On the streets of... #7

We went back to the precinct and put Mr Davis into one of the interrogation rooms. As I said, it's a common cop trick to leave the perp sitting and thinking for a few hours. They will play out all the worst-case scenarios in their head and they will freak themselves out nicely. Well, some of them. Still worth a try.

In the meantime, I finally got to check out my new desk. It did have my name on it, and even better, it was almost spelt correctly. Rourke had gotten out for coffee (he did not ask if I wanted something) and he told me to wait for him right there where he left me. He was afraid I would get lost if I was walking around, I assume.

The room was almost empty. The uniformed officers went out to patrol, and most of the detectives were running errands on their first cases. I had no doubt they were just as exciting and fulfilling as ours.

We still needed some proof or Davis' confession to close our first case, but it was still in record time. Of course, after those, there would be a trial, etc, so even though we got the bad guy, we will have a ton of work with this case. Still, it was a great start. I sent a text to Carlos to brag, but the bastard sent one back saying they are tracking a major drug dealer who uses vampires in magically enhanced vans as runners. Lucky motherfucker.

I had to write the report on our arrest, so I fired up my new work computer. It beeped, then did not do much else for the next five minutes. Looked like Captain McRoy wasn't kidding about the computers being old. At last, it all booted up, so I got on it. I always liked to write reports, or anything, really, I guess if I wouldn't be a cop, I'd be a writer. Probably not a good one, though.

I was almost done when Roarke came back. He probably got an early lunch, too, judging by the time he had been away. Now he sat at the next desk (it wasn't his) and was drinking his coffee. He got a case file in his hand.

'New case?' I asked.

'That was some fine detective work, kid,' he answered, then put up his feet on the desk. 'Yes, us, cops, tend to work on more cases at the same time.'

I didn't answer. I get it, they had to put me together with an older, experienced detective, but did it necessarily have to be a jerk? It could have been Molly. God, that would be great. Although I'd die in the first action we were in, because I couldn’t stop staring at her.

'When do you want to talk to Davis?' I asked Rourke.

He tossed the file into the air and it landed on my desk.

'Check it out,' he said.

I did. It was about arson: apparently, someone had a weird hobby of setting garbage containers on fire. An eyewitness saw a girl doing it. Apparently, she was black or Indian or Latina, so not a "regular girl" as the witness had put it. Lovely. They also claimed that the girl must have been one of those "magicians or waddaya call them nowadays".

'Any idea?' asked Rourke.

'Yeah, give it to the Fire Marshall. If he can find the girl, and she really turns out to be a sorceress, we will arrest her for them. The Fire Brigade might have the time to run around hoping they would catch her red-handed.'

'You know, kid, you might not be completely hopeless, after all,' nodded Rourke. 'How are your interrogation skills?

'Do you want me to interrogate Davis? I thought you were the one doing the talking,' I said.

'Watch your attitude, kid, and answer the question,' he replied, but lazily as if he wasn't even willing to get angry about me anymore.

Now, I know how to question a perp. I knew the tricks, the methods, all the formalities… It's just I never did it before. Not alone, anyway: there was always a superior officer around.

'They are good, sir… In theory.'

Rourke sighed and took a sip of his coffee.

'Say, newbie, if I were to let you question Davis, you know, "in theory", would you fuck the case up for me?'

'Probably not, sir,' I answered as enthusiastically as I could.

'Well, even if you manage to let him walk on the break-in, I can still get him on attacking a police officer, so why don't you give it a go?'

'Your trust means a lot to me,' I said.

'I know, kid. Now get going, I want the case on the DA's desk before the shift is over.'

I sighed and got up, wondering about what I have done to deserve Rourke as my partner.

The interrogation room was on the second floor. It was a small room with very ugly yellowish walls. I, personally, would have confessed to the Kennedy assassination if I had to stare at that wall for more than five minutes. There was no real window, only the fake mirror behind my back, from behind, no doubt, Rourke was watching. All the furniture was two chairs and a metal table. Davis was handcuffed to that latter one.

'I want my lawyer,' he said as soon as I stepped into the room.

I lifted my hand, sat down and pushed the button on the record machine. Then I stated my name and rank and asked Davis to do the same. He did, then he added that he wanted his lawyer.

'So you do already have a lawyer? Why?' I asked. I knew very well, why: even though Davis didn't have a serious record, his name did come up for similar stunts like the one he pulled at the cellphone store.

He shook his head.

'That's okay, your lawyer is on his way,' I lied. Davis had the right to refuse to talk to us without his lawyer, and we had to tell him that when we arrested him, but we did not have to remind him if he forgot it. 'But first, I have a few routine questions.'

I opened the case file.

'Did you work at Smith Phone Repair, Mr Davis?'

He nodded and I asked him to answer verbally, so he said yes.

'Have you got yourself fired? I asked.

'It was a misunderstanding. I wanted to bring a few phones home to work on them 'coz they've got a deadline, right? People were gonna come for them. Boss saw me packing them up, made a big deal out of it and the next thing I knew I was done.'

'I see,' I nodded. 'I've got this new boss now, he is a first-class jerk, so I kinda feel you. Are you comfortable, Mr Davis? Do you want a glass of water?'

He shook his head then he remembered the record machine and mumbled "no, thanks" out loud.

'Right. Now the thing is, your former boss' store got robbed a few days ago. Can you tell me where you were on the 26th of September, between midnight and six in the morning?'

'Home, I guess. What day was it, Tuesday?'

'Friday,' I said. 'Is there anyone who saw you at home? A girlfriend, maybe, or a roommate?'

'Nah, I live alone.'

'What do you do on a normal evening, Mr Davis? Paint me a picture.'

'What?' he asked back. 'What kinda bullshit question is that?'

'Formality,' I shrugged. 'I actually have a sheet with this nonsense and I had to memorize all of them. I know it's stupid.'

'It is,' he said. 'I mean, what does anyone do back at home? I was chillin', watching Netflix, smoking some weed, that's all.'

Back in the good old days that would have been worth something, but cannabis was legalised a while now.

'I see. What did you watch?'

'I don't know, some comedy I guess.'

'You gonna help me out here, man,' I said, leaning forward. 'The place you got fired from was robbed, you have a criminal record and you don't have any alibi. You gotta say something for yourself.'

He looked startled. Not exactly scared, but nervous.

'Listen, this would be your second strike. You know what it means: at least ten years.'

Two, with a very strict judge, and they would release him early because the prisons are overcrowded, but he didn't have to know that.

'Whoa, dude, slow down! it wasn't me, okay?'

'Then why did you run from us?' I asked. 'Innocent people don't run.'

'Because… Because… You said it! I already have a strike, I was scared!'

Got him.

'I will tell you what I think, okay?' I said. 'I think you did it. Listen, I get it, the old fucker deserved to be taught a lesson and you needed the cash. An eye for an eye, right? But you got bad luck, it happens. Now, you can confess and let me help you, or you can wait until my son of a bitch partner takes your place apart. Where is the money, though? The tank of the toilet? Freezer? Doesn't matter, he will find it, he is a first-class sorcerer. He knows magic you cannot imagine. And he will ask for the maximum penalty for you because he is an asshole. He doesn't care that you are actually right. I do get it and I think a judge will, too, if I put a word into your favour. John, let me help you, okay?'

It wasn't the most sophisticated strategy, I give you that. But when you are sitting in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a table, scared to shit, you will believe what a reasonable-sounding guy tells you, because you want to believe it. John Davis wanted to believe me, so he confessed and even told me where he hid the money. He had put it into a plastic bag and buried it into the soil of one of his plants. Kinda smart, but we would have found it anyway. Case closed.