time," Christian interjected, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Shut up, or I'll have you removed from this room immediately."
Bradley's next words came out in a panicked rush. "I've already told you, I didn't kill your daughter. We were friends, we hung out together!"
"Shut your mouth!" Jeffrey bellowed. "My daughter would never have associated with a dirty lowlife like you!"
"That's enough!" Nick's shout silenced the room. The interrogation had devolved into a circus, with Nick cast in the unenviable role of ringmaster, desperately trying to maintain order and extract some semblance of truth from the chaos.
"Sit him down and remove the handcuffs," Nick instructed the officers, gesturing towards Bradley. They complied, seating Bradley at the edge of the table opposite Jeffrey. Bradley kept his head down, his gaze fixed on the table's surface.
Christian, eyeing Bradley's disheveled state, couldn't resist a barbed comment. "You look awful, to put it mildly. A homeless person would look more presentable."
Nick shot his partner a warning glance before turning his attention back to Bradley. "Look at me, Bradley. Tell me where you've been for the past two weeks. We have a witness who saw you with Rose at the bar on the night of her murder. It's a strange coincidence that you disappeared without a trace after that."
Bradley raised his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes darting nervously around the room as he rubbed his nose. "We were just hanging out that evening, that's all. And these past two weeks… I've been drinking. Because I found out Rose was dead. My mother told me – she saw it on the news."
Bradley's words came out in a slurred mumble, punctuated by frequent pauses to wipe away the saliva that dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
"What are you mumbling about, you freak?" Jeffrey interjected, his voice dripping with contempt. "Tell the truth! Admit that you killed Rose!"
"Jeffrey, I swear to God, if you don't shut up right now, I will have you removed from this room," Nick warned, his patience finally reaching its limit. He turned back to Bradley, forcing his voice to remain calm and steady.
"Bradley, we also know that you and Rose were arguing that evening, and then had some kind of physical altercation. After which, she left and was later found dead. How do you explain this? What happened between you two?"
Bradley's hand shook violently as he pointed an accusing finger at Jeffrey. "We fought because of him!"
"Because of me? What nonsense are you spewing, you degenerate?" Jeffrey snarled, his voice low but dripping with venom. Nick shot him a warning glance that could have frozen hell itself. Jeffrey lowered his head, and Bradley seized the opportunity to continue:
"Rose told me you'd never approve of us being together. So I lashed out, told her to go crawling back to daddy. She stormed off, and I split about two minutes later. I was a mess, so I crashed at my friend Sarah's place – her house is just a stone's throw from the bar. You can verify it with her. I'll jot down the address for you."
"We'll look into that," Nick said, his voice measured. "But until your story checks out, you're not going anywhere." He paused, studying Bradley's face with the intensity of a raptor eyeing its prey. "Now, there's one more thing I've been itching to ask… That nasty scar on your cheek – where'd you pick that up?"
Bradley's lips curled into a sneer, his hand unconsciously rubbing his nose.
"Some punk gave it to me back in high school. Ancient history."
Nick remained silent, his gaze ping-ponging between Jeffrey and Bradley, weighing their words, their body language, searching for the truth hidden beneath the layers of hostility and fear.
"Are you planning to press charges against Jeffrey Saltano for attempted murder?" Nick asked, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp.
Jeffrey glowered at Bradley, his silence more menacing than any threat.
"Nah, I'm not pressing charges. Let the old man go," Bradley said, waving his hand dismissively.
"I swear on my life, I didn't kill Rose. I loved her, man. I really did."
"Well, in that case, Jeffrey, you're free to go," Nick announced, striding to the door. He called out to the officers behind the two-way mirror, his voice clipped and professional:
"Escort Bradley back to his cell and get that address from him. I want it verified ASAP."
Christian, who had been a silent observer throughout the interrogation, stepped forward. "Jeffrey, anything else you want to get off your chest before you go?"
Jeffrey's face contorted with barely contained rage. "I've said all I'm gonna say. You deaf or something?"
"I don't buy a word of it," he spat. "My daughter would never have stooped so low. I knew her better than anyone."
With that, Jeffrey stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a finality that echoed through the room. Bradley was led away, leaving Nick and Christian alone with their thoughts and the weight of an investigation that seemed to grow more complex by the minute.
6:00 AM
Nick turned to Christian, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep but burning with determination. "We need to run down that address, see if Bradley's story holds water. If it checks out, he's got himself a rock-solid alibi."
"I'm on it," Christian nodded, already reaching for his phone. "I'll dispatch a couple of uniforms right now."
Two hours later
The confirmation came through like a sucker punch to the gut – Bradley's alibi was airtight. With a heavy sigh, Nick gave the order for his release. Half an hour later, he found himself standing by the window of his office, a silent sentinel watching the parking lot below. A sleek blue BMW pulled up, its engine purring like a satisfied cat. Steven Cooper emerged, his lanky frame swallowed by a baggy white hoodie. He greeted Bradley with a bear hug that spoke of relief and brotherhood, pounding his back with enthusiastic fervor. Then, amid a cacophony of whoops and laughter that seemed almost obscene in the wake of recent events, they peeled out of the lot, leaving nothing but tire marks and the acrid scent of burnt rubber in their wake.
Chapter 12
One month later
The investigation, spearheaded by Nick Larsen, had become a Sisyphean task. They chased leads that evaporated like morning mist, explored theories that led to dead ends, and questioned an endless parade of potential witnesses who seemed to know less than nothing. They even entertained the notion that an outsider might be behind the killings, despite their earlier certainty that the perpetrator was a local with intimate knowledge of the area. Every phone record, every text message, every scrap of Rose's life was put under a microscope, yielding nothing but frustration. Nick felt the weight of failure pressing down on him, threatening to crush his spirit, but he refused to give in to despair. The truth was out there, and he was determined to uncover it, no matter the cost.
Jeffrey Saltano, by some miracle of bureaucratic inertia, still clung to his position as sheriff. But it was a hollow title, as meaningless as his days had become. He spent his time in a alcohol-induced haze, drowning his sorrows and his guilt in bottom of countless bottles. Bison, sensing the shifting winds, had cut all ties with his former ally, leaving Jeffrey to flounder in a sea of his own making.
The
