Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read with me .TXT) 📕

attention you get from pretending you know something about this killer. Now I don’t give a damn about your momma and your daddy back in Arizona. I want to know who killed Angela Fernandez. Do you know or not?”

It was odd. Very little changed about his face: a slight lowering of his lids, a hardening of an already granite expression, but the effect was powerful. Just for a moment, there was murderous hatred in his expression, but it passed.

“Yeah, Stone, I know who killed Angela, and I know a lot more besides. And we are going to do this my way, or not at all. And the longer you delay, the more bodies you are going to have on your list.” He sat forward and narrowed his eyes at me. “I have a lot of shit on my conscience, Stone. A lot of bad shit. But I don’t belong in this fuckin’ hell hole. I aim to get out, but when I get out it will be righteous. You understand that concept, Stone? When I get out I ain’t comin’ back. And that means I have to be clean in here…” He went to thump his chest with his fist but the cuffs jarred him.

I snarled at him, “Talk to a priest. I’m a cop, not your confessor!”

He snarled back, “And that’s why it’s got to be you!” He sat back. “You listen to me, tell it my way or you can fuck off back to your inspector and your fuckin’ DA with empty fuckin’ hands. Your choice.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Talk, but cut to the chase at some point, will you?” To underline the point I dropped the folder with the agreement in it on the table where he couldn’t reach it. “I’ve done worse things in my life than go back to the inspector and the DA with empty hands. And for the record, my personal opinion is that this shit hole is exactly where you belong, so don’t push me, Wayne, because the final decision is mine.”

He waited a moment, then asked, “You done?”

“Talk.”

He waited a moment, then seemed to sag. “I came in here today with the intention of makin’ you see that I ain’t the man you think I am.” He tried to raise his hands. “Don’t come back with some wise crack, Stone, just listen, OK?

“But you just wind me up, you know? Like one of them toys you used to get where you turned a key and they started doin’ all kinds of crazy things. I just look at you and I want to fuck with your head.”

I waited.

He stared at me, then took a deep breath. “But, that’s what I was trying to tell you. It’s what my momma used to tell me. I am my own worst enemy.” He looked around him at the walls for a moment. “You know what I used to do when my daddy would come in and say to me, ‘Wayne, did you cut the head off of your sister’s doll?’ or ‘Wayne, you been smokin’ in the barn again?’ or ‘Wayne, have you been drinkin’ my whiskey?’”

He waited, as though he expected me to answer. Finally I sighed. “No, Wayne, what did you do?”

“I never did none of those things, man. Smokin’ in the barn is plumb stupid, because the hay can catch fire, right? I don’t like whiskey, never did. I drink rum, and not much of that. And you won’t never catch Wayne Harris playin’ with dolls, even to cut off their fuckin’ heads. Besides, I loved my little sister. No it was my brother Earl who done all them things. But when my daddy used to ask me, I answered him with all the fuckin’ insolence I knew how. I knew he was gonna whip me, but I didn’t care. I told him, ‘You ain’t never gonna cow me, you motherfucker.’ And he never did. But my momma would say to me, ‘Wayne, you are your own worst enemy.’ And in that sense she was right, because I would bring on myself punishment I didn’t deserve, just for the sake of being contrary, and not bowin’ to the man with the whip. Now you come in here, with all your fuckin’ authority, and I just want to make you mad.” He paused, smiling his snake smile. “And I knew soon as I looked at you, one thing that really makes you mad is an animal like me messin’ with your lady, am I right?”

“Are we done with the confessional?”

“Almost.”

He sat for a long while looking at his hands cuffed on the table. He sat so long I started to think of getting up and leaving, but finally he started talking again. He was serious, he didn’t look at me and he had lost his mocking tone. It was almost like talking to a different person.

“I’m a hard case, Detective Stone. I been in my fair share of brawls, I smoked a lot of dope and I sold a lot of dope, and I snorted my fair share of coke.” He raised his eyes to look at me. “But I ain’t a criminal. I never killed nobody and I never stole from nobody who wasn’t a thief. I’m a pain in the ass, I know that, and I’m a contrary son of a bitch. But seriously, with this body, and my attitude, if I was of a true criminal disposition, don’t you think I’d have a real rap sheet by now? Only reason I’m in prison, Detective, is because New York has stupid laws on drugs. Anywhere else in this country I’d be out on the street by now.” He hesitated, looked away, looked mad. “So, I’m sorry I came on to Detective Dehan. It was a stupid thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself.”

I considered him for a while until he