If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [86]
“I’m confident you’ll get inside his head,” Patrick said. “Ten minutes and I’ll bet he’ll lose his temper.”
“Am I that annoying?”
“You can be.”
Paul Swain was not what Sean expected.
Sean faced the prisoner in a private interview room usually reserved for lawyers and their clients. Patrick and a senior guard were on the other side of the window, unseen, but Sean felt their presence. He had to play this right.
If Swain knew what he needed, he wouldn’t just hand it over. Sean’s only ace was to make Swain think he was looking for something completely different.
Forty-four, Swain had a handsome face and neatly trimmed dark hair. His palms and fingers were rough from labor, and there were scars on the back of his hands from fighting. A faded scar starting behind his ear and ending at his chin looked like it might have been serious at the time. There was a more recent scar at his temple, still red and raised.
Except for the physical scars, there was nothing about Paul Swain’s demeanor that said master criminal. Even his quiet voice was well modulated.
“They told me you’re not a cop.”
“That’s correct.”
“Who are you?”
“Sean Rogan. Private investigator.”
“Cop lite.”
Sean shrugged and acted disinterested in Swain’s approval. “I don’t like cops as a rule. Good cops have their hands tied because of a system that favors pricks like you, and bad cops are worse because they abuse their power under the color of authority.”
“And you’re the noble knight in shining armor?”
He shook his head. “Not noble, and I’m certainly not a knight. But I hate bullies, whether they’re cops or criminals.”
“Applause,” Swain said with a half-smile and leaned back in his chair. “Did you rehearse that just for me?”
“I didn’t know you existed until this week.”
“I have no reason to help you.”
“I haven’t asked for your help.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then you’re wasting my time.”
“I’ve read over the files from your case,” Sean lied smoothly. All he had was the names of the cops on the task force. “Agent Martinelli—what a prick.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“I can imagine. They always make themselves look good on paper, but you and I know they fuck with the Constitution when they can get away with it.” Sean leaned forward. “I’ve had my own run-ins with the Feds.”
“Now you’re just playing me, Rogan. Trying to be my friend. Acting all good cop with no corresponding bad cop.”
“I’m not playing cop, good or bad. The last thing I want to be is subjected to arbitrary rules and regulations.” That was certainly the truth. “You knew Joe Hendrickson, right?”
Swain didn’t answer, just shook his head in disgust.
“I know you did. Spruce Lake had seven hundred ninety people at the last census, and we know that has dropped since. Cut in half, in fact. I was hired by his sons—Tim and Adam. Tim is the older one, Adam—”
“I know who they are,” Swain said, impatient. “I don’t need no goddamn family tree drawn for me.” First chink in the armor.
“They want to open a resort. Small scale, a few cabins, a lodge with ten rooms, nature walks, that kind of shit.”
Swain leaned back again. “No one wants to vacation in Spruce Lake.”
“Tourism is far from my area of expertise. Thing is, there’s a group of people trying to shut it down, and guess who they’re using to do it? Your son.”
A bare hint of rage—the tightening of his fists. So small Sean almost missed it.
“To continue with the happenings in your hometown, Tim and Adam came up with a plan for a resort, and they’ve had repeated problems. Equipment destroyed. A cabin trashed. The kitchen set on fire. That’s felony arson. Ricky is seventeen. He could be tried as an adult if some ladder-climbing prosecutor wants to set an example.”
Swain’s anger was growing, his eyes alert, his ears focused on Sean’s every word though he didn’t move a muscle.
“I’m going to lay it all out for you, Swain, because if you’re behind it, you already know. If you’re not behind it, I don’t care if you know.” Sean leaned