Chapter 21 A Room Without a Camera
Ryan
"You should come observe." The words sounded like a command rather than an invitation.
Hawley shifted. Alert and wary. Voss's focus flickered between us. Calculating something I couldn't quite read.
I glanced at the files spread across the table. Then at the security footage still frozen on the screen. Evidence we couldn't afford to lose.
"Both of us?"
"Just you. Your watchdog can stay here. I'm sure he has plenty to keep him occupied."
I caught Hawley's stare. Gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. He needed to stay with the evidence we'd uncovered. If Voss was pulling me away, it meant there was something here he didn't want us finding. Or worse, something he wanted to remove while I was distracted.
"Fine." I straightened my tie with practiced nonchalance. "Lead the way."
As I followed Voss out, I brushed past Hawley. Murmured under my breath. "Keep digging. Find the connection."
The interrogation room was at the end of a long corridor.
Its walls a shade of institutional gray that managed to be both bland and oppressive.
Through the one-way glass, I could see a man sitting alone at the metal table.
His hands cuffed in front of him. Muscular, with tattoos climbing up his neck like dark vines.
He projected a tough-guy image that didn't quite hide the nervous energy rolling off him in waves.
"Who is he?" I observed the suspect's body language. The way his focus darted to the door every few seconds. The constant bouncing of his right knee.
"Marshall. Small-time enforcer with connections to several drug operations. Picked him up near the scene of your informant's beating."
The way he phrased "your informant" made my skin crawl. Like Daniel was nothing more than a piece on a game board. A pawn sacrificed in whatever twisted game Voss was playing.
"Convenient timing."
Voss's mouth tightened. "Good police work often appears convenient to the untrained observer."
Before I could respond to the jab, he pushed open the door to the interrogation room. The suspect's head snapped up. Briefly flashing with what looked like recognition when he saw Voss. Quickly hidden by a scowl that seemed more rehearsed than genuine.
"Marshall." Voss's voice carried an edge of familiarity that set off alarm bells in my head. "This is Detective Carlson from 51 Division. Formerly of 52."
I caught the emphasis on "formerly," but it was nothing compared to what came next.
"The detective who worked the 52 Division drug case," Voss added unnecessarily. Malice barely disguised as professional courtesy.
Marshall's focus locked onto me. Shifted from wariness to something darker. "You're the one they talk about. The pretty boy who couldn't keep his mouth shut about his snitches."
My jaw clenched involuntarily.
Setup.
Voss had just deliberately exposed my connection to Daniel without directly naming him. A calculated move that confirmed my worst suspicions. This wasn't an interrogation. It was theater. With Voss as the director and Marshall as his willing actor.
"Let's talk about where you were three nights ago." I took a seat across from Marshall. Kept my delivery calm and bureaucratic.
He leaned back, affecting a casual posture that didn't match the tension in his shoulders. "Working. Got witnesses."
"What kind of work?"
Before Marshall could answer, Voss interjected. "We've already established his alibi for the time of the assault. What I'm more interested in is how he came to know about Detective Carlson's informants in the first place."
The redirect was so transparent I almost laughed. Voss wasn't even trying to hide the fact that this was a setup.
"Good question. How did you learn about my CIs, Marshall?"
Marshall's focus darted to Voss. A quick, instinctive movement that confirmed my suspicions. He was waiting for direction. A puppet checking with its master.
Voss gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Marshall's posture shifted subtly.
"Everyone knew. Word on the street was that Detective Carlson was selling out his informants to save his own career. Names, locations, the whole deal."
My blood ran cold despite knowing this was coming. The accusation was absurd. I'd risked everything to protect my informants. But hearing it stated so matter-of-factly in an official interrogation was clearly Voss's way of getting it on record.
"That's interesting. Because there was never any official finding that I leaked anything. In fact, the investigation pointed to someone inside the division with access to the CI database."
Voss's satisfaction hardened. "Yet here you are at 51, not 52. Interesting indeed."
I ignored him. Focused on Marshall. Kept my questions measured and formal. "You mentioned 'everyone knew.' Who's everyone, exactly?"
Marshall shifted uncomfortably. Glanced at Voss again before answering. "You know. People in the business."
"Which business? Be specific."
"The club scene. Dealers, bouncers, everyone."
I changed tactics. My delivery remaining steady and professional. "Let's talk about Daniel Nguyen."
Marshall's face flickered. A brief flash of genuine confusion before he controlled it. "Who?"
"The man who was beaten three nights ago. The one you supposedly assaulted."
"I told you, I was working," Marshall insisted. But there was something off about his response. Not the defensiveness of someone falsely accused. The wooden delivery of someone reciting lines.
"Working for whom?"
Voss interrupted again. "We've already covered his employment. Let's stay focused on the leak. Tell Detective Carlson who gave you the information about his confidential informants."
The phrasing was deliberate. Not asking if Marshall had received information, but assuming it as fact and merely questioning the source.
Classic leading technique. So blatant it would never hold up in court.
But that wasn't the point. This wasn't about building a case. It was about creating a narrative.
Marshall straightened in his chair. His delivery smoothing into something almost robotic. "It was Detective Carlson who leaked the names. Everyone knows he sold out his CIs to save his own career."
The words were identical to his earlier statement. Not similar. Exactly the same, down to the cadence. No one speaks that way naturally. He was reciting memorized lines.
"You already mentioned that. Word for word, in fact. Almost like someone told you exactly what to say."
Marshall's eyes widened slightly. A crack in his performance. Voss stepped forward. His hand came to rest on the back of Marshall's chair. A gesture that could seem casual to an observer. The way Marshall tensed told me it was a warning.
"Consistency in testimony is hardly suspicious. In fact, it's generally considered a mark of truthfulness."
