I frowned and shook my head slowly, as if I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“What . . . what do you mean?”
Detective Sutton drifted back toward the table—slowly, taking his time—and lowered himself back onto his chair. He leaned forward, his gaze steady on mine.
“I mean exactly what I said. How much is it worth to you?”
I glanced past him at his partner, who had again positioned himself against the wall.
“I . . . I don’t think I understand the question.”
“What’s not to understand? I said your life of luxury had finally caught up to you. That you’d pay anything to make this all go away. And you said, and I quote, ‘Absolutely.’ ”
Detective Sutton watched me for another few seconds, then shifted to look at Detective Ortiz.
“You heard him say the same thing, didn’t you?”
Detective Ortiz kept his gaze steady on mine as he nodded.
“I did.”
Detective Sutton turned back to me and again tapped his finger on the evidence bag containing the switchblade.
“So how much, Mr. Walker? I’m honestly curious. If you could pay anything to get out of here—to walk away scot-free—how much would that be?”
“What are you talking about? I can’t just walk away.”
Detective Sutton shifted again in his seat to glance at his partner, then turned back to me.
“Says who?”
“This is some kind of trick. You’re trying to get me to bribe you, is that it? So you can add even more charges?”
Detective Sutton stared at me for another few seconds, and then smiled.
“Okay, Mr. Walker. I see we aren’t going to get anywhere here. Well”—glancing back at his partner—“at least we tried.”
Then the detective was on his feet again, turning away and heading for the door, Detective Ortiz pushing off the wall to follow him, and Detective Sutton had his hand on the doorknob—was in the process of turning it—when I shouted again.
“Wait!”
Both men didn’t move, at least not at first. They stood motionless with their backs to me. Then Detective Sutton turned his head to the side, just slightly, so that I could see his face in profile.
“Yes, Mr. Walker?”
“You can have it all. Every last dollar.”
Detective Sutton turned his head again, this time in the other direction so that he could regard his partner. They stared at each other for a beat, communicating silently, and then both men turned back around.
Detective Ortiz said, “And how much is that?”
I didn’t even have to pause to think about it.
“With stocks, well over two million dollars.”
If the amount impressed the two detectives, they didn’t show it. Hearing two million dollars was as bland and routine to them as if I’d asked to use the restroom.
I was beginning to think that this had been a trick after all—that they were trying to set me up, trying to entrap me—when Detective Sutton sauntered back over to the table, leaned forward, and grinned.
“Every last dollar, huh?”