Consumed (Firefighters #1)(94)

When she just stared him straight in the eye, he raised his brows, and she dubbed in his internal monologue on the hairy-arm-pitted feminist who was too much of a man-hater to accept some kind advice from someone who knew better and was looking out for them.

But that wasn’t what was really going on here, was it.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve heard you were difficult to deal with.”

“My job is not to make people feel comfortable. I’m not here to get your coffee and your bagel.”

“I think you’ll find you attract more bees with honey than vinegar.”

Anne sat forward and mimicked his pose. “How long have you been working for Charles Ripkin?”

The change was subtle but instantaneous, those brows lowering by a millimeter. “My client is Donald Contare.”

“Douglas. His name is Douglas.” She leaned forward. “And right now, I’m wondering how a two-bit addict dealer like Ollie Popper can afford a lawyer with your kind of wardrobe. Mystery, isn’t it. Guess Ollie’s been saving his pennies from all that office equipment he’s been burning up in Ripkin’s warehouses.”

“Those isolated fires have nothing to do with Ripkin Development.”

“Man, that denial seems to roll off your tongue. I’ll bet you find yourself saying stuff like that a lot, huh.”

The door to the interrogation room unlatched and opened, and Ollie was smaller in person than he’d seemed in those mug shots. He was only about five feet six, and he couldn’t have weighed more than a buck forty, buck fifty tops. His eyes were not manic anymore, whatever he’d been on during his arrests having been metabolized.

The shackles were a surprise. He didn’t seem dangerous.

When he saw Broward, he froze, the sheriff behind him bumping into him. He recovered quickly. “Hey. Wassup.”

His voice was fried, the rasp a result of inhaling hot contaminants.

His attorney made nice, shaking hands and doing that double-clasp thing with his palms, the equivalent of a politician’s I-really-care-about-you.

“I told you I was coming,” Broward said. “You know what this is about.”

“Yeah. Sure. I get it.”

Ollie focused on her, not that that involved much more than his eyes passing over her. He seemed more concerned with Broward as he sat down, but he didn’t want to get too close. He tried to move the bolted chair away from the other man.

Anne cleared her throat and took her ID out of her suit jacket pocket. “I’m Inspector Ashburn. I’d like to ask you a few questions about some fires down on the wharf.”

“I don’t know anything about no fires.”

“Okay. Well, maybe you’ll indulge me as I describe a couple of the incidents anyway. There are six of them in the last two years, and the reason I wanted to talk to you is because of excess office equipment found at the sites.”

“I don’t know nothing about office equipment.”

“That’s funny, because I’ve seen pictures of the three apartments you’re leasing right now. And there were rooms full of old laptops, desktops and phones.”

“No, they ain’t.”

“I’ve seen the photographs.”

“They empty now—”

Broward interjected. “We are off topic. This is about the fires down by the wharf, isn’t that right. In those abandoned warehouses.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Anne looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’d like to give you some dates and ask you where you were on them.”

“I don’t remember where I was.”

“I haven’t given you a date.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Where were you last—”

“I don’t remember.”

Anne was not surprised when, after giving each of the six dates, the response was the same. She even asked him what his addresses were. She was going to ask him where he’d left his brain, but the problem wasn’t his gray matter.

Although it had certainly taken a beating.

Anne smiled. “Well, I’m just going to assume I know where you stand with regard to working with Ripkin Development—”

“I don’t remember.”

“So you don’t deny you’re working with them. You just can’t recall when it started.” She got up. “That’s all I need to know—”

“My client has not responded in the affirmative to that question or any others pertaining to Ripkin Development. In fact, he has denied such an allegation.”

“When did that happen?” Anne asked. “Wait, I don’t think he’s said that. Let’s give him a chance, shall we?”

She cupped her ear and leaned in. “Come on, Ollie, say the words. And then maybe when they kill you and throw your body off a trawler on the ocean, they might not drag out the murder part.”

That got Broward out of his chair—and good thing it was bolted or he would have knocked it through the wall behind him. “You are out of line.”

“It’s a statement of opinion.”

“By a city investigator in their official capacity.”

“Now you’re remembering I’m an investigator, huh. I’ll make note of that. When I get my pad.” She shook her head at Ollie. “Don’t take the plea, Doug. You’re safer here behind bars than you are out on the street.”