Chapter 24 Dominic
Dominic
The instant I walk into the station, I find Shane standing near reception, chatting up Colleen, another detective in our unit he’s been fixated on lately.
Two months ago, it was Demi, an officer who runs a beat out of MNPD’s South Precinct.
And a few months prior to that it was Nadia, a forensics investigator stationed out of our North Precinct.
All three are blond, blue-eyed, and outspoken in the kind of way that makes it clear they take zero shit—otherwise known as Shane’s favorite brand of woman.
“Where is he?” I ask, and Shane nods toward the back of the station, where our interrogation rooms reside.
“Three.”
I offer Colleen a nod hello and keep walking.
“Whoa!” Shane calls, jogging to catch up. “Where’s the fire?”
“I’d say it’s in three,” I answer, still moving toward the hallway where the interrogation rooms sit.
“And what is your plan exactly?”
Only then do I pause, as I stand right outside interrogation room 3’s door. “To fucking interrogate him?”
Shane’s eyes are filled with scrutiny as they search mine. “What’s going on, man?”
“What do you mean, what’s going on?” I counter. “I left a family party to come down here and have a nice little chat with this piece of shit.”
Shane just stares at me.
“You got a problem with that?”
“No.” He shrugs. “But I am a little worried about the approach.”
I know Shane is right to be cautious, but I can’t seem to temper the frustration building inside me.
My blood is practically boiling, and I can’t stop thinking about all the disgusting shit Waylon has said to Hannah.
Can’t stop thinking about the fact that she has to deal with scum like him every time she picks up that fucking CMA line.
Every damn day she’s at risk of talking to vile human beings who could be capable of murdering two women.
A healthy dose of adrenaline dumps into my veins, and my body is primed to have a conversation with this guy.
I push through the door, making a point to let it fly open hard enough that it bangs against the wall and startles the man sitting at the metal table in the corner of the room. He’s a lanky guy with a scraggly beard, and the fear in his eyes only amps me up more.
Good, you sick fuck. You should be scared.
“Waylon Hades?” I question just as Shane walks into the room behind me, shutting the door much more calmly than I opened it.
“Y-yeah.” Waylon nods, his hands shaking so hard now he has to put them in his lap and clench them together. “I don’t k-know w-why I’m in here.”
“You don’t know why you’re in here?” I repeat with a sarcastic laugh and pull up one of the chairs to sit directly across from him at the table.
Shane hangs back, standing in the corner of the room.
“Well, you picked up a prostitute.” I flip open the manila folder that contains his file. I scan through the papers. “An eighteen-year-old girl,” I comment. “You like them young, huh?”
“I-I didn’t know she was that young. I-I t-thought she was older.”
I stare at him. “So, if you would’ve known she was only eighteen, then you wouldn’t have tried to pay her for sex?”
“No way.” He shakes his head several times. “No way—I would’ve never.”
“How often do you cruise downtown looking for prostitutes?”
“I’ve only done it once. I swear. Only this time.”
“You’ve only done it once and you just so happened to get caught?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “You either have the worst luck, Waylon, or you’re lying through your fucking teeth.”
“I-I’m not lying.”
I laugh. But I also stand and lean across the table, my hands resting on the cool metal surface. Waylon shudders when I’m nearly nose to nose with his greasy face. “So, you’ve only tried to pick up a prostitute this one time?”
He nods and averts his eyes like a coward.
I reach forward to grip his shirt with my fist and force his gaze back to mine. “And what about Call Me Anytime?”
He tries to look away from me, but I just grip his shirt tighter.
“What about Call Me Anytime, Waylon?” I question, and my voice is growing louder with each word. “How often are you calling into that hotline?”
“S-sometimes. Not a l-lot.”
“Are you sure, Waylon?” I retort through a stiff jaw. “Are you sure you don’t like calling into the Ruby line?”
Waylon just sits there. His eyes bounce around me, around the room, like a rogue basketball after it’s been tossed down the court.
“You like Ruby, huh?” I question and drop my voice a few octaves. “And you like all the Rubys that have come before her. Maybe a little too much.”
He shakes his head.
“What did you do to the other Rubys, Waylon?” I spit out and lean even closer to his face.
I also lift him out of his chair by his shirt.
“What happened to the other Rubys, Waylon? What did you do, Waylon?” I repeat the question over and over again.
“What did you do, Waylon? What did you do, Waylon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he shouts, and tears are starting to stream down his cheeks. “I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know what you mean!”
The urge to slam him against the wall is so strong, it’s a miracle I keep myself in check.
All I can think about is what this sick bastard has already said to Hannah and whether he’s responsible for Gwen and Heather or—worse—if he’s thinking of making Hannah his next target.
That thought alone is like fuel on a fire I can hardly control, but Shane steps in between us, promptly prying my fists from Waylon’s shirt.
“Let’s take five, brother,” he says quietly and proceeds to ease Waylon back into his seat.
The bastard is shaking in his construction boots, and adrenaline vibrates through my entire body as I stare at him, breathing heavily.
“Sit tight, Waylon,” Shane says.
