The Art of Being Right

The Interrogation

Frank Murray knew he was screwed. He was sat in the interrogation room, arm in a cast and a sling, and bruises covering any showing skin. He'd been in the room for less than half an hour, and it was only making him more nervous, the more time that went by. His leg bounced anxiously as he eyed the mirrors on his left and right, wondering which one was real and which one concealed a group of officers that were watching him. Murray had already been questioned once, at the hospital, but had been told he would be brought back to the station for the official interrogation; something about having it on record. Dragging it out would only cost him money his family didn't have, and there was no way in hell he could win his case, but he refused to admit what he'd done. Not without a fight.

He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead - he couldn't look any guiltier if he tried - and the lump building in his throat as he remembered the officer who'd tackled him. Why had he gone at him with a knife? That would be another list added to his charges, and if he'd seriously hurt the bloke there'd be a heavier consequence. Oh God what had he done?

Just as his head sank into his hands, the door in front of him swung open and two men walked in. One was short, with grey-blonde hair and a steely gaze, while the other...it was the officer from before. Tall, slim, with black hair and bright green eyes; his face was emotionless.The two men sat on the other side of the table to him without a word and stared forwards at Murray, their gaze burning into his face. The shorter man reached towards the tape recorder in between the three men, and hit the 'record' button with his index finger decidedly.

"It's currently-" there was a pause as he looked at his watch, "2:41am, interview with Frank Murray, suspected of five counts of theft with dangerous intent, possession of illegal firearms, the murder of Gary Carter, and attempted GBH of a police officer." Murray cringed at the last charge; whereas the man opposite almost smirked. This was game over, surely.

"Officers present include myself, Superintendent Seth Hart, and Detective Inspector Wilson Crowley." Murray glanced from one man to the other as silence fell. Hart had a folder in front of him, no doubt full of the evidence that was going to put him behind bars.

"I din't do anythin'." Murray insisted, gripping the edge of the table with his uninjured hand, jaw clenched tightly.

"Oh so you're going to deny it all, well at least it makes our night more interesting." Wilson groaned sarcastically, his voice low and soft. It actually sent a physical shudder down Murray's spine. Hart seemed unfazed, and seemingly willing to let the DI take the lead.

"I might have robbed them people," Murray continued, the tremor in his voice apparent.

"Those." Wilson corrected.

"What?" Murray hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Those people, not them people."

"I din't kill no one, you 'ear me?"

"Didn't, anybody and hear."

"Shut up!" Murray roared, flinching in his seat, on edge and wound tight. Wilson chuckled, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands dismissively behind his head. Hart tried to salvage the situation by shooting his DI a warning look.

"Loud and clear, Mr Murray, but we have evidence to suggest otherwise." Hart answered calmly, opening the file in front of him and flicking through it slowly. He found a photograph that had been blown up to A4 size, and pushed it towards Murray.

"For the benefit of the tape I'm currently showing Mr Frank Murray evidence collected from the case. Can you tell me Frank, what it is?"

Murray studied the image in front of him, thinking carefully about how to respond.