Page 21 of So Savage (Faith Bold #21)

Faith’s first impression of James Cooper was that he had given up on life. He made no attempt to resist as he was led into the interrogation room and didn’t protest his innocence or show any sign of concern at his situation. When Turk bared his teeth, James ignored him, and other than glancing briefly at the two agents, he offered no greeting.

He sat with his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast, his face otherwise expressionless. His disheveled clothes sported tears, holes and several days’ worth of dirt and grime. His hair—close-cropped in his driver license photo—spread out in a tangled, matted mop. He had a beard that was equally tangled and matted.

But in those downcast eyes, Faith could see a spark of anger and frustration at the injustices he believed he had suffered. He might not have hope for his future, but he was angry. That was enough to make some men kill.

Marcus started the interrogation. “This interview will be recorded. Do you understand?”

James didn’t reply. Marcus shared a look with Faith and tried again. “Mr. Cooper, we need to record this interview for your safety and for ours. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

James lifted his eyes to Marcus. Faith thought he was going to stonewall them again, but he nodded slowly.

Marcus pressed the record button and said, “Will you please state your name for the record?”

“James Cooper.”

James had a deep basso voice that hard living had roughened into a gravelly rumble. Other than that, his voice was toneless. No emotion leaked through.

“Mr. Cooper, do you understand why you’re here?”

“You believe I murdered some people,” James replied.

Faith named them. "Master Sergeant Thomas Reeves, USMC, Staff Sergeant Kevin Walsh, U.S. Army, and Technical Sergeant Maria Delgado, USAF."

She watched his face to see if her reacted to their names, or to the confirmation that Delgado was dead. He might not know that Delgado was still alive, but he might, and his reaction might show that and confirm that they had their killer.

He didn’t react.

“Did you kill them?” Faith asked.

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, a sort of bitter amusement.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” Faith replied. “It matters very much.”

"No, I mean, does it matter if I answer? If I tell you I didn't, will you believe me?"

“We’ll look at all of the evidence and make a determination,” Marcus replied. “It will help us very much if you tell us the truth.”

James gave Marcus a brief, sarcastic smile. “No. I didn’t kill them.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts last night?” Faith asked.

“No. I can’t account for my whereabouts for the past three months. I’ve been homeless for five months, and the shelters fill up fast during winter. I’ve been living at my old property on Beakman Road where your officers picked me up.”

“You still own the property?”

“No, I foreclosed on it years ago, but the bank’s never bothered to do anything with it.”

“They’ve just let it lie fallow?”

“I don’t know what fallow means, but they haven’t touched it.”

Faith frowned. “I don’t believe that. They wouldn’t just let a property sit like that so they can pay property taxes on something that’s not making them any money.”

"They would if they wanted to list it as an asset for tax purposes," James countered. He shrugged. "But I don't know if that's the reason. I just need a place to sleep where I can get out of the cold, and that's the best place I can find right now."

“And you were there last night?”

“Every night for the past five months. But I can’t prove it because no one sees me there. No one sees me at all.” He smiled sourly. “I’m the world’s most invisible giant.”

Faith shared a grim look with Marcus. That could complicate things a little. True, without an alibi, James couldn’t prove his innocence, but it would be difficult for them to prove guilt just because he lived in an abandoned building that was out of the way.

And she hadn’t found any weapons or darts there. That seed of doubt was germinating again.

“I understand you had an encounter with one of our victims,” Marcus said. “Miss Delgado. Can you explain what happened?”

“If I knew who she was, maybe,” James replied.

He was being sarcastic now. Faith decided to call him out on that and see how he reacted. She leaned forward and held his eyes. "This isn't funny, James. It's not a joke to us. People are dead, and hearing you taunt them makes me think that you don’t care about the fact that they’re dead. Or maybe you’re happy that they’re dead.”

“It’s the first one,” James replied. “I don’t care that they’re dead. The world doesn’t care about me, so I don’t feel a need to care about them.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Miss Delgado is a K9 handler who visited the practice of Dr. Nathan Hayes with her Dobermann. From what we understand, you and Miss Delgado got into an altercation.”

James eyes widened. "Oh yeah. I remember that now. She had a Dobermann whose hips were already showing signs of arthritis at five years old." His hands slowly closed into fists. "Five years old, and the dog needed to be put on medication for the rest of its life. That's just bullshit. It's animal abuse, but we accept it because, hey, they help the military. Why risk humans getting killed when you can just kill dogs?"

His eyes fell to Turk. "That's a pretty nasty scar your dog has," he told Faith. "He gets that in a fight with a suspect?"

“Yes.”

James nodded. “Then you’re a piece of shit.”

Marcus frowned and began to correct him, but Faith held up her hand. Turk had actually suffered that injury when Jethro Trammell killed Jack Preston, but James didn’t need to know that. “What do you think should happen to people like me?” Faith asked. “Do you think we deserve to die?”