"Not when it sounds like it's being read from a script. Let's try something else. Who beat Daniel Nguyen?"
Marshall's jaw set. "Wasn't me."
"I didn't ask if it was you. I asked who did it."
"I don't know nothing about that."
"But you know about my informants? That's convenient."
"Your own guys mentioned you were the one who couldn't keep your mouth shut. That's what they told us when they handed over the names."
My breath caught. There it was. They. Not he. Multiple officers involved.
Voss's hand tightened on the back of Marshall's chair. His knuckles whitening slightly. Marshall's face shifted into something close to panic as he realized his mistake.
"Who's they?"
Marshall swallowed hard. Darted a look at Voss like a cornered animal seeking escape. "I meant... the division. You know. Cops."
"Which cops specifically? Names, Marshall. Who handed over the names of my informants?"
Voss stepped in smoothly. His words carrying a warning edge that wasn't there before. "I think we're getting off track. The question isn't who Marshall heard it from. It's why your name keeps coming up in connection with the leak."
"Interesting how consistent witness statements have been about your involvement," Voss continued. Leaned back against the wall with barely concealed satisfaction. "Almost as if there's a pattern."
I recognized the play. He was building a paper trail. Creating an official record that further cemented my supposed guilt. Each "witness" statement added another layer to the fiction he was constructing. Made it harder to unravel.
Marshall, emboldened by Voss's obvious protection, grew cockier. "Your own guys mentioned you were the one who couldn't keep your mouth shut. That's what they told us when they handed over the names."
I froze momentarily. The plural they echoing in my head. Marshall's fearful glance at Voss confirmed what I already suspected. He wouldn't reveal who was really in charge. Not with Voss standing right there.
"These 'guys' you keep mentioning. How many are we talking about?"
Marshall's eyes widened fractionally before he controlled himself. "I don't know. A couple."
"A couple meaning two? Three? More?"
Voss pushed off from the wall. His casual posture slipping. "This line of questioning is irrelevant to the assault charge."
"Is it? Because it sounds like we're discussing a conspiracy involving multiple officers who leaked confidential information that resulted in violent assaults on police informants. That seems pretty relevant to me."
The tension in the room thickened. Marshall's focus kept darting between Voss and me. Like a spectator at a tennis match where the ball was his future.
"You're reaching, Carlson. Desperate to shift blame from your own failures."
I stood slowly. Hands flat on the table. Kept my movements controlled and deliberate. "I think we're done here."
"We're done when I decide we're done."
"Actually, we're done now. Because this isn't an interrogation. It's a performance. And I'm not playing my assigned role."
I turned to Marshall, who was watching our exchange with growing unease. "One more question, Marshall. The men who attacked Daniel Nguyen. Did they arrive in a police vehicle?"
The color drained from Marshall's face. Behind me, I heard Voss's sharp intake of breath.
"I don't... I wasn't..." Marshall stammered. His rehearsed confidence evaporating.
"That's what I thought."
I straightened. Turned to face Voss fully. "You know, for someone supposedly interrogating a suspect, you seem awfully invested in controlling his answers."
Voss's face hardened into something ugly. "You're walking a dangerous line, Carlson."
"No. I'm just finally seeing the lines that were already drawn. And figuring out which side everyone's really on."
As I reached for the door handle, Voss's words stopped me.
"Whatever you think you know, whatever you think you found in those files, it won't matter. No one will believe you. You're damaged goods, Carlson."
I turned back. Met his stare steadily. "Maybe. But I'm not alone anymore."
The implication hung in the air between us. That Hawley was still in the records room. Still with the evidence. Still connecting dots that Voss and his associates had tried to erase. For the first time since I'd entered the room, genuine concern flashed across Voss's face.
Voss followed me out of the interrogation room. Hovered too close as the door clicked shut behind us. The bullpen's fluorescent lights seemed harsher now. Exposed every face that turned our way before quickly pretending interest in something else.
"Shame how the evidence keeps pointing back to you. Almost like you can't escape your past."
That smirk. I'd seen it before. In the moments before he'd announced my transfer to the entire station, watching me pack my desk while everyone stared. The same satisfied curl of his lips confirmed what I now knew with bone-deep certainty.
He did this.
Voss hadn't just orchestrated my downfall. He'd arranged this entire performance today to rub salt in the wound.
"If that's what you need to tell yourself."
My fingers betrayed me as I straightened my tie. A slight tremor I couldn't quite control. Voss's focus caught the movement. His satisfaction deepening. He'd always been observant. It was what made him effective. Both as a detective and as the man behind my professional execution.
"We should catch up properly, Carlson. For old times' sake."
He placed a hand on my shoulder in a gesture that would appear friendly to anyone watching from across the room.
His fingers dug in painfully. Thumb pressing into the hollow above my collarbone.
The pressure increased. A reminder of the power he still wielded in these halls.
I stared at his hand, then back up to meet his stare.
With deliberate slowness, I removed his grip from my shoulder.
My words dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Touch me again and I'll forget we're in a police station."
Voss's satisfaction widened. Genuine pleasure lighting his features. "There he is. The real Ryan Carlson. All emotion, no control." He stepped back. Satisfied. "Some things never change."
Around us, officers busied themselves with paperwork and phone calls.
A carefully choreographed display of disinterest. But their awareness pressed against me when I wasn't looking directly at them.
Judgment and curiosity in every corner of this division.
The story Voss had spread about me, unstable, untrustworthy, a liability, clung to me like smoke. Impossible to wash away.
"If we're done here, I should check on my partner."
"Of course." Voss's eyes gleamed with predatory intent.
"The Bear of 51, I just learned. Quite the reputation he has. Almost as colorful as yours."
The casual mention of Hawley sent a spike of anxiety through me. How long had I been in that interrogation room? What was happening in records?