Shattered Glass(95)
“It’s your son,” Nina whispered loud enough to shatter glass.
“Austin?” My father said into the receiver. Not ‘son’. Not ‘boy’ as his father referred to me. Just Austin, the client. I heard papers shuffling and a thump. What I imagined was dipshit Nina bumping her head as she tried to stand under the desk. I wished it had been her skull cracking against my father’s nuts.
“You have more than one son?” The silence and measured breath wasn’t something I thought about at the time. Later I’d put it together. But now, I was too focused on Peter’s hand in mine, his thumb tracing circles over my skin. “Your clients are about to be interrogated downtown.”
“Are they in custody?”
“No. They’re coming in voluntarily, at my request.”
“I’ll need a few hours to wrap things up here.”
“You mean unwrap Nina’s mouth from your cock,” I snapped.
“Don’t be crass, boy.” Ah, there it was. The earth was back in its orbit now. I bit back an automatic apology.
Even after all these years bile rose up at the mere thought of apologizing to my father. “Meet us at the downtown station in two hours.”
“Very well. Have them call the office immediately.” He hung up without so much as a goodbye.
“Asshole,” I muttered and laid my cell on the dashboard.
It didn’t take long to reach the house. Seconds after I hung up, Peter hit the brakes at the mouth of the alley. “I should warn you, there’s reporters everywhere.”
Fuck.
“They better not be in my fucking parking spot.”
He drove on, flipping the visor down as various types of cameras and video equipment were shoved near the windows.
“Detective, is Nikolaj Stakosha innocent?”
“Detective Glass, has he told you how he murdered Nikki the Nail?”
The shouts were muffled through the glass. I ignored them and gently grabbed Peter’s arm as he crawled the car past them. “Listen, don’t respond to any of them. Not ‘no comment’. Not ‘yes’, not ‘no’. Don’t even move your head in affirmation or denial.”
He turned the car off and looked around, then calmly met my eyes. “Okay.”
“Whatever they ask, you don’t say a word. Whatever I say, you don’t repeat, don’t agree or disagree, just walk past them. Some of the more unscrupulous reporters will not hesitate to edit your nod or comment, attaching it to a different question.”
“Okay.”
“Keep your eyes on the ground.”
“Okay,” he sighed.
When we climbed out of the car, we were swarmed. I pushed Peter ahead of me as questions accompanied the jam of microphones and cameras at our mouths.
The last thing I needed was to alienate the press. With my job on shaky ground and my fellow officers cursing my face, I wanted allies, not enemies. So, although I wanted to scream at them to get off my lawn, waving a cane and smacking my lips; as coolly as possible, I closed the gate behind us.
At least with the press here, an arsonist wouldn’t have a chance at my house.
Would It Be Okay If I Stomped My Foot Until Someone Let Me Fucking Shower?
My living room smelled of herbs and garlic. A lot of garlic. The aroma was overwhelming all other senses. It didn’t help that it was nearly noon and I had only eaten that cinnamon roll hours earlier. The way my stomach rumbled in appreciation said it was more interested in food than the rest of me was. What I wanted was a shower and a change of clothes. Green scrubs were comfortable until you started smelling cinnamon and male sweat, and then they were just an embarrassing show of your manhood.
“Is it true?” Cai asked, chewing his lip and then his thumbnail.
Rosafa exited the kitchen, a kerchief tied to her hair, clothes covering all her skin. No wonder sweat beaded the exposed parts of her face. With so much going on, I forgot to ask her about Muslim propriety. Too late now. “It is all on fire?”
“We can talk more later. Right now we have to get downtown. Cai, I’m sorry but the cat will have to wait. It escaped and is probably at the pound.”
“Are you okay?” He asked, wide grey eyes taking in my appearance.
“Yeah, kid.” I grinned at him, watching the relief roll out of his shoulders with a breathy laugh.
“I go get the cat,” Rosafa offered. “There is casserole here. You need to eat.”
“I will, when I get back,” I promised. “Really we’ll talk and eat when we get back. Both of you need to stay inside. Don’t talk to the press and don’t let anyone but the police or fire department inside the house.”