“I didn’t do anything!” Waylon shouts, and when I start to move back toward him, Shane grips me by my shirt and shoves me out the door.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as he shuts the interrogation room door behind us and pushes me into the wall.
“What the fuck?” Shane snaps back, though his voice doesn’t match the level of anger of mine. “What are you doing, man?” he asks and releases my shirt.
“What am I doing?” I repeat through a scoff. “I’m doing my fucking job.”
“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re not doing your job, man. You’re just straight-up losing it.”
“I’m not losing it.”
“You are,” he disagrees, and his mouth is set in a firm line as he stares back at me from against the opposite wall. “You and I both know that interrogation is the exact way to get the suspect to ask for a lawyer and fuck any chances we have of getting the information we need.”
I shake my head.
“Tell me, what information did you get in there?” he challenges. “Besides the fact that you can make him cry and piss his pants at the same time?”
I just glare at my partner.
“The answer is you didn’t learn shit,” he keeps going. “You didn’t learn a single fucking thing. All you did was make him so scared he’s probably not capable of giving us anything we need.”
Deep down, I know what he’s saying is true. But fuck, sitting across from that scumbag after hearing the fucked-up shit he’s said to Hannah makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
“Take a walk, man,” Shane says, and all I see is disappointment on his face. “Take a fucking walk and cool off.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go back in there and see if I can salvage something from this guy.
” The disappointment in his voice is enough to make my head fall back and my eyes slide closed.
“Since you came in here on a fucking rampage, I didn’t get to give you the good news.
The captain wants a rundown on all of the CMA callers we still need to interview.
And if we don’t provide him with good enough evidence to keep this much manpower on the case, he’s going to pull the CMA tap ASAP. ”
“But we still have time on our warrant.”
“He doesn’t give a shit, Dom,” Shane argues. “The captain wants a meeting with us first thing Monday morning. So how about you get your head out of your ass and try to focus on the important shit? We don’t have time for you to lose it, man.”
The weight of his words hits me hard, but what really sticks is the realization that I am losing it.
Not just because of the case, but because of Hannah.
She’s not just a witness or someone we’re trying to protect.
She’s . . . someone who’s working her way into every corner of my life, whether I want to face that reality or not.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” I mutter, running a frustrated hand through my hair, but Shane just stares at me for a long moment. His eyes scrutinize my face, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
“That makes two of us,” he eventually adds before spinning on his heels and heading for the interrogation room again.
But I know he’s not talking about the possibility of our CMA wiretap getting pulled.
He’s talking about me. And the fact that I completely lost it back there with Waylon.
Son of a bitch.
I know he’s right. And I know I’m wrong.
I never let shit go to my head. Never.
Until now, apparently.
Until Hannah.
Two hours later, Shane comes out of the interrogation room, and I stand up from my desk. I’ve just been sitting here, watching the door like a hawk.
“He’s not our guy,” he says, closing the distance between us and coming to a stop right in front of my desk. “He works night shift at the ol’ Philips plant. He alibied out. Was even able to confirm with his boss that he was clocked in and actively working the nights Gwen and Heather were murdered.”
“Shit.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Yeah,” Shane comments. “Shit is exactly what you did tonight.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what got into me.”
“You don’t know?” he questions, but he isn’t looking at me in a clueless kind of way. “You can’t put the pieces of the puzzle together?”
“Oh, let me guess,” I retort through a sarcastic laugh. “You think this has something to do with Hannah.”
“I think?” It’s his turn to laugh. “Oh no, Dom. I know.”
When I don’t say anything to that, he keeps going. “What’s going on? Bringing Hannah to a family party? Dropping her off at home? What are you doing?”
“It’s not like that. I’m just being friendly,” I refute, even though I know I’m lying through my teeth.
“And I take it you volunteering to be the free patrol car outside Hannah’s house at night is you just being friendly, right?
” He keeps going. “Same with you bringing her coffee every morning? Taking her out to dinner and bringing her to the bar the one night? Or how about you taking her to your parents’ house today, even though the last time you introduced a woman to them was over five years ago and you were in a serious relationship with Carla?
That’s your definition of just being friendly? ”
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Dom, you’re being friendly with someone who is technically an informant on this case. You’re being friendly with someone you shouldn’t be getting close to at all, because it’s creating a serious conflict of interest. For the both of us.”
“What are you trying to say, Shane?”
“I’m saying you’re in too deep, brother.
You’re in too fucking deep with someone you shouldn’t be in deep with at all.
” He pats me on the shoulder. “Just . . . think about it, man. Just try to take a step back and really think about it. Because from where I stand, if you’re involved with Hannah, you shouldn’t be involved in this case. ”
My head spins as he drops a file on his desk and heads back toward the interrogation rooms.
“Where are you going?”
“To help Kutch get Waylon ready to go to County, and then I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he calls over his shoulder and doesn’t look back.
He’s pissed at me. That much is obvious.
Is Shane right? Am I no longer standing in the shallow end of the friendly fucking pool, but treading in the deep end with Hannah?
Yeah, I probably am.
But the truth is, I don’t think I could go back to the shallow end even if I tried.