Free Connor's Gamble by Kathy Ivan

statement.
    “Mickey, do you understand these rights?”
    “Yeah, yeah, get on with it.”
    Opening the folder, Remy pulled out an eight and a half by eleven black-and-white photograph and slid it across the tabletop toward Trejo, stopping at the last second with his hand across the top, obscuring most of the picture.  He paid careful attention to Trejo's expression, especially his eyes, when he noted the subject matter.  Remy pulled the picture back, stuffed it inside the folder. 
“No, gimme it.”
    “Mickey, before I show you anything . . .”
    “Dammit, cop, lemme see it.”
    Yes, Remy thought.  Bait the hook with the picture and play the fish.  Give the first gentle tug on the line.
    “I forgot I can't show you anything unless your lawyer is present.  Would you like me to call her?”
    “No, no, gimme the picture.”  The barest hint of desperation filled Trejo's tone.  Damn, he's really anxious to look.  Sick, just sick.
    “Mickey, look at me.”  Remy waited until Trejo's gaze met his.  “Do you want me to call your attorney before we talk?”
    “I don't need that stinking bitch telling me what to do.  Show me the girl.”
    Remy smiled, knowing each denial of his attorney would show up in vivid detail on the video recording.  Opening the folder, he again pulled out the photo he'd tempted Trejo with minutes earlier.
    “Beautiful.”  Trejo's words came out in an awe-filled whisper that turned Remy's stomach.  But he needed answers, and right now Trejo was his only lead.
    “Recognize anything special about the picture, Mickey?”
    Mickey looked down at the picture, then back up to meet Remy's steely-eyed gaze before bursting into peals of laughter.
    “Dream on, cop.  Not my handiwork.  Check the date and time on the bottom.  I was a guest in your lovely holding cell at the time the picture was taken.”
    “Not good enough.  Time stamps can be changed or faked.  The workmanship, the method, everything points directly to you, my friend.”
    Go ahead; poke the snake with a stick.  Might get a rise out of him.  It's worth a shot.
    “Naw, man, I do better work than this.  Although whoever did this was a true professional, an artiste .  Just look at the tape work.  See how it completely covers the lower half of her face, leaving just enough space for her to breathe, but not scream.  Exquisite.”
    The photo was a snapshot from Connor's video e-mail of the naked woman being tortured, bound and gagged.  Tracks of tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks, make-up smeared, mascara black and smudged beneath her eyes.  Stark terror reflected in her gaze.  One of the tamer photos from the video, it still turned his stomach that a woman endured the agony this victim sustained before being killed.
    “Exquisite?  Really, Mickey, that's all you've got to say?  It's duct tape across her mouth.  How is that different from what any street punk would do?”
    “Listen, you simple-minded pig, it's so much more than tape work.  Look at the position of her shoulders.  See the angle she's holding her body?  They've been restrained at the wrists and elbows, bound together with no give or movement.  It's perfect.  If she moves more than an inch in any direction, pop, shoulder dislocation.”  Trejo smiled.  “It's a very special oriental technique few have perfected to this extent.”  He paused for effect.  “Of course, I'm one of those few.”
    Trejo pulled the photo closer with his cuffed hands, gliding a fingertip along the woman's jawline, the touch almost a caress.  His breath became quicker, shallow puffs of air showing his obvious excitement at the woman's captivity and frozen expression of terror.
    “Do you have more, cop?”
    “Yes.”  Remy's answer was abrupt though he made no move to pull any other photos from the folder.
    “Can I see them?”  Eagerness filled Trejo's voice, the twisted hopeful anticipation evident in his words made Remy want to hurl.  He is such a sick