“Deserve? Sure you do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be the one to send you to hell.”

“You sure?” Faith pressed. “Jail is a roof over your head, hot meals every day, and no more waiting around to die in the snow.”

James laughed. “I’ll rob a gas station if I want to go to jail. I’m not going to kill people. I’m big, and I won’t lie, I have a temper, but I’m not a murderer.”

"It's interesting that you bring up a temper," Faith replied. "Our last victim—Miss Delgado—ran into someone who had a temper. A bad temper. She's still alive"—again she watched his face, and again, he showed no reaction—" but she's hurt very badly. Marcus here said it was one of the worst beatings he's seen, right Marcus."

“That’s true,” Marcus confirmed. “She looks like she was trampled by an elephant.”

“She’s the one who owned the Dobermann?”

“That’s her.”

“Then she got what she deserved.”

Faith sighed. “You’re making it hard for us to clear you as a suspect, Mr. Cooper.”

James shrugged. “If I said that I was sorry and felt bad and begged you to believe that I was innocent, would it change anything?”

“It would make it easier for us to provide closure to these families if we knew that you were telling the truth,” Marcus reminded him.

“But I am telling you the truth. And you don’t believe me. And I can’t prove it because I’ve lived alone for months. So…” He lifted his hands as far as the shackles would allow.

That was the real problem. They wanted a confession because right now they had nothing but an anecdote of a months-old argument with one victim and the fact that James didn’t have an alibi. If they could connect him to the murder weapons somehow, then they would have more, maybe even enough to convict, but they didn’t.

Still, it might be worthwhile to pull that thread. “Have you ever used a tranquilizer gun?” Faith asked.

"No. It's inhumane. Dogs don't need to be drugged into submission. If you're calm and direct with them and reward them for good behavior, you can gain their trust. But all of the scare tactics that law enforcement and the military use—just result in broken dogs. Do you know why I lost my business, Special Agent?"

“Could it have something to do with your assault on Kevin Walsh when you were training him and his K9?”

James frowned. He cocked his head and looked up at the ceiling. “Walsh… Wait, is that the kid who kept trying to get his dog to jump through hoops?”

“You tell me.”

James chuckled. “Well, if it’s the incident I’m thinking of, I was trying to demonstrate that dog training didn’t need to be stern and vicious. This punk kept shouting at his dog, berating it when it wouldn’t jump through these hoops that I’d taken my greyhounds through. I told him to back off and that if he shouted at his dog again, we’d have a problem. He laughed at me and said something snotty. I can’t remember what. So I shoved him into a wall.” He shrugged. “Army didn’t like that. They called a hearing and got me fired. I remember that they had a Marine Corps NCO on the board, which I thought was weird.”

"That Marine was Thomas Reeves." She leaned forward again. "So you see why we're concerned about you. You have a connection with all three of our victims: a physical altercation with one and a verbal altercation with another. You seem to have a hard time controlling your anger when it comes to dogs."

James sighed. His sarcasm faded. He looked at Turk, and his brow furrowed. "It's just not fair. Someone has to stand up for these dogs, and no one will. I'm doing the best I can to speak for those who can't speak for themselves. And look what it's gotten me? I lose my business, I lose my job, I lose my home, and now here I am sitting in front of you accused of murder."

Faith nodded. “So you’ve never used a tranquilizer gun?”

James laughed and looked up at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ. No, I haven’t. I can’t prove that either, because I’m afraid I don’t film every waking moment of my life. Who knows? Maybe I used one when no one was looking?”

“Sarcasm won’t help you,” Marcus warned again.

“Nothing will help me. You guys have come to your own conclusions about me, and there’s nothing I can do that’s going to make you guys feel otherwise. Look, just charge me, okay? You’re right. It’s a roof and three square. Sucks that the papers are going to tell people I’m a murderer, but hey, some people win and some people lose. It’s just my lot in life.”

Faith tried one more tack. “Do you know anyone else who might want these three dead?”

He leaned forward and looked at her with so much hate that she had to fight an urge to flinch away. “The same people that should want you dead. People who care about dogs.”

Turk growled and got to his feet. Faith held a hand to steady him. “I think that’s enough for now, Detective. Let’s give James some time to think. Maybe he’ll have better answers for us tomorrow.”

Marcus nodded and got to his feet. “I hope you take this seriously next time, Mr. Cooper. It’s looking very bad for you right now.”

“That’s every day of my life,” James replied. “There’s no point fighting it anymore.”

Faith and Turk followed Marcus from the room. Normally, an interrogation like this would leave Faith fairly sure if someone was guilty or not, but talking to James had only left her confused.

Did she have her killer in custody, or did she have a bitter, broken down but still innocent man who just didn’t think he had a chance to defend himself?

And if she didn’t have the killer, then was he out there somewhere right now plotting his next murder?