Antonio put his badge away and looked at the harmless-looking Darren Woodhall without expression.
“We need to ask you a few questions,” he said.
“About an eight-year-old boy.” Darren went quiet for a moment before leaning back in his chair.
“Eight years ago, there were two child murders near where I lived in Salt Lake City.
Police held me for nine hours and kept telling me confessing was the only way I’d get out.” His jaw tightened slightly as he added, “So eventually I confessed.” Adrian Knight and Antonio took the seats across from him.
Darren straightened his tie and continued in a controlled voice, “To be honest, I’m tired of being treated like a suspect every time something happens.” He presented himself as calm and reasonable, almost as though the detectives were the ones inconveniencing him.
Antonio’s expression turned colder.
“I’m sure the people you assaulted back in Utah were tired of what you did too.” Darren didn’t react much to the accusation.
He adjusted his tie again and said, “I’ve made mistakes, but I completed treatment.” His tone remained almost clinical as he added, “Court ordered.” Antonio clearly didn’t trust him.
Darren looked between the two detectives and continued, “I know my rights.
I don’t even need a lawyer because I have nothing to hide.” He leaned back slightly.
“I had nothing to do with that kid.” Adrian studied him carefully.
Darren’s confidence made it possible he really wasn’t involved in Jeremy’s murder, but that didn’t make him innocent of everything else.
Adrian leaned forward and asked, “Then explain why you weren’t properly registered after moving from Salt Lake City to Chicago.” For the first time, Darren’s eyes flickered.
“I registered,” he replied firmly.
He looked directly at Adrian and Antonio.
“Your computer system has a problem.
I filed everything I was supposed to, but apparently it never showed up.” Darren paused before adding another point in his defense.
“And I’ve got an alibi.
Saturday night I was meeting a client right here.” He gestured around the restaurant.
“There are cameras everywhere, and other people were here.
You can check.” Adrian and Antonio exchanged a glance.
Antonio asked, “You own a car?” “Yes,” Darren replied.
“But it’s been at a repair shop all week.” Antonio’s attention then shifted toward the large bandage visible along Darren’s neck.
He stared at it for a moment before asking, “What happened there?” Darren’s expression changed.
“You get attacked?” His cooperative attitude disappeared almost immediately.
Darren’s face reddened as he pushed his chair back and said, “I don’t want to answer any more questions today.
I have another meeting.” He started to stand.
Antonio’s expression darkened.
“Hey.” Darren kept moving.
Antonio raised his voice.
“This isn’t Salt Lake City, Darren.
Sit down.” The sharp exchange drew several looks from nearby tables.
Darren appeared irritated by the attention, and within seconds a sharply dressed waiter approached with his hands folded neatly in front of him.
“Gentlemen, is there a problem?” The waiter kept his voice polite, though the message underneath was obvious.
“This is a private dining establishment.
If you require assistance, I’d be happy to help.” He glanced toward Antonio and Adrian before adding, “If you’re not dining with us, I may have to ask you to leave.” Antonio stared at him, clearly unimpressed.
The waiter didn’t back down.
Adrian looked between them and sighed inwardly.
Rather than waste time arguing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick stack of cash.
He began placing bills on the table one after another.
One hundred.
Two hundred.
Five hundred.
Eventually, Adrian pushed $1,000 across the table toward the waiter.
“Actually, I do need something.” The waiter blinked.
Adrian smiled.
“Two coffees for me and my colleague.
And some privacy.” For a brief second, the waiter looked completely stunned.
Then his professional smile returned as he collected the cash with far greater enthusiasm than before.
“Of course, sir.
My pleasure.” He stepped away without another complaint.
Adrian watched him leave and muttered, “I liked the stubborn version better.” Antonio and Darren both stared at him.
Who spent a thousand dollars just to avoid being interrupted over two cups of coffee?
Adrian apparently did.
Whatever the case, the distraction was gone.
Antonio turned his attention back toward Darren with an even colder expression.
“Now, we’ve got a dead eight-year-old boy who lived near you, and you’re starting to make this very difficult.” Darren shifted uncomfortably.
Antonio leaned forward.
“You really want me putting cuffs on you in the middle of this restaurant?” His eyes moved briefly toward the surrounding tables.
“In front of everybody?” Darren’s expression tightened.
After a moment, he slowly sat back down.
Adrian immediately returned to the point.
“How did you hurt your neck?” Darren hesitated for only a second before answering.
“Sailing.” Antonio raised an eyebrow.
“I rented a sailboat yesterday,” Darren explained.
“Hit some rocks and got hurt.” The answer sounded polished enough to have been prepared beforehand.
Antonio’s eyes grew colder.
“Fine.
Then I want contact information for every person you worked with over the weekend.” Darren remained silent.
“And give us the name of the boat-rental company,” Antonio continued.
“Also, don’t leave Chicago.” Not long afterward, Adrian and Antonio returned to the 21st District Intelligence Unit and explained everything Darren had told them.
Mouse immediately began checking each part of the story, starting with the sailboat rental and the injury Darren claimed to have suffered.
It didn’t take him long to find a problem.
Mouse turned away from his computer.
“Darren said the neck injury happened sailing?” Antonio nodded.
Mouse shook his head.
“He’s lying.” Everyone looked toward him.
“I called the place that rented him the boat,” Mouse explained.
“No emergency report, no accident call, and nobody there remembers him coming back injured.” Antonio’s face immediately flushed with anger.
Darren had looked him directly in the eye and lied.
Worse, Antonio hadn’t even gotten to drink the thousand-dollar coffee.
“Bastard,” Antonio snapped as he stood.
He looked around the office.
“Where is he now?” Adam Ruzek lowered his phone.
“His coworkers say he went home.” Antonio was already moving toward the locker room.
“Then I guess we’re paying him a visit.” The rest of Intelligence began standing.
“All right, guys,” Antonio called out.
“Gear up.” This time, they weren’t walking into a restaurant for another polite conversation.
Ballistic vests came out, followed by Tasers, sidearms, restraints, and expandable batons as the team prepared for a far more serious visit.
Darren had already lied once.
Now Intelligence wanted to know why.