hunt told her. He knew DiMato had set him up with the “cutie” comment, assuming Hunt would rise to her defense. It was payback for confronting him publicly.

  “We even?” he asked DiMato.

  Chang froze. Fulton just smiled down into his chest.

  DiMato grinned. “I’m all good, Boss.”

  “Okay. Natani is getting a search warrant for the car. There’s an all-points out on it. The boy’s bike and backpack are waiting for Twee in the lab.”

  “Should I get started, now?” Twee asked.

  “Hang on until we all bring each other up to speed. These detectives have worked this particular killer for a while, as well as started on this case over an hour ago.”

  A banging sound too loud to speak over, came from the interrogation room near the entrance to the squad.

  Hunt threw an irritated look that way. “I was told your rewiring project was finished.”

  “They finished upstairs. We’re last. You want them to take a break?” DiMato asked.

  “Yeah, until the briefing’s over.” Hunter head-pointed Merisi to take care of it. “We can get started. … Ready?” he asked Cam.

  Cam had his laptop open. “I need the suspect details.”

  “Ferriter. Harold Charles,” Chang told him, spelling out the last name. “No record. No tickets. No accidents. He only owns the one car.”

  “Nice freakin' car,” DiMato added. “Complements his million-buck townhouse.”

  “No marriage record,” Chang went on. “He's a realtor. Very high end. Works for himself. His social media is all business related. Not finding family, friends or pets. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “This guy is so clean he squeaks,” DiMato said.

  “We’ll see. Natani is getting a warrant for his phones and bank records,” Hunter said. “The traffic cop, Xavier, is sitting on Ferriter's house. Detective Davidson’s on the way to the parents’ house with the scarf for identification.” Hunt looked out
side at the storm front. “And it is the perfect time for this killer to strike.”

  “Why?” asked Twee. “Why perfect?”

  Hunter’s cell rang. “Dane. ... Okay. ... Yeah. … (he rubbed his eyes) If he insists. … No, you bring him. I don't want him wandering around alone.” He clicked off. “The father positively identified the scarf.”

  A SILVER RIBBON OF STREAM separates north and south-facing slopes of aspen and evergreen.

  In the forest, five feet up a tree trunk, fresh scars show where branches were sawn away. A securely mounted industrial surveillance camera points downward.

  The camera lens reflects red-and-silver sneaker-clad feet, duct-taped at the ankles. The feet are kicking.

  “IMMEDIATE TASKS,” Hunter said. “Chang, assume no kid is in the trunk of Ferriter’s car. Find a reasonable destination for this guy going west on 6th Avenue into Lakewood at nine o’clock in the morning. He has business out there? Lists houses out there? Goes to a private club?”

  Hunter pulled out his phone. “Cam, assume Brian Trowbridge is in the trunk. Figure out where Ferriter could be taking him and coordinate with the counties. Get 'em searching.” He punched in a number.

  “Garza, it's Dane. Guy's looking good. ... Five minutes.” Hunter tapped off.

  DiMato’s eyes narrowed. “Garza? The FBI doesn’t have jurisdiction here.”

  “He was asked to consult.”

  “Garza's nutty as squirrel shit in a walnut tree.”

  Hunter didn’t disagree.

  “Lieutenant.” Twee stood up. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I know. Let’s wait for Garza. I only want to go through this once.”

  IN AN UPSCALE NEIGHBORHOOD, Emil Xavier watched the entrance to Ferriter’s cul-de-sac from his patrol car, parked a block away. The text alert he'd been waiting for came in on his personal cell.

  ARREST WARRANT ISSUED. TOW VEHICLE TO PROCESSING.

  CALL SGT. DIMATO FOR FURTHER.