The Night Reporter ✔

Interview- Part 6

Thirty minutes later, Zeke breezed out the glass double-doors.

Sweat trickled down his neck, and the night breeze cooled him somewhat. After putting some distance between himself and the police department, he paused to loosen his shirt collar. He checked behind him discreetly, but the steps of the building were empty. No one chasing after him. Not yet.

His work alibi had mostly held, as they hadn't yet established much in the way of a timeline.

Still, the pictures...

So. Much. Blood.

Detective Anderson had quietly spread a file folder of images across the battered table. The victim was naked, sprawled on a concrete driveway, and the locale had stirred an itch in his brain.

Conditioned by his profession, he displayed little in the way of a response, settling for an air of mild interest, but his stomach bunched up royally.

Carter.

She was the victim. They had reviewed gory victim photos before, and now she was spread throughout all of them.

It was all a bad dream, a mistake. Had to be. Just the night before, he'd been hatin' on her sandwich-squishing, byline-stealin' ass. Now, she was gone.

In sharing their last encounter with the detective, Zeke had muddled up the details a bit. He recalled her mild irritation at his refusal to drive her home. But no, wait, he'd tried citing a busy work night ahead, but she hadn't bought the lie. She had known the only case on the wire was a potential suicide, and the paper hardly reported those. Too many of 'em. That, and there was the fear of inspiring copycats. So she had coaxed one last ride out of him, only not the kind he had hoped for.

With suicide on his mind, Zeke had stupidly asked if she'd taken her own life. The detective had frowned, pushed up his glasses, and then chuckled.

"No, she was murdered, plain and simple." He held up a photo, her body grotesquely twisted and bloodied. "Care to tell me how?"

"Wish I could," Zeke said, forcing his heart to slow from a panicked flutter to a patient drum.

"Sounds like you wished you'd killed her," Anderson had said, arms crossed.

Zeke had thrown his hands out, biting back a chuckle of his own, lest it incriminate him. "I'm entirely aware of interrogation techniques, and how to trip up a perp." The two men stared at each other for a brief span before Zeke went on, "What I meant was, I wish this whole thing was solved, and that you knew how she died." His heart had hammered in his chest, a half-beat measure against the tide of bile rising in his throat.

The back and forth had gone on for hours, with Zeke hoping to prove his innocence through the line of questioning, but with Anderson digging in with more queries he couldn't answer.

After the third hour loomed, mental exhaustion tipped him into delirium.

"I wanna go home," he had moaned, head lain on the interrogation table.

"What's that you want?"

The conversation had reminded him of the most cliché line in all detective movies: "I want a lawyer."

From his muffled space on the table, Zeke had heard the magic words: "You're not under arrest, and don't need a lawyer."

That was when Zeke had risen from the chair on shaky legs, regarding the detective through bleary eyes. The "don't need a lawyer" bit was one the cops always played out, because truth be told, having a lawyer around was always helpful.

"Can I go?"

Anderson had shrugged. "I don't advise any out of town trips, but sure, you can go. I'll be in touch."

Zeke swept out of the interrogation room in jaunting steps.

Two minutes later, staring at the front entrance of the police department, he wanted nothing more but to finally lay in bed, even as the sun was supposed to creep over the horizon in an hour or so. Keeping his eyes open came at great effort, and his muscles screamed for rest. It looked like he'd have to slap himself on the drive home.

He unlocked his car, noting the wrapper from last night's sandwich on the floor. A wave of regret hit him. Carter didn't deserve the end she got, no matter how much of a bitch she'd been. In the seat, he also found his pill bottle, and his heart seized. He felt stupid for skipping his meds the other night, but he knew he'd taken some when he'd last seen Carter.

I remember everything from today. And the night before. Right?

Hands shaking, he undid the cap and popped a green capsule.

Another red bolt blocked his vision, and he collapsed in the seat, furiously rubbing his eyes. Several heartbeats later, and he could see again. Through cloud-covered vision, he discerned a figure hovering above him.

"Ya alright, man?"

Given his state and time of night, Zeke flailed wildly at the stranger.

"Whoa, calm down."

The sardonic tone was familiar. Still sagging against the seat, Zeke focused.

Dark eyes, curling brown hair, and an admittedly handsome face.

"August. What are you doing here?"

His closest friend smiled down at him. Before answering, he slipped an arm under Zeke, helping him up.

"I'm here to make sure you don't miss anything, like that," August said, pointing.

Zeke caught sight of movement across the street. It was Campbell, climbing into the driver's seat of a white Dodge Caliber. The same kind of car that had waited in Carter's driveway. He remembered that much, because seeing Carter's car, the one that was supposed to be in the shop, had royally pissed him off.

As Campbell drove by, he noticed a familiar bumper sticker:

Why get a man when I can get a dog instead?

"No way two chicks own the same car and sticker in Tampa," August said.

He checked for the second, slighter sticker, a small heart on the left side. Sure enough, it was there.

With Carter's extreme blood loss, his first thought on her killer had been "vamp", but after drawing laughter from Detective Anderson with the initial inquiry, he was less than keen on offering any follow-ups. Like most bloodbag sympathizers, Anderson seemed convinced vamps were intent on integration, stereotyped, prosecuted, and blah blah blah. The obvious suspect was last on the guilty list, with Zeke up top.

He had to investigate this mess himself.

Before he lost sight of Campbell, he started the car. August jumped in without him having to say anything.

~*~