The interview room at the police station is cold as air pushes through the vent and grazes my skin. The charcoal grey paint on the walls makes it seem dark in here when in actuality, a bright fluorescent light dangles above the table. One of those double-sided mirrors is to my right, and I know Detective Shapiro and her partner are on the other side watching me. They might even be running down a game plan to get me to spill my guts.
It’s not going to happen.
Even if they can prove I was there when Richie shot Mindy, I’ll keep my mouth shut and accept whatever charges they throw at me. I will never regret putting that monster down. I’m just mad I didn’t do it sooner.
The interview room door opens, and Detective Shapiro waltzes through in a pants-suit tailored to perfection. If she didn’t have it out for me, I’d say she’s pretty hot. Her skin is smooth, like she takes pride in her moisturizing routine, and now that I have a good look at her under the bright light, she has to be my age. Maybe a little older. It makes me wonder who she stays moisturized for. Perhaps I can lay on the charm to get myself out of this.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase, Mr. Gomez.” She opens a folder on the table and flips through pages but doesn’t make eye contact. “When Richie Reddy was autopsied, gunpowder residue was found on his hand and parts of his wrist.”
“Great. Looks like you have your man. Can I leave?”
“Not so fast.” She grins and looks up at me. “The lab found DNA under his fingernails, and something tells me that you didn’t get that scratch on your face from a wild romp in the sack.”
Damn. I guess Sammy wasn’t smart enough to clean Richie’s fingernails when he staged the scene. I clasp my hands and rest them on the table. If they’re going to make an arrest, then I’m fucking ready. Slap those bracelets on me. Karma has finally come to claim me for all the shit I’ve gotten away with. Detective Shapiro tugs on a pair of rubber gloves and removes a tube-like object from her pocket, and holds it out.
“We just need a swab of your DNA to prove the skin under Richie’s nails is yours.”
But on second thought, I’m not going down this easy. I need a lawyer. I’m about to ask for one when the interview room door swings open. Detective Archibald is there, and he looks pissed as he gnaws on his bottom lip like a bulldog.
“Interview is over.”
“What!” Detective Shapiro barks.
“It’s over. He’s free to leave.”
“Like hell he is!” Shapiro skyrockets to her feet, causing her chair to shoot from beneath her and screech across the floor. “What the hell is going on?”
Her partner holds up his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”
“Well, who gave the order?”
He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh, “It’s coming from up top.”
“This is bullshit!” Shapiro slaps the table.
“Miguel Gomez.” Detective Archibald motions for me. “You are free to leave.”
Rising from the chair, I say, “Well, it’s been nice chatting, but I’ve worn out my welcome.”
“This is unbelievable!” Shapiro storms around the table, her partner warning her to stand down, but she gets in my face anyway. “You might be free to leave, but I’m on to you, and I’ll be the heavy breath on your neck when you can’t sleep at night.”
“Sounds hot. Would this be post-coitus?” I say, and her face turns redder than a lobster boiling in a pot. “If you want to fuck me, just say so.”
YOU ARE READING
The Divorcee Murder Club
Mystery / Thriller𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 It's all fun and games until someone suggests killing each other's spouses for revenge. Miguel Gomez is your average disgruntled divorcée attending a support group in San Francisco to cope...
