Free Dead of Knight by William R. Potter

P.A.?”
    “No, we’ll just head back there and say hello.”
    On the way to the stockroom, Staal said, “Douglas took a hit for auto theft in ’07and again in ’08.”
    The stockroom was a warehouse of fifteen-foot tall shelves of crated and boxed hardcover and paperback books. They found Douglas still sitting at the palette of books in the middle row. He didn’t look up from his skin magazine, just flicked his butt aside, and reached for another.
    “You Mathew Douglas?” Staal asked. He noticed the cigarette brand was Marlboros.
    “So?” The kid didn’t raise his head.
    “Detectives Staal and Fraser. We need to ask you a few questions.”
    “Shoot.”
    “Where were you around 10:30 last night?” Staal asked as he stepped closer.
    “Home sweet home.”
    “Can anybody verify that?” Fraser asked.
    “Mmm, hmm.”
    Staal kicked Douglas’ legs off the book crate, grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, and jerked him to his feet. “We know that’s bullshit, Douglas. We got a witness that says he saw you boosting a Porsche at 10:30 last night.”
    “Aw, man, no—no way! That’s a damn lie,” Douglas said. His voice squeaked. Staal let go of his shirt.
    “Our sketch artist made this likeness from the witness’s description.”
    Fraser held the photo in front of Douglas.
    “Let me see that,” Douglas took the photo. “Nah, that’s not me, no way. My mom was home around ten, she can tell you, I was home!”
    “If it’s not you, then come with us, stand in a lineup, and if you didn’t do anything, you’ve got no worries,” Staal said.
    “Am I under arrest?”
    “No, but if you come with us down to the precinct and do the line up thing you’ll be back before your shift ends,” Fraser said.
    “Ah, shit, I think I’m gonna be sick!” Douglas belched, doubled over and spat. Then he leapt to his left, ducked under the first shelf and through the narrow space to the next aisle. He was off in a flash.
    “Fuck!” Staal squeezed through the opening in the shelf a few steps behind Douglas.
    Fraser ran around the shelf and into the next aisle. Staal stood up in the row and saw Douglas streak toward the exit and the freedom of the street. Staal raced after him and in ten strides he had gained on the smaller man until he was only three feet behind. Staal dove, knocking Douglas into a stack of flattened boxes. He held him down, cranked Douglas’s left arm behind his back, pulled out a set of handcuffs and set the manacles around both wrists.
    “What the hell you running for, Douglas?” Staal’s eyes bore into him.
    “Nothing.”
    “You boosted a car last night didn’t you?” Fraser asked.
    “No fucking way!”
    “We popped Jay-Jay this morning and he rolled on you man.”
    “Ah-shit...can I tell it my way?”
    “Mathew Douglas, you are under arrest for suspicion of auto theft.” Staal read Douglas his rights as he gripped the cuffs and yanked him to his feet. He marched Douglas through the bookstore, into the mall and out to his car. Once he had his man in the back seat, he paused outside the vehicle to talk to Fraser.
    “Get Jim Dell in to look at a lineup?” asked Fraser.
    “Yeah, and if he IDs this prick, we can get a warrant to search his place.”
    “Better let the Gooch and Hayes know what’s going on.” Fraser opened his door and swung into the passenger side.
    Staal shifted into gear and drove the Impala from the mall lot. When Fraser flipped off his phone after talking to Gina Hayes, Staal said, “You get any dirt on this guy when you showed the photo?”
    “No. Well, maybe. Apparently, he’s popular with the teenage girls. One threw herself at him, but according to the cashier, he turned and almost ran from her. Seems strange for a straight single guy.” 
    “Afraid of women? Stays clear, but then stalks and...”
    “Yeah, maybe. Kinda fits the profile.”
     
    Back at West Precinct, Staal walked Douglas up to Watch Sergeant Philip Taylor’s desk.
    “Interview Three is