Wicked Games: Book Two of The Psychopath Series

Chapter 39

The aroma of burnt coffee and stale doughnuts swirled through the air as cops in green uniforms and shiny shoes paced through the room. "Do I need to call my lawyer?" Alex asked as he followed behind Shawn.

Shawn didn't saw a word but gestured to a bald middle-aged man with a round belly that did not shake like jelly. Ron yanked open the thin door at the end of the counter he stood behind.

"Escort him to Clayton's office," Shawn instructed.

"Why can't you do it?" Ron sat his hands on his globular waistline.

Shawn brushed his hand over his strained face, "I'm a patrol cop. I patrol. This is the office. Your domain," Shawn patted Ron on the shoulder and from the scowl on Ron's face Alex knew they weren't friendly.

Ron watched Shawn scurry out the station then cleared his throat. "Follow me."

"Do I need a lawyer?" Alex asked again and like before it fell on deaf ears.

Ron escorted him down the narrow half full hallway. There was a young boy maybe the age of thirteen pushing a mail cart with a squeaky wheel. A fresh-faced rookie stood against the wall listening to adventurous stories from a worn down vet talking about the drug but he shut down in Miami many moons ago.

Alex's sneakers almost caught Ron's heels as he tried to keep up with the man's fast pace. Ron didn't look like he could run an inch to save his life but he was plowing down the ivory tiled hallway like a John Deer mower.

Alex's mind wondered as he broke out in a cold sweat. He was nervous. Police stations made him nervous. He went over all his indiscretions, thinking of things any officer could lock him away for if they knew. If they knew the crimes he committed in his past. His mind roamed like an old cell phone in the woods out of the city limits. Murder. Lies. Deceit. He was involved with it all.

Ron abruptly stopped and Alex ran in the back of him. He quickly jumped back, off the man with his hands up.

Ron frowned before ordering, "Wait in there." He pointed his thick hand toward the open door.

Alex nodded to Ron then cautiously walked in the room. He blinked adjusting his eyes to the bright fluorescent light shining overhead. The blades of a brass ceiling fan whipped around making one big moving circle humming as it threw off cool air on this warm June day on the East Coast.

Alex's stomach did backflips and cartwheels, uncertainty swelled in the silence of the empty office. He ground his teeth as his eyes fell on the plastic board with his face and the faces of his friends taped to it. He flexed the tension out of his shoulders as he moved toward the desk. It wasn't the setup of the stacked files that grabbed at his nerves. It was the names written along the stabs in block letters that disturbed him. Clayton had been investigating them. Digging into their past, learning who the were. It was normal police protocol but it still disturbed Alex. He didn't like people knowing about him when he knew nothing about them. It was an uneven playing field and ever since The Psychopath Maker evaded his privacy he didn't want another person digging around in his life.

"Sorry." Clayton entered with his dress shoes tapping on the buffed tile. "The Sheriff Edmond pulled me into his office." He looked at the big-faced watch on his wrist. "I hope you didn't wait long."

"About a minute," Alex told slipping his hands in the pockets of his khaki's. "Do I need a lawyer?" He asked as if he already knew the answer. Yes, dummy, you need a lawyer.

"No." Clayton's broad mouth turned up into a half smile. "We're just going to have a conversation."

"A...." Alex clenched the inside of his pockets. "Conversation."

Clayton undid the buttons of his tan suit coat with ease, "Yes. Man to man." He folded his coat in half and hung it over the high-backed desk chair. "Have a seat." He gestured to the dingy wooden chair in front of his desk.

Should Alex have a seat or should he call a lawyer?"

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