Dunc nodded, still standing so he loomed over me. “You think you’re playing this smart, but this doesn’t matter. It’s formality, rounding things out, answering some questions. TV, movies, they tell you all this stuff about how you’re supposed to play it, but they don’t touch on how it really goes. The reality is that your average cop isn’t a twenty-something actor with capped teeth. I’m about as good looking as they get.”
Every smartass, sarcastic, petty part of me strained at the bit to throw in a remark in response to that.
“Real cops? Real cops are mostly old men. Baby boomers, crammed into the real jobs, while the rest of us struggle to get by. I had to work my ass off, I had to be smart, get a proper education, get strings pulled, and I only barely squeezed in. You worked hard, maybe, and you weren’t so lucky. Was that it?”
I shrugged.
“This is where I’m supposed to tell you I’m one of the clever ones. That I’m one of your only shots at being listened to. But I’m not. If you want to be heard, get your story out there, then you’re going to have to work at it, even with me. Every moment you wait, all those old and stubborn sons of bitches in this building are going to be telling themselves one thing. They’re probably going to decide what the answer is, search out evidence that connect the dots, and things will start building momentum.”
“You always hear about the people who go in for decades, when they’re completely innocent. Pattern’s the same,” his buddy said. “Cops want a conviction because of racism, or because the crime’s serious.”
“Dead kid serious,” Dunc said.
“Yeah… and you’ve got an overworked lawyer who’s not really making money, who’s too busy to show up for a few hours, who fucks up, or who just can’t argue whatever it is that needs to be argued. Guy goes in, and they don’t get out until it turns out the DNA tests were fucked up, or the Judge was a lunatic.”
“Tragedy,” Dunc said.
“You’re making it sound like your average cop is pretty shitty at their job,” I said.
“Honestly?” Dunc asked. He leaned against the wall. “The average cop is pretty darn good. But average is average. You think about what average usually gets you, and then you figure that half the people out there are below that average. That’s anywhere. Even here. And you can be better than average, while still having a trend that isn’t so good. Like having an awful lot of good cops who are still guys. Guys with families, wives, girlfriends, kids, guys who just want to work and go home at the end of the day.”
“I get what you’re saying,” his partner said. “Good guys, but you spend too many years on a job, you’ll start to take shortcuts, move things along…”
“Human nature,” Dunc said. “You don’t look like the sort that puts an awful lot of stock in the inherent good of human beings.”
Truth be told, I believed what he was saying. That people would be inclined to take shortcuts, that this sort of thing happened.
I met his eyes, but I didn’t agree. “Swing and a miss, Dunc. I-”
A knock on the window interrupted me, loud enough to make me jump. Right next to my ear, no less.
It wasn’t so much the surprise that bothered me as being ganged up on. Two guys in the room was bad enough, but the reminder that the other guys in the building were poised to throw me off balance? It got to me.
For a moment, I was back under that bridge, being attacked by a group, being thrashed, too many to protect myself against.
Yet my answer didn’t change.
I thought of the Knights. Of Maggie. Of Paige. Of Joel, Alexis, Tiffany, and my other friends. Hell, of Evan that tenacious little boy who’d held out as long as he had.
They outweighed the bad. They’d helped me out.
I did believe in the inherent goodness of humanity.
“One second,” Dunc said. He had a smug half-smile on his face.
They’d called him, and they’d timed it to interrupt at just the right moment. No doubt there was a procedure for interrogations, and putting me off balance was part of it.
Dunc opened the door, blocking it with his body so I couldn’t see out.
I only heard bits.
Lawyer. Coffee.
Behaim.
As that last word was spoken, he looked over his shoulder at me.
I looked, and I saw the connections that emanated from him. Nothing strange, nothing that suggested anything special.
But, still, there was a connection, one that moved in the same direction one of my connections did. Right in the direction of Jacob’s Bell.
A moment passed, and he returned to the room, a large mug in hand, something topped with foam. A latte.
“Your lawyer’s here,” he said, stirring his latte. He took a seat, smiling. “Be just a second.”
My lack of response this time was a wary one, not a sensible one.
“If that’s the case, I’m going to pop out and get myself something to drink,” his partner said.
“Sure, Max,” Dunc replied.
I tracked the connections, saw the people moving. Reorganizing.
I saw the focus drop away from Dunc and me both, from the other side of that mirror.
I saw the sole remaining connection flicker and die. Something digital.
There were the two of us in the room, and nobody was looking.
Dunc picked up his latte and rested it on one knee, scooting back a little, respecting my space.
I could see the foam. He’d drawn a rune into it, so it floated on top of his drink.
I was reminded of the first time I’d seen a rune. In a coffee shop, no less.
“Dunc… Behaim?” I asked.
“Duncan Behaim,” he confirmed. “Officer Duncan Behaim, to be exact.”
“Laird’s your dad?”
“Uncle,” he said. “He’s my uncle. The family likes to have a few key people in spots around the town, to keep an eye on things. People who can fly under the local Lord’s radar, for the most part, keep an eye on important business.”
“You know I didn’t do this,” I said, “don’t you?”
He nodded. He smiled some, “I kind of wish they hadn’t let that slip. This next part would be far more effective if you were in the dark.”
“What goal does this serve?” I ask. “Hurting me for the sake of hurting me?”
“You’re a diabolist,” he said. “You’re a threat to the family, you went after Uncle Laird, you’re a threat to everything. I don’t even have to get you sent to jail. All I have to do, apparently, is keep you in custody for the next twenty-four hours. Anything else is extra.”
“You hate me,” I said.
“I don’t. Honestly. I do think you’re dangerous. I think you’re even the unwitting sort of dangerous, which you get when you have too much knowledge and not enough information.”
“And if this goes sour? If you push me a step too far, and I say the wrong name a few too many times?”
“Oh, I’m going to stay close. I can bend certain rules, ensure that nobody thinks too hard about my presence somewhere. If you start, then you prove we’re right, that you’re a monster that needs to be put down. I fill you with bullets, and then the family, our new allies included-”
“The Duchamps.”