As frustrating as the questions were, the answers allowed a chance to observe the guy’s reaction to telling the truth, to help distinguish between normal behavior and how he acted while lying, establishing a baseline.
SNB undercover training taught how to look for body language tells. No one ever figured out Lucky’s or Bo’s lies in class. Bo, because he plunged so deeply into character and could rationalize a lie as truth, and Lucky because he’d had one hell of a lot of practice over the years.
The guy ran his finger over his lower lip. “I quit school. I do construction some.”
Meaning no real job. Or rather, nothing legal.
“Can you tell me why you’re here today?” The detective matched her tone to the previous questions.No danger here, folks.
Lucky found himself comparing her to other interrogators he’d encountered—from both sides of the glass.
The leg went back to bouncing. “It’s all a mistake. This guy, he told us the woman wouldn’t give us any trouble.” Suspects never said anything as straight-forward as “attempted kidnapping.” No, they always launched in to how this wasn’t their fault and laid blame on someone else.
Too bad he’d broken into the house of two guys with badges. “The van belongs to the kid’s grandmother, who thought he’d been at a job he’d lost two weeks ago,” Lucky supplied. “The jerkoff currently occupying a hospital bed owned a red Tercel. Those are the vehicles caught on Chastain’s cameras.”
“He’s not the killer,” Bo stated casually. “There were pawnable valuables in Chastain’s house, jewelry, and two hundred bucks in his wallet. This guy wouldn’t have left them there.”
“No. He wouldn’t.” Money hadn’t been the motivator for Chastain’s killing.
“Who is this man, and how do you know him?” Barfield proved why Lucky would never make a good detective. Instead of keeping his voice calm, he’d have the guy up against the wall, pleading for his life.
Shoulda beaten the shit out of him while he’d had the chance.
The guy shrugged, head down, elbows on the table. “I don’t know him that good.”
Truth.
“Do you have his number? Can you call him?” The detective carried on a casual conversation, nothing in her voice to agitate the suspect.
The kid shot from his chair. “I’m telling you, I don’t know who he is or how to contact him. He got my number somehow and called me, wanted me to do a job.”
The kid turned twenty-one two weeks ago, according to his record, and hadn’t yet learned the phrase,“I want my lawyer.”The better for Lucky’s goals.
Bo held his tablet out toward Lucky. “Since turning eighteen, he’s had two shoplifting offenses, one breaking and entering, one arrest for destruction of property, simple possession of marijuana, and has a bit of a reputation as bad news overall. He’s also got a handful of unpaid parking tickets. They found stolen goods in his van. Cellphones, women’s jewelry, a coin collection. Nothing traceable to Chastain. Like I said, if he’d been in the house, he’d have taken more than a life.”
Bo found the information with the touch of a finger. Wouldn’t be hard for someone with Landry’s background to access files and pick a willing felon.
Back in the interrogation room, the detective paid the outburst no mind, keeping calm and measuring her words. Like Walter in “favorite uncle” mode. “What did he want you to do, Jeff?”
The bluster went out of the kid and he slouched back down onto the chair. “He said his woman was pregnant with his baby and left him for some other dude. He wanted her back.” He answered quickly enough to at least hint at the truth. The twitch in his jaw spoke of his nervousness. Occasionally, he glanced at the corner camera, or licked his lips. “We were just s’posed to get her, then he’d call and tell us where to go. He said he’d pay us three-hundred bucks.”
Three hundred measly bucks. Was that the price Landry put on Charlotte’s, and the baby’s, lives?
Bo wrapped warm fingers around Lucky’s wrist. “Down, boy. You’re growling. I’m mad too, but don’t let your anger distract you. You might miss something important.”
Onscreen the detective tapped on her tablet, but raised her eyes to meet the suspect’s. “Did it matter that she didn’t want to go?”
Jeff stayed quiet and studied the tabletop. The leg he’d been bouncing earlier picked up speed. “If she were my woman, I’d want her back.”
The detective moved on. “How was he supposed to pay you?”
“Bitcoin.”
Internet currency. Pretty near untraceable. Bo patted Lucky’s thigh. “We’ll find him. I don’t care how hard he tried to cover his tracks. Whoever was behind this is not going to get away.”
Whoever is behind this.Another reason Walter tagged Bo for his replacement. No matter how pissed off he got, he still kept his head. Didn’t jump to conclusions.
In a good cop, bad cop situation with Bo, Lucky would always be the bad one.