19

ARN FOLLOWED CHIEF OBLANSKI INTO the sound-proof room and closed the door after them. He turned the sound up on a speaker in the wall as Quentin Barb—aka Colonel Jonah Barb—sat upright and stoic in the chair on the other side of the one-way glass. “Only reason I’m letting you set in on this interrogation,” the chief said, “is because you’ve done enough nosing around about Jonah that something he says might click.”

“It might if you tell me a little more than you did when you woke me up.”

“Fair enough,” Oblanski said. “A homeless man found Brian Gibbs’ body in back of the American Legion about sunup. He had been dead for four to five hours according to the coroner.”

“You said Gibbs was bludgeoned to death.”

“To put it mildly. There was so little left of the man’s face that he was almost unrecognizable from his driver’s license photo. If he didn’t have his DL in his wallet, we might have taken a lot longer to identify who he was.”

“Any money left in his wallet?”

“Four-hundred dollars and a few cents,” Oblanski answered.

Arn’s eyebrows arched. “Rules out robbery. Who’s doing the interrogation?”

“Mike the Mauler,” Oblanski said. Mike Sommers had acquired his nickname because he had an uncanny way of coaxing confessions out of people—even sometimes when they didn’t commit the crime. And he did so without any threats. Without any intimidation they could later claim in court. “Here he is now.”

Mike the Mauler entered the interrogation room carrying a single, thin file under one arm. At barely five foot, the investigator had been interrogating criminals longer than most officers on the department had been alive. He had developed that same gut-instinct Arn had developed over the years of listening to other men’s lies. He sat on a chair across a tiny table from Jonah and laid the file on top.

“There must be some compelling reason why I’m here,” Jonah said.

Mike smiled but remained silent as he scooted his chair closer to Jonah. He cleared his throat nervously like this was his first rodeo before asking, “Yu have been read your Miranda rights it appears.”

“At the motel when your officers dragged me out of bed. But I was just a little bit groggy so I’m not sure what they said as The Mauler fished his rights card out of his shirt pocket and began reading it to Jonah.

Oblanski turned the sound down. “The patrol officers who found Jonah’s motel room said it appeared as if he had been sleeping when they rousted him out of bed. Means he had either been sleeping all night like he claimed—.”

“Or he killed Brian Gibbs earlier in the night and really was sleeping.”

“He’s good for it,” Oblanski said and turned up the speaker volume.

“Jonah Bard,” The Mauler said, pausing as if not knowing. “Is that your given name?”

“I go by Jonah now. Like the biblical feller who got hisself swallowed by the whale and later escaped.”

“So, you do equate yourself with Jonah in the Old Testament?”

Oblanski turned the volume down again. “Won’t be much to hear for a while. Ol’ Mike’s just speaking small talk, loosening Jonah up, getting him comfortable talking before he drills the main point home.”

Arn took off the lid of the Starbucks cup and blew on it to cool the Americano. “Why do you think Jonah is good for Gibbs’ murder?”

“Some drunk—Harlan something-or-other, his name’s in the report—claimed Jonah was in the Legion and had some words with Gibbs. He remembered you coming in and talking with Gibbs.

“But Jonah left after a few minutes, according to Gibbs. About an hour before I came in,” Arn said. “Came back a few hours later. Drunker ’n Harlan if you can believe him. Jonah picked a fight with Gibbs which lasted all of twenty seconds before Gibbs gave him the bum’s rush.”

“What was the fight about?”

Oblanski nodded to the one-way glass. “Jonah thought it was his right to waltz into the Legion and recruit for his RSL. Gibbs thought otherwise. I’m leaning towards Jonah hanging around until Gibbs locked up for the night and ambushing him.”

“What was the murder weapon?” Arn asked.

Oblanski wiped coffee dripping from Arn’s cup onto his shirt front. “We don’t now yet. Officers combed the alley in back of the Legion for six blocks either way. Nothing discarded. Nothing tossed in the dumpsters.”

“And nothing in his motel room by the sounds of it?”

Oblanski stared at the glass and nodded. “If Jonah killed Gibbs shortly after he locked the Legion up for the night, he’d have more than enough time to dispose of any weapon.”

“What kind of weapon you think it was?”

“Something big and round,” Oblanski answered. “Pipe of some kind perhaps. Something that made deep, rounded marks in Gibbs’ head and face.” He turned up the volume to the interrogation room.

“We have two witnesses who will testify that you threatened to kill Brian Gibbs,” The Mauler said.

Jonah waved the air. “That was just the booze talking. I’d never hurt him.” He tilted his head back and laughed hard. “As big as that man is—was—do you think I could have hurt him any? Look at me compared to that big bastard.”

“Any man can kill with the right tools,” The Mauler said.

Jonah tapped his chest. “But not this man.”

“Then how do you explain this? The Mauler opened a small envelope and shook out a small, silver colonel wing and laid it on the table. “Whoever killed the victim must have lost it in the struggle.”

Jonah picked up the shiny wing that reflected the light as if they were just buffed.

The Mauler scooted his chair closer, his knee touching Jonah’s knee. “Looks like the wings that you wear when your group is protesting.”

Jonah hung his head. “You can get DNA from those wings, can’t you?”

“We can. And our crime scene tech is processing your motel room now.”

Jonah shook his head, and Arn thought the man was going to confess when he said, “Then there’s only one thing to say.” He looked up and laughed. “Kiss my behind. I got nothing to say to you. Those wings,” he flicked it with his finger, and it skidded across the table, “can be bought off the internet, or at any military surplus store. Just like I bought mine.” He stood. “You got nothing on me. Process my room all you want, and when you’re finished, prepare yourself and your department for a lawsuit. In case you didn’t know, we have two attorneys living and organizing with us down in Winsdor.” He straightened his shirt. “Now unless you’re going to arrest me, I’m walking out the door.”

The Mauler looked at the one-way glass and Oblanski keyed his portable radio twice, his signal to allow Jonah to walk.

He knocked the chair over as he turned and stormed out the interrogation room.

The Mauler walked into the viewing room and tossed his file folder on the counter. “I was certain he was going to break down. Sorry, boss.”

“You did your best. Any read on him?”

The Mauler plopped himself in a chair, a disgusted look on his thin face. “Jonah is one cool customer. For the life of me, I couldn’t get any read on him. I could not tell if the man was lying or not.”

“Meaning he’s a habitual liar and used to it,” Oblanski said. “Or a sociopath who doesn’t even know right from wrong.”

“Or that he’s innocent,” Arn added.