Free The Way Things Are by A.J. Thomas

case you try to kill each other. Then he wants to talk to you again.”
    Patrick gaped at him. “Your brother?”
    “My name is Ken Atkins,” Ken said simply. “My brother was the detective who questioned you this morning. The younger one, I mean.”
    “Jesus,” Patrick whispered. “I already told the police everything. It’s almost six o’clock. I’ve got a kid to feed and I have to get to work. I don’t know what else your brother thinks there is to get out of me, but he could have picked up the goddamned phone. You didn’t have to pull this shit.” Patrick gestured to the bustling crime scene in front of them. “Who do I have to file a complaint with to get Jay assigned to new JPC?”
    “There’s no reason to—”
    “There was no reason for him”—Patrick pointed at Detective Atkins—“to set this up. You expect me to cooperate knowing he’s willing to use my kid as a pawn for his job?”
    “I would never—”
    “Yeah, right. You were randomly assigned to my son’s case? After I spent the morning being interrogated by that asshole? He even mentioned Jay! If something’s important, you can just ask about it. You don’t have to try and manipulate me through my kid.” Patrick took a deep breath and loosened his fingers from where they were digging into the car’s upholstery. Ken Atkins was hanging in the open driver’s side door, his expression confused and angry.
    Patrick wanted to laugh at the look on his face, but he was too pissed. “Can I get my truck or not?”
    “As soon as my brother says it’s all right, you can get your truck. But, Mr. Connelly, I was assigned to your son’s case last night before you were ever arrested. I admit the fact that my brother is the one who arrested you is a really weird coincidence, but I would never use any child on my caseload—”
    Patrick glanced at the patrol car the man in the Port Authority uniform had been shoved into. The door was closed, and Patrick was pretty sure there was no way for the guy to get out. “Jay, get your bag. I’d rather take the bus and get the truck on Monday than put up with this bullshit.”
     
     
    “K ENNY ?”
    There was no mistaking Malcolm’s smile for a sign he was happy. “How, and why, did you fuck things up with my witness?”
    “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Ken insisted, watching Patrick Connelly and his son trudge along the gray two-lane road. “Apparently the man isn’t a big believer in coincidence.”
    “He thought this”—Malcolm gestured between Ken and himself—“was some kind of setup?”
    “Sounded that way. As if anybody in youth probation would use a kid on their caseload like that.”
    Malcolm shrugged. “I would.”
    “That’s why you’d never, ever, make it in my job.”
    “You’re just too nice. You know, the department’s doing another physical exam at the end of the month. If you make it this time, we can cure you of that whole ‘nice’ thing before you’ve finished your first year.”
    Ken didn’t want to explain, for the hundredth time, that he couldn’t pass the physical test. “Even if I can get my knee in good enough shape to manage the run for the exam, I’d never be able to finish the police academy.”
    “I just think you shouldn’t give up.” Malcolm’s smile faded as he listened to something over the radio attached to his collar. “Whatever happened with my witness, fix it. I doubt I have anything on this scene that hasn’t been compromised because the suspect was one of the officers the Port called in to help deal with it, so I need Connelly.”
    Ken leaned around Malcolm and glanced at the coroner vans. The crime scene units hadn’t finished collecting evidence. The bodies were tucked into body bags, but they were still on the scene. “They had their own guys in? Before the bodies were even removed?”
    “I had no clue I’d be looking for one of their so-called cops, so I didn’t say anything. And when I pointed out that it wasn’t exactly