Free The Interrogation by Thomas H. Cook Page B

Dunlap said. “I did my time on that bust. But I ain’t got nothing here. Nothing … illegal. And so you ain’t got no … what you call it … no probable cause.”
    “Sounds like you been hitting the law books, Dunlap,” Pierce said.
    Dunlap looked at Cohen imploringly. “I’m just making a point here. I don’t want no trouble.”
    Pierce rattled the marbles back into the bucket. “So, you’re sure you never had any dealings with this guy?”
    Dunlap shook his head firmly. “Never. You know why? ’Cause a bum like that comes into my store, I’d figure him for a shoplifter.” He glanced from one detective to another. “Know what I mean? A guy I’d keep an eye on.”
    “The little girl was wearing a locket,” Cohen told him. “Heart-shaped. Silver. Whoever killed her took it with him. If it happens to turn up, I’d expect a call.”
    “Yeah, sure …”
    “We’ll be in touch,” Cohen said. He turned toward the door.
    “Just make sure you have a warrant next time,” Dunlap chirped lightly.
    Pierce wheeled, grabbed him by the shirt, and slammed him into the wall, pressing hard against him.
    “Don’t fuck with me, Dunlap,” Pierce snarled. “A little girl is dead.”
    Cohen grabbed Pierce’s shoulders. “Come on now, Jack. Jack—you’ve made your point.” He drew Pierce backward, his eyes on Dunlap sternly. “I am right about that, aren’t I, Harry? My partner has made his point, hasn’t he?”
    Dunlap adjusted his rumpled sweatshirt. His brow gleamed with perspiration. “Yeah, sure, he made his point.”
    Cohen studied Dunlap’s doughy face, looking for some hint of conscience, but found only the usual animal rapacity, force the only thing this man would ever understand. “Because if you hold out on us, we’ll come back in a real bad mood,” he said.
    Dunlap nodded briskly. “Yeah, okay.”
    “A real bad mood,” Pierce said threateningly, then turned on his heel and slammed out the door.
    8:43 P.M. , September 12, Interrogation Room 3
    “So, according to Harry Dunlap, you never sold him anything,” Pierce said. “Harry Dunlap swore he’d never even seen you, heard of you, nothing.”
    “He’s lying,” Smalls insisted.
    “No, you’re lying, Smalls. You’re lying about Dunlap. You never sold him a fucking thing. Toys or anything else. Look at me, Smalls. You collected those toys because you intended to use them to lure some little kid over to you. Isn’t that right?”
    “I never lured anybody.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Pierce snapped. “Stop lying to me!”
    Cohen stepped forward, placed a firm hand on Pierce’s shoulder, a silent signal that Pierce was making no progress.
    Pierce nodded reluctantly, giving in to Cohen’s conclusion. He shoved his chair back, walked to the door of Interrogation Room 3, glanced back, and in that instant saw something glimmer darkly in Smalls’ eyes. He had seen the same glimmer in Costa’s eyes. Because of that he knew without the slightest doubt that Smalls was concealing something terrible, the murder of Cathy Lake. He started to speak, but he knew whatever he said would be a threat, so he said nothing more.
    Once outside the interrogation room, Pierce took the stairs two at a time down to the garage, passing the Criminal Files Room, a single light burning inside the room. There, hunched over a table, he saw Chief Burke. He went inside.
    “I wanted to let you know that I’m going to Seaview.”
    Burke looked up from the files. “Why?”
    “Cohen thinks Smalls may have come from there. It’s possible we could find something. An outstanding warrant or something we could use in the interrogation.”
    “It’s not going well, then?”
    “No,” Pierce admitted. “So far, Seaview is our only lead. The rest is just the same crap we’ve been getting for the last eleven days.”
    Burke nodded. “Seaview, then.”
    Pierce knew he was being dismissed. “Yes, sir.”
    Moments later he drove out of the garage. A hard right