You Don't Name Him

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Jackson came in storming. He banged the door shut behind him. I saw his expression which has somehow turned from All I want is a confession from you, anything else is bullshit for me to I'm gonna have to listen to you as well.

"Alright pretty boy, you got five minutes to make me believe that I should, against my better judgement, should keep my other options open as well. If you fail to convince me even a little, I need a signed confession. Do we have a deal?" Jackson said in a low voice.

This was the window of opportunity I was looking for. Finally, I could see a way out of this mess. This was definitely a long shot but it could get me out of here. So, before he could change his mind, I replied with a quick one of the head.

He pulled up a chair and sat next to me this time and said very softly, "If I were you, I would start of with the truth about myself."

"You already have my life defined and written in your file, what else do you want to know? I just wanted..." I replied sternly but he interrupted me even before I could finish.

He said, "Hey, hey there, prettyface, listen to me here. I know you were one of us. From what people have said? I think you were much better than all of us combined. And I surely do respect you for that. But don't you think,  for one minute, that I am dumb enough to think that all that you are is in the file. We both know that, don't we? Also, let's get one thing straight. I ask the questions here and you answer them for me and truthfully. Should you fail, I'm gonna get your white ass up there, in where it belongs. Come on, let's not waste more time."

I was dumbfounded, impressed even, but yet, I was irritated by this lad. He was persistent and quite smart. He knew what to say and when to say it. He's somehow managed to do what no one had ever done to me. He had managed to get into my mind. After a long time, I had felt the need to respect someone.

"I'll speak but on one condition. You answer my questions as well."

He looked at me for a while, probably trying to figure out the sincerity behind my deal. He nodded his head, indicating a yes.

I was pretty happy, at least for that moment. I mean, yeah, I would have to say a few things I didn't want to but I at least would have an idea about what was the intensity of the situation I was trapped in.

"Okay" I started, "My name is Harry McCarthy. I was a detective at the NYPD for three years and was then promoted to being the Commissioner due to excellence in my field. Served as a Commissioner for another three years. My service period was from '07 to '13. A clean record with a success rate of 98.64%, the highest ever. I've arrested 199 people and stopped illegal activities of 54 gan..."

"Then why resign?" Jackson interrupted.

"It got too damn tasking, the desk job. I was a field agent and am hardwired to remain one. I guess we can say that the desk job isn't for me, the bureaucracy, the politics, they irk me."

"What have you been doing since? And don't you even try to fucking lie. We're running a background check as well."

I hesitated. He was now asking too many questions. And they weren't even relevant to the case. I couldn't refuse to answer it, it would only work against me.

"I uh..." I carefully framed my answer, "I haven't been doing much. Trying to settle I guess. It's only been two years. I try travelling, keeps me busy."

"How the hell do you pay for all your expenses?"

"I receive my pension each month. That's more than enough for me."

"You quit. You didn't retire, you quit. There's no fucking way you're getting your pension."

"See, that's where you're wrong. I managed to make myself some great friends during my stint as the Commissioner. After I quit, I asked them to help out an old friend and they obliged. Friends are great, aren't they?"

"Yeah right," Jackson said with a pang of envy quite visible on his face "let's get to the point, shall we?"

"Thought you'd never ask!" I smirked.

"Please state the nature of your relationship with the victim, Mr. Matthew Simmons for the record."

"Total strangers."

"Mr. McCarthy, we have several reasons to believe that you were involved in the murder of Mr. Matthew Simmons. All the evidence collected from the crime scene is against you. Plead guilty and we can think of striking a deal. If you don't, we're gonna take you in sooner or later anyway."

"Look Officer, I maintain my position of not guilty no matter what you say because I'm not guilty. And you have shown me no evidence and hence, if you fail to show me the evidence within the next 48 hours, you have no right to withold me my further."

"Enough of the games," he said, "Mr. McCarthy, what if I told you that the victim wrote down your name on the floor using his blood for ink before dying?"

"I would say you're bullshitting me."

"Then, here, take a look for yourself."

I was astounded when I first saw the photo. Even after all my years in the service, nothing had gotten to me before. But this? This was different. I could see the pain the victim had endured, the pleasure the killer had gained. The floor was all messy but the words Harry McCarthy were unmistakably visible.

The room was designed to look as if it were in chaos to everyone. Everyone but me. All of a sudden, this all made sense. Right from the victim's name to the place he was killed to why he had written my name on the floor. I suddenly knew who had framed me, quite brilliantly. The only thing that was killing me on the inside was a dialogue I knew was gonna come out of the killer's mouth when we were gonna come face-to-face, "You took too long, Harry."