L. Sellers - The Gauntlet Assassin

For the first half hour, she’d been left alone in the room and she’d sat on the floor and meditated. When Harper came back, he spent twenty minutes taking her back over the events that afternoon and evening, trying to catch her in an inconsistency. Lara had been on the other side of the table enough times to know that less was better. She repeated her earlier statements, but not verbatim, because that would sound rehearsed, and said little else.

Now it was nearly midnight and he abruptly switched it up. “What kind of martial arts training do you have?”

“Aikido, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a lot of kickboxing.”

“Have you ever seriously hurt anyone?”

For a split second, she hated him for asking. She also admired him for being good at his job. “As a private citizen? Or are you asking about my law-enforcement career?”

“As a citizen.”

“I was sexually assaulted once as a college student. I fought back and he ended up with a groin injury.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s all I’m prepared to tell you.”

“What about as a police officer, Lara? Did you hurt anyone?”

“I got into a few skirmishes with suspects.”

“What else?”

“None of it is relevant.” Her answer sounded evasive because it was.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Lara?”

“I assume you contacted the Eugene Police Department and asked for my service record. So you know everything.”

He leaned forward, his voice an intense whisper. “Here’s what I know. You have a history of violence, and you punched the victim an hour before she died. You own a Taser, and Kirsten had a stun-gun wound on her chest. You were the last person to see her alive, and the person to report her body. You’re probably going down for this unless you give me someone else.”

Lara’s pulse escalated as she heard the case against her. If she were in Harper’s position, she wouldn’t spend much time looking for anyone else. “I didn’t kill Kirsten, no matter how it looks. You have to at least dig around in her past and look at ex-boyfriends. I have no motive.”

“You’re a hothead and I think it was probably an accident. Tell me how it happened, Lara, so I can get the DA to offer a deal for aggravated manslaughter.”

She wished he would stop saying her name in that caressing tone. The bastard was wrong, but he was good at what he did. “Earlier, before I went out for a run, she assaulted me and I defended myself, then I walked away.” Lara paused to steady her voice. “You have the wrong idea about me. I’m not a violent person.”

“It’s unfortunate for you that the camera shut off at 7:59, right after you knocked Kirsten to the ground. We don’t have any proof that you walked away instead of assaulting her further.”

Lara decided to argue like a detective in a taskforce meeting. “But the minor altercation took place near the NetCom desk, and Kirsten’s body was near the entrance to the room, almost blocking it. Someone stunned her from the doorway.”

His eyes registered the truth of what she was saying, but he pressed on. “You simply dragged her there to confuse the scene. I’m surprised you didn’t hide the Taser.”

“I had no reason to.”

Abruptly he stood and asked, “Can I get you some water? Or a sandwich?”

“Water would be great. Thanks.”

He left, locking the door behind him. Lara knew another officer was watching her on a monitor in a nearby room. How long would they keep her? Should she ask to call a lawyer? She didn’t know any defense attorneys, but she could ask Jackson to find someone in D.C. The thought of telling him about her situation made her ill. She would try to handle this on her own.

Lara paced the room, growing more anxious about her fate. Would she end up convicted of murder instead of winning the Gauntlet? Now that criminal justice budgets were minimal, judges cut the prosecution a lot more slack. Evidence rules had been overturned and reasonable doubt was defined more narrowly. Unless she could prove she was somewhere else or that someone else had done it, she could get convicted.

Lara dropped to the floor and did another thirty pushups, biceps aching for the last twenty. Rolling over, she started a rhythm of stomach crunches, not bothering to count. Desperately, she tried to construct a way to tell Detective Harper about the blond man she’d seen in the back of the auditorium during orientation-but without mentioning she’d first seen the guy after he shot the employment commissioner in his home in Eugene.

What were the consequences of betraying Thaddeus Morton? Getting booted from the Gauntlet? Minda might have done that already. Lara could also lose her freelance paramedic license in Oregon if the state board became aware she’d failed to report a gunshot wound. But how would the board find out? On the other hand, what good was a license to work if she was in prison?

Abs aching, Lara jumped up and began to pace. She had just decided to tell Harper everything when another thought hit her. What if they didn’t believe her? Finding the real killer would be a lot more work for them. And questioning the commissioner could cause the department some political fallout, especially if it disrupted the Gauntlet. Millions of viewers paid for the privilege of voting, and Washington D.C. received a small percentage for hosting the contest. Nobody wanted to mess with all that money. Harper might simply laugh off her story and book her into jail. He didn’t seem like that kind of cop, but the pressure of the job could twist the brain.

Twenty minutes later, Harper brought her some water, a blanket, and a turkey sandwich she couldn’t eat. “I have to go check out a few things. My supervisor wants to keep you for further questioning. He’ll be in to see you first thing in the morning.”

“You can’t leave me in here overnight.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anywhere else to put you and we can’t let you go. You’re a viable suspect in a homicide investigation as well as a flight risk.” He stepped toward her. “Please don’t do anything to make this worse for yourself.”

“I need to make a call and use the restroom.” The desk officer had taken her bag and her iCom for holding when they arrived.

“I’ll take you to the restroom, but you’re not entitled to a call until we charge you.”

Lara knew how the system worked. “You have the flexibility to let me make a call. I need to do what I can to keep from getting booted from the Gauntlet.”

“My boss says no calls.” Harper took another step toward her and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lara. You’re the last person on earth I ever wanted to arrest.”

They left her in the tiny interrogation room all night with the lights on and no air conditioning. Lara dozed on the floor for a while, then moved back to the chair and tried to sleep with her head on the metal table. The bright lights and suffocating heat made it nearly impossible. By morning, her body ached, she reeked of sweat, and her bladder was about to burst.

The door unlocked and she jumped to her feet. A wave of lightheadedness caught her off guard. She’d gone too long between protein drinks, and she had no surplus body fat to live on.

A man in his late fifties stepped into the room. His dark blue jacket was unbuttoned, leaving his potbelly free from constraint. She saw he was wearing a weapon and hoped he didn’t cuff her.

“Sit.”

The command made her jaw tighten, but Lara complied. She needed to do whatever it took to get out of there.

“I’m Sergeant Warzog and I’m an unhappy man.” He stared out of small pudgy eyes as he slumped into the chair on the other side of the table. His facial skin sagged into thick curves around his mouth, making him look like a bulldog. “Know why I’m unhappy? The Gauntlet happens once a year, shining a bright light on this city and bringing a tidy sum of money into our budget. And you”-he pointed for emphasis-“fucked that up with your petty violent temper. Now a woman is dead, and I want you to tell me how it happened.”