The Hunter Inside by David McGowan Read Free Book Online Page B

him. O’Neill stood and picked up the photograph. He held it five
inches away from his face, scanning it slowly from top to bottom. Not even this
brought any change in his countenance.
    His expression did not
change because he had a feeling about this set of circumstances that wasn’t
going to go away. He was absolutely positive that Paul Wayans was involved more
closely than he was letting on in this murder. He was sure that if he was wrong
about Wayans committing the murder - and it would be a while yet before he
would consider this - then he at very least knew the man who had committed the
crime. But there were still other avenues of persuasion that he hadn’t tried.
    Taking a step towards the
table O’Neill paused. He was now looming over Wayans once more, who lifted his
head and received a back handed slap from O’Neill that nearly knocked him onto
the floor of the room.
    ‘Mother fuck…’ came the
muffled and predictable response, as Paul threw his hands up to his face, as
much to inspect the damage as to ward off any further blows that might be
coming his way.
    ‘Now tell me, you bastard!
WHY DID YOU KILL JOHN RILEY?’
    Removing his hands from his
face, Paul was not surprised to see blood smeared across his palm. He figured
it came from his lip, which he had felt snag on his tooth and which began to
swell instantly. This was a strong man. All he had done was slap Paul, and boy
had it hurt. He did not relish taking a serious punch off this guy; he was a
man mountain.
    ‘I didn’t even know the
sonofabitch,’ Paul yelped defiantly, his speech affected slightly by the
swelling to his bottom lip.
    ‘I’m only going to ask you
one more time…’
    ‘You’ve got to believe me
here. I didn’t know this man, I never met this man, and I sure as hell never killed him. The letters were real. I can see the problems you have with
this but it’s the truth, and that’s all that I can tell you.’ He was pleading
with the Special Agent. It was all he could think of to do.
    ‘This is a crock of shit,
Paul. I know you aren’t that keen on talking yourself into life without parole,
but you don’t expect me to believe that out of these ‘letters’ you never kept
one?’ He walked around the edge of the table. This made Wayans nervous.
    ‘I never thought that this
guy was serious. Anyway, I don’t have to talk to you. I know my rights.
Attorney and a phone call, right? Well, I’d like to take up those two options
right away. And before I also take up my right to silence I’ll tell you this:
You haven’t got anything but that photograph as evidence against me. You won’t
find anything else to link me to that murder and do you want to know why?
Because I didn’t commit that murder is why. When my attorney gets here you’ll
have to let me go.’ With that Paul Wayans shut his mouth. He wasn’t keen on
talking himself into life without parole, as Special Agent O’Neill would have
put it. Defiance had replaced desperation.
    ‘You’re one cocky bastard,
aren’t you?’ O’Neill spat the words at him. ‘Well, Paul, I’ve just got one more
thing I’d like to make clear.’ He stepped back and his face hardened.
Paul knew what was coming, but he wasn’t quick enough to get out of the way of
it. The pain gushed through his face and he fell backwards off the chair he had
been perched upon. Sam O’Neill walked out of the room and locked the door
behind him.
    *
    Paul sat, nursing a busted nose that
went nicely with the split lip he had already received. He was dazed and
shaking, and he couldn’t wait to get out of the police station.
    It would be evening before
he could get home. It was three now and Jim Brown, his attorney, would have to
get there and work his magic first. Forsby entered the room and asked him for
his attorney’s details. Paul took a pen from him and wrote them down. He wasn’t
prepared to speak to this man only to feel stinging pain from his busted lip.
Forsby took the paper and left the