Ruthless Obsession

Chapter nineteen

The officer turns his badge over in his hand, as he fills the empty cup with coffee. It's a pointless act. I'm not thirsty, I didn't ask for any coffee, and it seems he's trying--too hard--to be the good cop because the lifeless smiles and small talk, almost make my eyes bulge out of my head with annoyance.

The interrogation room that the three of us are in, is getting narrower by the minute, I feel as though it's sucking the air out of my lungs more and more, every second I'm in here and Angelo's out there, getting treated for a gunshot wound.

I stare through the mirror covering half the wall across from me. I wonder if there are people on the other side, watching me like a rat in a science experiment.

Maybe there are more officers, recording every word that comes from my mouth, studying every tell that comes from my body movements. They're probably executing a plan right now for how to take down the crime lords of Miami.

They probably have all the evidence they need to lock me up, to throw me in jail beside Louis.

The cameras in the corners of the room could not be more obvious and the microphone on the table taunts me, pleading for my confession.

I wonder if they can tell I'm not just an innocent witness, I wonder if they know of the power my husband has.

I have yet to make any sort of eye contact. Not even a glance in the direction of their faces, but of what I have seen of their appearances, it's apparent they are untrustworthy. The kind of untrustworthy you can see through a person's lingering stare.

The nice-guy pouring the coffee seems to be less menacing, more inviting. He has sandy-brown hair, much like Louis, and his teeth look like they could be models for a Colgate commercial.

The second officer seems less inviting, his hair is glossed over with gel and his face holds a permanent frown like this is exactly where he doesn't want to be.

I only ask one question at the expense of my silent streak, "When can I leave?" I say, taping my leg on the ground and pulling the expensive leather jacket Angelo loaned me, tighter across my chest.

Which really means, when can I see Angelo? When can I get to that damn hospital and for god sakes when can I find out if he's okay?

The officer shifts in his stance, obviously peeved that the first words to come out of my mouth in the last 30 minutes, were asking when I can get the hell out of here, "Miss, you're involved in a murder investigation. We will hold you until we get the answers we need."

I sink back in my seat, only half listening to their blurred ramblings about the shooting.

I wouldn't be surprised if the second officer--the silent one--picked up the table and threw it across the room. His red face and the clenched jaw don't scare me, I've seen my fair share of disgruntled officers, in fact, this makes me nostalgic for my childhood. I wish he knew his annoyance only makes it easier for me to ignore every question and silently mock every word coming from their mouths.

I wish he knew how much pleasure I get from angry pigs.

Them assuming I can or will answer any of their questions must be a joke. It plays into the whole patriarchal setting. Men never cease to amaze me, they think some basic small talk and a good-guy routine will get them anywhere when really it makes me trust them even less.

Besides I can't answer most of the questions asked.

How did Angelo get shot? Why were Merelo Costelo, Marvin Costelo, and Joey Davis after Angelo and Louis? Why did Louis shoot Merelo Costelo, Marvin Costelo, and Joey Davis? Is there any personal relation between Angelo, Louis, and Merelo Costelo, Marvin Costelo, and Joey Davis? Why was there no car outside of the gas station when the police officers arrived?