Chapter 11
Noah had sat across from enough people in enough rooms to recognize when a space was designed to make you feel small and like you’d already lost.
The interrogation room at the Seattle Police Department was doing exactly that. He shifted in the hard metal chair that was built to keep him aware that his spine was more than the thing that connected his ass to his neck.
And occasionally it needed support.
The cold metal table was actually bolted to the floor, as if someone might pick it up, race out of the room, and run off with the ugly thing. He wondered if there was gum stuck underneath. He shivered at the thought and kept his hands in his lap.
The fluorescent lights overhead made an awful buzzing noise, like a mosquito in the ear, and no matter how many times he tried to swat it away, it kept circling until it landed dead center.
Noah rolled his neck and adjusted his coat, grateful that Jag had recommended he keep it because it was fucking freezing in this room. Probably another intentional design choice. Though, sweating it out would’ve worked, too.
Baxter sat next to him, briefcase open, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead. “Remember, only answer what's been asked and nothing more. I put my hand on the table, you stop."
“I understand how an interrogation works.”
"You know how it works from the outside." Baxter scribbled a few things on his notepad. "It's much different when you’re sitting in that chair, and a couple of cops are grilling you.”
Noah looked at the two-way mirror. He wasn’t going to argue. Jag had already given him a few pointers from his perspective, and that was more than enough to put Noah somewhere between terrified and needing to start every conversation with a sarcastic remark.
The door opened, and a man and a woman strolled in.
“Good afternoon,” the woman said. “I’m Detective Amy Hargrove, and this is Detective Brian Minor.” Amy took up a position near the door, arms loose at her sides, and gaze on Noah like it was glued to him.
That was unsettling all by itself.
Brian placed a folder on the table, pulled out the chair across from Noah, and sat down. He had an easy smile, reminding Noah of all those movies with a good cop and a bad cop.
Brian was definitely going to play the good one, and Noah wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He suspected it would be easier if it were the other way around.
"Mr. Chase." Brian folded his hands and rested them over the folder, allowing the image of Monica to peek out.
Jag warned Noah about that, so he did his best not to look.
“Do you know Monica Payne?" Brian asked.
"Yes." Noah kept his answer to one word. Simple. Short. And to the point.
"How long have you known her?" Brian pressed his palms against the folder and the image shifted further, exposing more of Monica’s battered face.
"A few months."
"Define a few," Brian said.
“Close to four.”
"How long did you date?"
“Two months.” Noah rarely kept track of these things, but Jag had told him it was important to give them as much detail as he could. “Give or take a week or two.”
"Why did you break up?" Amy asked from her position against the wall.
"It was mutual."
Brian drummed his fingers over the folder. "That's not really a reason." Maybe he wasn’t the good cop after all.
Noah shifted. He knew he shouldn’t. He understood they would read into the movement, because he would if the situation were reversed, but he couldn’t help himself. "I was in love with someone else. I’m still in love with someone else.”
Baxter shot him a hard glare at the last qualifying sentence.
But it was true, and there was no point in hiding it.
Amy pushed off the door, put both hands flat on the table, and leaned forward. "That must have made Monica pretty angry."
“Monica knew how I felt when we started dating," Noah said. "It wasn't a surprise to her."
“That seems cruel.” Amy stood tall now and folded her arms across her chest.
Noah couldn’t help but follow both police officers’ movements.
He wasn’t sure if he did it to try to understand what they were searching for with their questions, to study them like he did for his own show, or simply because he needed to focus on something.
It didn’t matter. “I didn’t mean it that way.
She asked me about certain things, and I was honest.”
"Monica told us you were jealous," Amy said with a narrowed stare. "That if she even looked at another man, you'd get angry."
"That's not true."
"She said you had a temper. That you were always yelling and throwing things.” Amy moved her arm and hand as if she were tossing a ball across the room.
"I never threw anything at her," Noah said. "I never raised my voice at her." The words he chose were a distinction and he knew it. And he knew they would pick up on that. But he also knew lying would get him in trouble.
Brian leaned back and this time, he purposely flipped open the folder.
It was impossible not to look.
Noah winced.
"But she's seen your temper, right?” Brian asked.
Noah shifted his gaze toward Baxter, as if he would be able to save him from answering this question.
"I've gotten frustrated over work," he said.
"In front of Monica, I kicked a garbage can. Threw some papers at a door. Called my phone an asshole—which I’ve done so often at work that some of my crew call me Mr. Phone-Ass. But that's the extent of it."
Amy leaned in closer. "What if we told you we have a recording of you threatening her?"
Baxter's hand came down flat on the table. "Then we'd like a copy. AI voice replication is sophisticated enough now that independent verification isn't optional. We'd want that confirmed before any conversation about its contents are entertained or used against my client.”
Brian and Amy glanced at each other but said nothing. Amy straightened and stepped back.
Noah knew if that recording had been real and solid, they wouldn’t be regrouping, they’d be attacking. At least, that’s what he’d be doing.
