Fifty Two Weeks of Murder by Owen Nichols Page B
Authors: Owen Nichols
us susceptible to manipulation.”
“I’d never manipulate you Jesse,” replied Anders sweetly. “Punching you in the face is much more fun.” He surreptitiously moved his hand to his jaw where she had broken it all those years ago. He chuckled.
“I did deserve that. I was kinda a dick back in the day.”
“Was?” asked Anders, ignoring his hurt expression and concentrating on one of the monitors on his desk. The main hub was empty save for the two of them and only the lights on his desk were on. Anders had debated whether to call Mal, but he’d looked so tired when he stumbled from the antique store, that she thought it best to let him sleep. It hadn’t occurred to her to call the others. Everyone had pulled a triple shift and tempers were frayed.
In silence, they watched the three suspects, Jesse turning up the sound slightly so that they could hear the conversation. Beth’s voice came through the speaker, a thin immature sound that gave lie to the adult that spoke it. She wore jeans and a baggy jumper, though Anders noted that her coat was Dolce&Gabbana and the jewellery she wore far outside her pay bracket.
“Champagne lifestyle on beer money,” muttered Jesse, sensing Anders’ thoughts. She nodded her agreement as they listened to Beth speak.
“Why are we here? What’s going on? They can’t keep us here without telling us why!”
She held Mitch’s hand as she spoke and he stroked her arm reassuringly. He was a little taller than his father had been, but his shoulders were broad. His blue eyes radiated intelligence, but Anders could see that Beth had turned his head. He looked young, barely twenty, but the relationship with Beth jarred a little. Anders couldn’t see the fit. As if Beth suffered him until something better came along.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “They just want to ask a few questions. Solve this case quickly.” She started to whine again but Janice cut her off. She was a sour faced woman, all skin and bone with greying hair tied severely behind her back. Her voice was husked by years of smoking and came out in a growl.
“Watch your tongue,” she said. “Shut your trap and this will soon be over.” A sullen silence settled over the group and Anders clapped her hands together.
“Right,” she said. “Let’s get them their own rooms shall we?”
The basement held three interrogation rooms, all grey bricks and steel pipes with one table and three chairs in each. They were dimly lit and forbidding, with large one-way mirrors covering an entire wall. Anders and Jesse invited them into each one, maintaining pleasantries and giving the impression that this was merely to wrap up a few loose ends in their investigation. Once they were seated, Anders walked back to Jesse and told him to start recording.
“Visual and audio please.” He gave her a thumbs up, put some large headphones on to listen to the conversation and told Anders to switch to channel three on her earpiece so that he could communicate with her. She decided to start with the wife and opened the door to the room with an apology for keeping her waiting.
“And I must apologise for the late hour,” she said. “I’m sure you understand that investigations of this nature must be dealt with swiftly. Can I get you a drink at all?” Janice pursed her lips in disapproval, her hands clasping the handbag that rested on her lap. She wore an old coat that had seen better years, let alone days, and her earrings showed the metal glinting through the gold plating as it wore off. Her clothing and shoes were functional. No heels on this lady.
“Before we start, may I offer my condolences for your loss. This must be a very difficult time for you.”
“It is,” she said, her gravelly voice a contrast to Anders’ soft American tones. “I’m happy to answer your questions as best I can, but I’ve not slept. If we could get this over with, I would very much appreciate it.” Anders gave an acquiescent nod
“I’d never manipulate you Jesse,” replied Anders sweetly. “Punching you in the face is much more fun.” He surreptitiously moved his hand to his jaw where she had broken it all those years ago. He chuckled.
“I did deserve that. I was kinda a dick back in the day.”
“Was?” asked Anders, ignoring his hurt expression and concentrating on one of the monitors on his desk. The main hub was empty save for the two of them and only the lights on his desk were on. Anders had debated whether to call Mal, but he’d looked so tired when he stumbled from the antique store, that she thought it best to let him sleep. It hadn’t occurred to her to call the others. Everyone had pulled a triple shift and tempers were frayed.
In silence, they watched the three suspects, Jesse turning up the sound slightly so that they could hear the conversation. Beth’s voice came through the speaker, a thin immature sound that gave lie to the adult that spoke it. She wore jeans and a baggy jumper, though Anders noted that her coat was Dolce&Gabbana and the jewellery she wore far outside her pay bracket.
“Champagne lifestyle on beer money,” muttered Jesse, sensing Anders’ thoughts. She nodded her agreement as they listened to Beth speak.
“Why are we here? What’s going on? They can’t keep us here without telling us why!”
She held Mitch’s hand as she spoke and he stroked her arm reassuringly. He was a little taller than his father had been, but his shoulders were broad. His blue eyes radiated intelligence, but Anders could see that Beth had turned his head. He looked young, barely twenty, but the relationship with Beth jarred a little. Anders couldn’t see the fit. As if Beth suffered him until something better came along.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “They just want to ask a few questions. Solve this case quickly.” She started to whine again but Janice cut her off. She was a sour faced woman, all skin and bone with greying hair tied severely behind her back. Her voice was husked by years of smoking and came out in a growl.
“Watch your tongue,” she said. “Shut your trap and this will soon be over.” A sullen silence settled over the group and Anders clapped her hands together.
“Right,” she said. “Let’s get them their own rooms shall we?”
The basement held three interrogation rooms, all grey bricks and steel pipes with one table and three chairs in each. They were dimly lit and forbidding, with large one-way mirrors covering an entire wall. Anders and Jesse invited them into each one, maintaining pleasantries and giving the impression that this was merely to wrap up a few loose ends in their investigation. Once they were seated, Anders walked back to Jesse and told him to start recording.
“Visual and audio please.” He gave her a thumbs up, put some large headphones on to listen to the conversation and told Anders to switch to channel three on her earpiece so that he could communicate with her. She decided to start with the wife and opened the door to the room with an apology for keeping her waiting.
“And I must apologise for the late hour,” she said. “I’m sure you understand that investigations of this nature must be dealt with swiftly. Can I get you a drink at all?” Janice pursed her lips in disapproval, her hands clasping the handbag that rested on her lap. She wore an old coat that had seen better years, let alone days, and her earrings showed the metal glinting through the gold plating as it wore off. Her clothing and shoes were functional. No heels on this lady.
“Before we start, may I offer my condolences for your loss. This must be a very difficult time for you.”
“It is,” she said, her gravelly voice a contrast to Anders’ soft American tones. “I’m happy to answer your questions as best I can, but I’ve not slept. If we could get this over with, I would very much appreciate it.” Anders gave an acquiescent nod