They have my prints, even though they’re smudged, and so are the ones beneath mine. They have the tire tracks to the Escalade, which is in my name. They have a witness who says she saw me, although she was drugged up. At least that's the evidence the judge was willing to hand off to Vince. Three pieces of shit evidence. One piece of evidence by itself could be a coincidence. But put three pieces together, and it starts sounding real fucking bad.
“Mr. Valetti. Are you aware that a Miss Georgia Stevens was found dead in the back of the rental car left at the scene of the crime?” the sweet little thing in front of me says, and it takes me a moment to register what she said.
My heart skips a beat, and my blood goes cold. A dead woman. No. We saved those women. But we didn’t check any cars. Fuck! I wanna ask whose car. I wanna know how she died. More importantly, was she alive when we left?
My eyes search hers. She could be lying. She could be fucking with me just to get me to talk. But I see her expression soften with compassion. She can tell I didn’t know. I lean back in my seat and do my best to wipe every emotion off my face. It’s quiet for a moment. It’s been about an hour, so my lawyer should be here soon. I just need to hold on till then, and then I can look up the woman they found dead. Vince never said shit about her. At least not to me, but I've been out of the loop.
“The car was rented to a man we believe to be Abram Petrov. His prints were found in the car, although his body was never found.”
None of this is throwing up red flags to me. His body was sent back to the buyers as a sign from us that we weren’t willing to partake in that aspect of the business. Our hands won’t be forced. If they didn’t know it then, well they sure as fuck know it now.
“Do you have any information regarding Petrov's whereabouts?” She leans forward, and I have to resist looking straight down her blouse. Her body is lean and toned with a touch of color from the sun, but her tits are bigger than you’d think they’d be for a woman as athletic as her.
I give her a weak smile and shake my head no again. I’m grateful for the bit of information she’s given me, if it’s true, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna talk. I need to know if the woman she mentioned was alive when we left. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before the cops got there. But a lot can happen in twenty minutes.
As if reading my mind, she answers my unspoken question. “Drug overdose,” she says simply. My lips press into a tight line and my heart sinks. Maybe if my brother had seen her, like the other women, maybe he could’ve saved her. I drop my gaze to the edge of the table as I try to keep calm and not give her anything.
“She’d been dead for almost a day, judging by the autopsy.” My eyes fly to hers. Thank fuck. That makes me feel better. I feel like an asshole for feeling any kind of relief. That poor woman didn’t deserve to die, but at least she didn’t die on our watch. We never had the opportunity to save her.
I run a hand through my hair and look at the closed door.
“Do you have any details that could help us uncover who was responsible?” I hear her sweet voice and I almost turn to her to answer, but I can’t. We don’t say shit except for what I’ve already given them. I’m waiting on my lawyer. That’s the familia way.
“You don’t have any fucking sympathy, do you?” Harrison starts up again with his shit from across the table. “The jury’s gonna eat you alive.” I resist rolling my eyes and sigh instead. This is fucking draining. Usually I don’t give a fuck, but I am a bit worried. I don’t like the sick feeling in my gut that keeps rising up on me.
“Are you charging me? If not, I’m gonna go ahead and leave,” I say, looking at the door. I’m tired of waiting. I just want to get the hell out of here.
Harrison shoots up from his seat. I know he’s coming over to get in my face. I stand up as he walks around the table. They can keep me here longer for questioning. I know that. But he’s fucking lost it if he thinks he’s gonna yell standing over me while I’m sitting down. That shit’s not gonna fly.
I stand up and stare back at his narrowed eyes. I vaguely sense that the cute ass broad got up from her seat and is backing away. That puts me at ease. She doesn’t need to get into this. She can keep playing the good cop part and stay the fuck out of the bad cop shit.
Harrison's body bumps into mine slightly, but I allow it. I know he’s pushing me. He’s done it before. Sometimes I get a little hotheaded. More than I should. But when you’re here, in this position, you keep your cool. Otherwise you’re just giving them a reason to keep you locked up. And that's the last thing I want.