"Where were you last Friday after work?" Brian asked.
"I went home.”
“To your place in Seattle?” Amy asked.
“No. My home on Whidbey Island. I always spend the weekends out there.”
“Were you at your place all night? Did you go anywhere? Were you with anyone?” Amy asked.
Noah hadn’t wanted to put Ziggy in the line of fire, but he didn’t have a choice. “I went to Ziggy Bowie's house."
"All night?" Brian asked.
"Yes."
"Can anyone corroborate that?" Amy asked. "Besides your current girlfriend."
Noah glanced between the two detectives and Baxter.
He and Ziggy hadn’t told anyone but her family and a few other people who needed to know about their relationship.
It wasn’t anyone else’s business. It was interesting that they knew.
Or thought they knew. Which meant Noah could ignore the statement, but he wasn’t going to.
"Jaggar Bowie came over for a few hours.
Later, Ziggy's sister Darcie and her husband Reid came over as well. "
“Are you talking about the Jag Bowie, as in the Langley Police Chief?”
“I am.” Noah nodded.
Amy and Brian stole a glance at each other again.
"We'll need to speak with Chief Bowie," Noah said.
"He's in the lobby.” Baxter jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”
“Excuse us.” Both detectives were out the door in less than ten seconds. Noah looked at the two-way mirror and thought about whoever was standing on the other side of it right now, watching, forming opinions that would follow him regardless of what happened in this room.
"You're doing fine," Baxter said.
“I did call Monica, and I did leave her messages, but they were to ask how she was doing, if she was okay. If she needed anything. I never threatened her. There is no way they have a legit recording of that.”
“If they have a fake one, they either know it, or they’re working on authenticating something.
” Baxter set his glasses on the table. “Something happened to Monica. There’s no question about that, and they want to get to the bottom of it.
I know those two cops. They aren’t the kind that chase only one lead. They’ll look at this from every angle.”
“I hope so, because sitting on this side of things feels pretty shitty.”
The door opened, and Brian came in alone. He stood at the end of the table with his hands in his pockets. "You're free to go, Mr. Chase. We'd ask that you stay in the Seattle and Whidbey Island area."
Baxter snapped his briefcase shut. "Is my client still a person of interest?"
"We may have additional questions." Brian held the door open. “And if you can think of anything that you’d like to add, or that might help, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“We’ll do that.” Baxter waved Noah toward the door, and Noah didn’t hesitate. He raced through the corridors like he was on fire.
Jag was in the lobby, arms crossed, and he fell into step beside Noah the moment they reached him. The three of them pushed through the front doors, and the cold air hit Noah in the face like an arctic freeze.
He let out a long breath and stopped at the edge of the parking lot, staring at Jag with this pulse hammering in his throat. “What did they ask you about?”
“Just wanted to know where I was on Friday night.
Once I told them, they let me in on a few things, and Monica's timeline doesn't add up," Jag said.
"The window she gave them for the attack—you were on Whidbey with Ziggy and me the entire time.
" He glanced back toward the building. "She said it happened in Seattle. About the time I showed up at Ziggy’s house. Maybe a half hour after I got there.”
"Then why are they still being cagey?" Noah asked.
"Because she was beaten badly, and they don't walk away from that regardless of where the timeline falls," Jag said. "The question is, who did it and why. And if you can help them answer that, they'll be back to ask more questions."
Noah looked at the street. He thought about his father in that visitors' room on Wednesday.
He thought about the card, the puck, the flowers, and Monica Payne crying on live television with his name on her call log.
He thought about Ziggy at the house right now, waiting.
"We need to tell them about my father," he said.
"He did this. I don't know whether Monica walked into it willingly or if she's another person he used, but Matias is behind it all. I know it."
Jag glanced back toward the building. "Are you willing to put some trust in the system?"
"Depends on what that looks like."
"I worked with Brian when I was at Seattle PD.
Good cop. Reasonable. Fair." Jag ran a hand through his hair.
"Between Brian, Amy, Baxter, and me, we might be able to get a judge to sign off on a warrant for Matias's visitor records.
Find out who's been going in and out of that prison. Maybe we can find a connection to you or the station.”
"They'd have to know my name to make that case," Noah said. “More specifically, they’d have to know I was an Angel Salazar.”
"Yes," Jag said. "They would."
Noah looked at the sidewalk. At the people moving past him with somewhere to be on a Friday afternoon, completely indifferent to the fact that everything he'd spent twenty-five years building was currently balanced on a very thin edge.
He thought about what it had cost him to build it.
What it had cost Ziggy to help him protect it.
What it would cost both of them if it came apart now.
"If I lost my career," he said, "I wouldn't die. But if I lost Ziggy again, I'd have nothing."
"Then let's go back inside.” Jag rested a strong hand on his shoulder. “Because if my sister lost you, I’d have to listen to her cry, and then I’d have to punch you, and that, I don’t want to have to do.”
Noah couldn’t help it. He laughed. And it felt damn fucking good.