Page 24 of Torched Spades
I hold his stare for a moment before folding my arms across my chest. “Am I supposed to be impressed you know who I am when you were standing five feet away listening to our conversation?”
The corner of his mouth tips up, and he steps to the side, ushering me ahead of him with a sweep of his hand. “This way…”
We walk in silence up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway where he opens a door and nods for me to enter. As expected, the room is as bright as it is boring. One rectangular table sits in the center with two folding metal chairs on either side. Like Becca’s office, the three walls are completely bare. However, here, instead of demonic art livening up the fourth, it’s a pathetically disguised two-way mirror.
Unnecessary, but if they want a show, who am I to disappoint?
Striding past it, I flip my middle finger dead center before circling the table and taking my seat. Detective Ledger says nothing as he follows suit, tossing a manilla folder on the table while sliding in the chair opposite me and clasping his hands.
The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds of our silence as we stare at each other. Seventy-four in all before his smirk finally breaks.
“I must admit, you’re not what I expected, Mr. Malone.”
“Profiling isn’t a good look, detective.”
My taunt doesn’t faze him. In fact, the fucker seems amused. “Most people either confess every sin they’ve ever committed or immediately ask for a lawyer. You’ve done neither.”
Well…” I say, drumming my fingers on the table, “As you so bluntly put it, I have a probation officer. Obviously, this isn’t my first rodeo. Once you get thrown from the bull a few times, you learn how to avoid getting trampled.”
“And that’s to remain silent?”
Letting out a brusque laugh, I cross my arms over my chest. “You haven’t asked a question. I’m not doing your job for you, detective.”
“Point taken.” I’m not sure if that’s an acknowledgment or a challenge. However, when he glances down at the folder sitting in front of him and flips it open, I have a feeling it’s both. He’s putting on a show, and this is just the first act. “Mr. Malone, were you working cargo berth six at the Port of Providence last night?”
“That’s what my timecard says.”
“And what time did you arrive?”
Keeping my expression neutral, I drop my gaze to the open file in his hands. “What time does my timecard say I clocked in?”
He purses his lips. “Eleven forty-one. p.m.”
“Then that’s what time I arrived.”
“And what time did you leave?”
I smile because this fucker has no clue whose ticket he punched. I can drive this train in circles all night if I have to. “What time did I clock out?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, it’s whatIasked,” I say, enjoying getting under his skin despite the gravity of the situation. “Technically, Detective Ledger, the law states I’m not required to be here, much less answer any of your questions. So, if you want an answer, give it to yourself.”
“You didn’t clock out at all, Mr. Malone.”
“My mistake.”
And thank fuck for it.I’d been so caught up in Alice’s crime scene clean-up scheme that by the time I chucked what was left in the Bay, getting my ass out of there took precedence over timecard protocol.
Ledger slams his palm onto the folder. “Four gunshots were heard in or near berth six’s warehouse around four-thirty-three a.m. Did you hear them?”
“Nope.”
“Nothing?”
Ignoring his question, I recline in my chair. “You ever drove a forklift next to an idling cargo ship, Jack?”
“It’s Detective Ledger, and no.”
