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“Yes, I’m sure. Sorry, Jay.” I turn to face him and wait for a response, but he stands up and straightens his jacket. His clean-shaven jaw clenches as he grabs his briefcase and I can see he wants to say something, but he holds it in.
Probably a good call on his part.
I watch him walk around the table and exit without another word, leaving me alone with the cop.
“I’m Detective Bradshaw, Mr. Thompson.”
“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but …” I reply with a smirk and tilt my hands out with my palms up. Detective Bradshaw doesn’t laugh or respond to my little joke and that’s fine. They never do in here where it’s recorded. I know how this works.
“Have you been informed of your rights?”
“I have,” I answer him.
“And do you know what you’re being charged with?”
“Charged?” I say and although I keep my voice even, my back stiffens slightly as my muscles tense. “I wasn’t informed I was being charged with anything.” That statement comes out far too casually for the adrenaline racing through me.
“Well, I imagine there’s no refuting the charge on your part. You supplied Tony Lewis with the cocaine he overdosed on.”
“You want me to admit to handing over the cocaine to him, so you have someone behind bars to take the fall for a hotshot’s death?” I ask him sarcastically, seamlessly hiding how my nerves want to crack and how my blood pounds in my ears. I let out an uneasy huff of a laugh and shake my head. Leaning back in my seat, I look him in the eyes with a smile as I say, “That’s not happening, Detective.”
“Well, someone is going to go down for murder, yes.” He sucks his teeth as he stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’d only be sentenced for your part and we’re willing to cut you a deal. Whoever laced it with fentanyl intended for it to kill. There’s no doubt in the DA’s mind that it’s murder, Mr. Thompson. I’d take the deal if I were you.”
He waits for a reaction, but I use every ounce of energy in me to not give him anything. I won’t say a word. Inside, I’m denying it. No fucking way. There’s no way James would give a client something that would kill him. They’re wrong. If it wasn’t James … then who?
“We know it’s someone within the firm. It’s not the first time one of New York Stride Public Relation’s clients have turned up dead.” He leans back and adds, “As I’m sure you’re aware.”
As he talks, he half pushes, half tosses the manila folder that was sitting on his end of the table my way. It lands with a heavy thud in front of me and I open it, feigning disinterest.
“Nothing points to that person being you, but this was intentional. Someone wanted whoever was going to be taking this coke to die. It was laced with enough fentanyl to kill instantly.”
I don’t say anything as he pauses, opening the manila folder when I don’t and pulling out a page with charts and shit I don’t know anything about. He points his finger to a graph, then taps it far too hard, turning his knuckles white. “Whoever did it wanted even the smallest dose to kill.”
Silence. All I do is stare at the man and then force my gaze back down, to the photos of Tony, dead on the floor of that hotel room.
“If you have any information on how we’d go about finding the killer, that’d be useful, and we’d certainly be grateful for that.”
I have to calmly exhale a few times, keeping as still as possible and making sure my expression doesn’t change in the least before I can respond. “I really liked Tony and it’s a shame what happened to him. It’s extremely upsetting to think someone murdered him.”
“It is, especially since he didn’t have any enemies we can find,” the cop answers, his voice tighter now and then he leans forward.
“You know, if we can’t find who did it, you’ll be taking the full brunt of things.”
I let a sarcastic laugh rock my shoulders and then look toward the door to my left. The one that leads to my freedom. “I’m sorry, Detective, everyone I know loved Tony and I didn’t give him any drugs.” I lean forward, mimicking his posture as I add, “It’s illegal.”
“If that’s the way you want to play it.” His jaw is tense as he reaches for the folder and I lean back in my seat again and only watch as he collects the papers.
“Am I free to go now? I’d like to leave.”
He stands up abruptly, pushing the chair back a few inches, making the steel chair legs scrape noisily across the floor. “I don’t think so. Maybe a night in the cells will help you remember something.”
Fucking prick. Not that I’m surprised. It’s a game of chess and his side has more pieces and a head start. I stay still and wait, keeping my guard up.
“Be back in a bit, Thompson.”
I clench my jaw and crack my knuckles as I watch him leave.
It’s only when the door shuts and I’m left alone in the room that I realize the extent of what Detective Bradshaw said.
Someonewantedto kill Tony, knowing I’d give the coke to him. Maybe even thinking I’d take it too. I’m known for partying. It’s why clients choose me to represent them in the firm. My head spins as I try to recall that night. I don’t broadcast that I’m not a cokehead and a glass of whiskey is enough for me. Still, everyone in the scene knows I’m down for whatever they’re in the mood for. There’s no way anyone else could have gotten in there. James had the master key, and he gave me the only other copy.
I was there to party with the clients and make sure they had a good time, but stayed out of trouble. It was easy enough in the rec room.
For the last ten minutes, I’ve been thinking that someone was trying to kill Tony. It’s what the detective was suggesting.
I’d bet anything that James thought I’d take a hit at least.
Maybe it’s paranoia, but as I sit alone in the room, all I can think is that the coke was never intended for Tony.
Someone wanted me dead.