The Cold Road (Book 1)

Chapter Eighteen

Hot coffee burned its way down James's throat, dispelling the cold from his bones. Seated in the hallway, he watched as Franks placed Amsler in the holding cell affectionately labelled the Nook. He nursed his cup of coffee between his hands, feeling the warmth leak through the Styrofoam. Behind him, Jeb nervously tapped his foot on the tiled floor.

'How long do we have?' asked Franks as he returned from the Nook and crossed his arms.

'His wife has to lock up shop, and we have their car so she'll have to find other transport. We're looking at maybe half an hour?' guessed Jeb, shrugging.

'Shit.' Franks paused, pursing his lips as he thought. 'Okay. We question him, then when his wife arrives, we question her too. Check out her side of the story. If she mentions that she already spoke to James we feign surprise and deny ever knowing that. Even if we have to mix with this fuck up at least we'll rig it so it lands easy on us and we can still talk to Amsler when he gets out without him hating our guts.'

'Listen,' interrupted James. 'When Mrs Amsler gets here, get someone to distract her, hold her conversation elsewhere to give you a few extra minutes to talk to Mr Amsler about this.'

'This was your plan, wasn't it?' demanded Franks, rising from his lean and snatching James' cup from him. Coffee lapped over the side and spilled on the floor. 'Get us in the shit so you can walk away as comfortable buddies with the Amsler's and get to know everything you need while we mop up the mess?'

'There won't be a mess, Franks,' replied James, rolling his eyes. 'You're over reacting. And if Jeb here is correct, we have less than half an hour to question Amsler so I suggest we get started.'

Rising, James marched to the holding cell and pulled open the door.

'Afternoon, Leven, sorry for the trouble,' he said, pleasantly, as he pulled up a chair and sat down. 'We just have some questions.'

'I didn't kill Geoff White!' objected Amsler, gritting his teeth. 'I know about cults because I study religion. I'm Jewish. But I did not kill Geoff. Why would I?'

'If we knew that, this whole business would be easy,' Franks told him as he shut the door and sat down. 'So, if you didn't kill Geoff, who did?'

'How should I know? I was in bed. You talked to my wife,' he pointed at James.

'Oh, yeah,' drawled Franks. 'You were in bed. Then explain how your car was seen at the scene of the crime. It's tire tracks were all over the place.'

'I don't know,' muttered Amsler, crossing his arms defensively. 'Maybe it was from another day?' he suggested. 'I've been up that road plenty of times the past few weeks. It's a good road to show people how well the car drives.'

'Ah, yes, that's right. You're trying to sell. Have you had many potential customers for it?' asked Franks, tapping his pencil against his notebook.

Amsler shook his head, his face pulled as tightly as it could into a disappointing scowl. 'No. Not really. Mostly a few of the younger kids, out with their dads looking for a first car. If not with their dads, they come alone and spread the same story. They think they're having me by giving me a story about looking for a cheap car to buy but really they want to joy ride for a couple of hours with the excuse it's a test. I let them go because I hope at least one of them might actually decide he wants to buy it.'

'So you think it was a kid that left the marks on the side of the road? Out on a joyride in a for-sale car. Well, well, if that ain't a creative idea? What if I were to tell you that the tire prints on the ground were made at the same time that Geoff White parked his car. What would you say to that?'