Book 2: Chapter 37: The Stories Say... (1/2)
Dan was once again in a police interview room beside Sergeant Kaneda Ito. The last time he'd been in this position had been immediately after his ill-fated ride along, and his brief, violent encounter with a mercenary attempting to bomb the APD. The atmosphere was more welcoming on this occasion, but the mood was no less grim.
The table was bare steel, and quite cold to the touch. Dan kept his elbows on it, as he rested his fist against his cheek. The chairs were shit; uncomfortable by design and utterly devoid of padding. Dan slouched in it anyway, his body molding to the hard metal like an ooze. Ito sat across from him, back perfectly straight in an almost military posture. The two men stared at each other.
”I want to be clear from the beginning,” Ito began in a gentle tone, ”you are in no trouble whatsoever.”
”Well... that's good?” Dan offered back. He hadn't thought he was in any trouble, but it was nice to have it confirmed.
”You made a perfectly legal business arrangement that went bad,” Ito continued patiently. ”There's no need to be nervous.”
”I'm not nervous,” Dan pointed out. He was a little irritated and anxious, but that was about the future, not the present. His thoughts lingered on the culprit. Was it Andros Bartholomew? Or some other enemy that Dan had made without realizing it? Or was it a coincidence, and he was simply chosen at random, another twist of fate and bad luck bringing him into this situation?
”There's no need to be defensive. Anyone would be a little nervous in this situation,” Ito soothed. ”I just want to ease that.”
”That's nice, but I'm fine.” Dan replied with a helpless sigh. His fingered tried to drum impatiently against the table, but he stilled them. ”I think I've just grown used to the insanity.”
Ito regarded him skeptically, but finally relented. ”Very well.”
”So why am I here?” Dan asked.
”We have concerns about your safety,” Ito replied. He stopped, considered his words, then added, ”Again.”
Dan grunted in sour affirmation.
”I don't mean to alarm you, but it's possible that you were targeted,” Ito continued.
Dan's sharp laugh echoed in the small interrogation room.
”Think so?” he asked acerbically. He didn't mean to sound that way; none of this was Ito's fault. Dan was just tired of having people trying to kill him. Recent events had weighed heavily on his mind, and his temper wasn't what it normally was.
”I do,” the sergeant replied stoically, paying Dan's outburst no mind. ”The investigation of the bodies, the disappearance of a high ranking officer, and the gang war are all being kept separate, for now, but we're keeping each lead detective in the loop. You have the dubious honor of being tangentially involved in all three. Expect to spend a good deal of time answering questions over the next week, as the investigation continues.”
”Wonderful,” Dan replied, slouching even further. But something about Ito's words twigged at his mind. ”Wait. Bodies?”
The APD officer hesitated before answering. ”Yes. Three separate bodies have been identified in the... slurry that you were meant to deliver.”
Dan thought he should've felt ill. Instead, he just felt confusion. ”I don't get it,” he stated, honestly frustrated. ”What was the point of it all? Three people are dead for seemingly no reason!” Dan's anger wasn't feigned, and it came roaring into him fast and hot. ”Even if I'd delivered the thing without noticing all the blood and viscera splashing around inside it, the person I was supposed to deliver it to is missing! What was the plan? I drop it off at an empty house and then leave? Because that's what I would have done! I'm not a fucking babysitter! I'm a glorified postal worker! Who pays to deliver a tub of butchered corpses to an empty house!?”
”All good questions,” Ito remarked, ever unflappable. ”Which leads into a question of my own.”
He slowly drew something out of his pocket. It was a white, rectangular film sheet, maybe three or four inches across, with something imprinted on the front. It was a polaroid! One of the old instant film kinds that Dan had only ever seen in movies. There was a face on the front, and Ito's demeanor was deadly serious as he laid the picture down on the table.
”Have you ever me this man, or someone who looks like him?” Ito asked, voice grave.
Dan looked down at the photo. It was clearly old, and the quality was grainy. He gently picked it up between two fingers. ”How old is this?” he asked skeptically. ”It looks like its about to fall apart.”
”About fifty years”
Dan blinked. ”Well it certainly looks its age. Where'd you get it?”
”Old case files in storage. Answer the question, please.”
”Do I know him?” Dan repeated. He glanced down at the picture. The man's face was narrow and long, with gaunt features. He looked a bit like an emaciated horse. His nose was slightly longer than normal, and angled sharply downward. His hair was a curly black, and hung in wild locks around his face. He was clean shaven, and his sharp, pointed chin was clearly visible.
He was completely unfamiliar to Dan.
”Never met the man,” he said.
Ito breathed out a sigh, and Dan realized with shock that the man had been incredibly tense.
”Who is he?” Dan asked, concerned about this sudden line of inquiry.
”That,” Ito tapped the photo with a finger, ”is one of the few remaining pictures of one Jeffrey Saide.”