Page 53 of Holding On to a Hero
I exhaled loudly and closed my eyes in relief. “Would you? I’m not going to go home and put my sister and niece in danger, but I’m not sure how to be safe in a hotel either.”
“We need to get you out of town. It will take me a few hours to arrange everything and send someone there to pick you up, so sit tight for now. Don’t leave the police station. If they haven’t interviewed you by the time I send someone for you, they can just do it by phone later.”
Brian told me he’d text me once he’d set everything up, and then I was back to waiting. My phone only had 23% battery left, but I risked searching the web for news of the shooting at the restaurant. The local TV stations reported no comment from the police department yet. Great.
I wanted nothing more than to put my head down on my arms on the cold metal table, but my shoulder and my back told me I’d better not. Maybe I could lay down on the floor. I stood up and did some stretches. When I managed to touch the floor with my fingertips I realized it hadn’t been swept or mopped in a while. Fantastic.
I scooted the chair against the wall. Sitting, I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and folded my arms. At least the wall wasn’t as cold as the table.
It seemed like only moments had passed when the door opened and woke me. I blearily wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth as Ochoa and Callahan came in. Both were in the same clothes they’d been wearing earlier that night, just more rumpled. They looked almost as rough as I felt.
“Hey, Mr. Graham. Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ochoa actually sounded sincere. He probably wanted to leave too. I checked the time. 3:14am. Fuck.
Ochoa pulled out a chair and sat down, but Callahan set down his coffee cup, dropped some files on the table and started to leave. Pausing in the doorway, he asked, “You want some coffee or anything?”
I could smell how strong the coffee was. I shook my head and he disappeared. I turned to Ochoa. “What’s with the wait?”
He grimaced. “Sorry. Ranger Ramirez was in San Antonio and couldn’t get here any sooner.”
“That would have been nice to know.” Ochoa gave a little nod/shrug acknowledgement. “Did you at least let Felix leave?”
“Oh! Yes, he left a while ago.” Which also would have been nice to know. I’d have to message him and make sure he was okay. After all this was over, anyway.
Ochoa and I were both silent until Callahan came back in, carrying another chair and followed by Ranger Ramirez. She was in her Ranger uniform, though she’d left the hat somewhere else.
“Mr. Graham, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” Sure..
“Hi, Ranger Ramirez.” That seemed like the safest option.
“Okay, we’d all like to get some sleep soon, so let’s get this interview going.” She told me she was going to record the conversation and then she asked me to walk her through what had happened.
When I finished, I asked her, “Do you think this is the same guy that shot me before?”
Ramirez hesitated. “It seems likely but obviously we can’t be absolutely positive.”
I managed not to roll my eyes. “Of course.”
“And we have to consider whether you were the intended victim all along.”
“That seems obvious now.”
“Maybe. Or the shooter could be trying to make us think you were the target so we’d feel safe letting Mr. Washburn’s location be made public.” Huh.
“We have to follow both lines of investigation. I know we interviewed you briefly in the hospital about possible enemies, but I want you to pretend we’re starting from scratch.”
“Uh, okay, I mean, I don’t think I’ve pissed anyone off that much ever. At least that I know about.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“Okay, well, I just have one sibling, my sister Allison. My niece, Abigail, is eight. My sister’s boyfriend died a couple of years ago, so when the accident in Denver screwed up my back I moved in with Ally to help her take care of Abby.”
“And your parents?”
“Uh, right.” I was way too tired for this. “My parents. My parents are assholes who kicked me out when I came home after my junior year of college and told them I was gay. I haven’t spoken to them since and neither has Ally. They think I’m a sinner or whatever, but I don’t think they want to murder me.”
Callahan asked for my parents’ names and address anyway. I hoped the fuckers had to do their interview at the police station. All their holier-than-thou church friends would cluck in dismay at how my evil lifestyle had led to someone wanting to murder me.
Ramirez picked the questioning back up. “Okay, Will. You’re doing great.” Was that part of the script? I was sure they had one.How to Get Witnesses to Feel Comfortable Spilling Their Secrets.“Tell me about the dock accident.” God, could this get any worse?
