Who: Cian & Jareth What: Cian’s pretty calm for a guy suspected of murder Where: Shieldwyrm Hall; interrogation room When: Today Rating: PG-13 for language, some allusions to murder. Nothing explicit. Status: Complete
Most people would probably have been slipping over the border from nervous to panicked right about now, the way Cian figured it. The bare room with its one-way mirrored glass was not meant to inspire comfort; add to that being marched out of one’s own place of business (one of the Red Light casinos, this time) in handcuffs, and most would be a blubbering and pathetic mess by the time an officer actually arrived to begin the questioning.
Most.
Cian, however, took it all with relative cool aplomb. He hadn’t bothered resisting arrest, had discreetly nodded off the personal security that might have made a mess on the casino floor, and had generally figured that his reputation as a badass motherfucker in general could stand a bit of upkeep. Besides, the way he figured, he was going to be out of here in a couple hours, give or take, because unlike Baines and his recent idiocy, he hadn’t actually committed the crime which one of the arresting officers had discussed rather loudly with his partner (did he think handcuffs rendered someone deaf?). The crimes he had committed, well...
He was generally better about cleaning up.
And so he rested his heels on the table, leaned back in his beastly uncomfortable wooden chair, and waited with an expression of complete nonchalance on his face. Sooner or later, the door would open, and then he’d have himself a bit of a game.
This case had been one clusterfuck after another when it’d first come across Jareth’s desk. Add in over a month of fucking investigating, coming up with a Faram-damned suspect only to be told they didn’t have anything to pin on the guy, and besides, he’s a noble, Monaco, what can you do?, only to have the fucker end up dead, and Jareth had had just about e-fucking-nough of this shit.
So when Lyle stopped by his desk, smug as fuck, giving him a rundown of the latest detainee - not nearly as interesting as Baines - Jareth rolled his eyes, stood, and grabbed the paperwork Lyle was holding out on the booking. He scanned it on his way to the interrogation room - witnesses put him at the scene of the crime around the time of death, some known thugs that worked for him had been seen skulking. Then he looked at the name.
Cian Wilde.
Well, wasn’t that just some shit.
Jareth opened the door and walked into the room, giving Wilde a nod.
Well, this was interesting.
Cian nodded back, though he didn’t bother sitting up straight, yet. This would make things a bit more challenging... or maybe actually even simpler. Only time would tell. “Evening, officer.” Not a friendly appellation tonight; someone could be on the other end of the glass. And he didn’t actually want to antagonize an armed fighter while he himself was unarmed, either. They’d even confiscated the dice.
“If I were in a better mood, I’d make a joke about seeing you here,” Jareth deadpanned. No way in fucking hell would he ever make that kind of a lame ass joke, but who the fuck cared. They were so shortstaffed lately that his usually huge workload had gotten worse. And then with Thornton just up and leaving… “Figure we can cut the crap. I’ve got more important shit to do than try to pin something on you if you didn’t do it. So, what were you doing the night of Virgo 15?”
“Sure, we can cut the crap.” He could appreciate a bit of straight talk, all things considered. A moment later, he sat up properly, crossed his arms over his chest. They hadn’t even left him handcuffed, which meant either they were stupid or they knew it didn’t add up. He didn’t really care which way it fell. “That was… what, last Friday? Working, probably. I work a lot. In my office, by myself.” A small shrug. “Might’ve taken a walk in the Tenements around two or three. I do that sometimes; no one bothers me.” A pause, then, “I wasn’t killing that shitsack.” A small smile. “I read the news. Sorry to say, officer, but I tip my hat to whoever did it, seems the guy wasn’t exactly a model citizen.”
He was working, so he didn’t say he didn’t blame the guy who did it, either. “Got some witnesses that place you there, along with some of your employees.” He’d been in town long enough now to know exactly who Cian Wilde was, and he wasn’t the generous guy who pointed you in the direction of the nearest weed seller out of the kindness of his heart. Guy had a file a kilometer long, and Jareth knew that there were some people in the EKP who’d love to watch Wilde rot in jail.
“Got any logical explanation for that?” There wasn’t any point in harping on Wilde’s alibi.
“As I said, I take walks, sometimes late. I keep weird hours.” And no one had seen him with the blonde, he’d made damn sure of that much, at least. “I own a lot of property in the area, and have a fair amount of staff, so I can’t say just what my people might have been doing. Might be in a report I haven’t read yet -- or they might’ve heard a ruckus and decided to see what was happening. Maybe someone was looking for a fight, or maybe being a good neighbor. Some people are that dumb -- it’s a rough neighborhood.”
He shook his head, then added, “Listen, you want to cut the crap, I’m cutting it. I’m telling you I didn’t kill the guy. Might be I was in the general vicinity, and I don’t generally keep track, because who the fuck knows when you’re going to need a nice airtight alibi?” If anything, having one easily on hand would only have made him look more suspicious. “Been some weird shit going down in my neighborhood recently, some of it courtesy of Lord Shitsack, or so the reporters say. Good riddance and all, but you’re not charging me, you’re just questioning me -- which means you or maybe your superior might like to pin this on me but already know it’s not sticky. I got a few juvenile charges on my sheet, sure,” he shrugged again, “that one really memorable disorderly conduct too, but that asshole was asking to be punched in the face, for the record. I don’t have a history of killing people, and walking at night near a crime scene’s not illegal.”
And, he didn’t add, but knew the officer would consider, if someone seasoned had done the killing, it wouldn’t have been such a fucking mess. But that wasn’t something he needed to say aloud.
Jareth shrugged. “I’m just following up because a couple jackasses jumped the gun and decided to bring you in. Far as I care, you can walk out the damn door whenever you want. I’m not gonna stop you.” He hadn’t thought Wilde had done it from the beginning. Too messy. You didn’t get to the top of a crime syndicate by being careless. “But if you’ve got any idea on who offed the bastard, I’d like to hear it.”
“Someone oughta teach them about evidence,” Cian said dryly. “As for any ideas?” Maybe he could sell out goldilocks, considering she was the reason he was in this room, having already spent a couple hours in lockup with a bunch of petty thieves who really needed more ambition. Maybe he could but…
Well, that was complicated. Anyway, he might have killed this guy himself, and that was reason enough to keep quiet, the way he figured. (Not the best reason, but complicated was an understatement.)
“Business gone awry? Blackmail? Vigilante justice?” He listed these items off, one by one, as though they were of equal likelihood. “People like that make lots of enemies. Even money only protects you so far when you’re a depraved asshole. Or hell, robbery gone completely south -- as I said, rough neighborhood.”
This wasn’t gonna give him anything, he knew. At least that kid’s death had been avenged; Jareth couldn’t say he wouldn’t have offed the fucker himself if he’d thought he could get away with it. “Thanks. Like I said, you’re free to go, Wilde. I’ll let the jackasses out front know not to keep you. You wanna knock one in the gut on accident, wouldn’t blame you.” He smiled.
In response, Cian laughed. “Assaulting an officer’s a pretty serious offense,” he said. “Tempting as it is, I’ll pass. I’ll just collect my effects and head back to work.” He stood from his seat and headed to the door. Once there, he turned around and added, over his shoulder, “People like that also never go it alone, so if you guys’re gonna strain your resources, I’d say go find his business partners. Or, hell, his customers. Just saying, I got a feeling those’re the people who really need to spend some time behind bars.”
Their fellow prisoners would do to them what was generally done to people who fucked with kids -- as he’d tried to explain to goldilocks, there was honor even among the lowest reaches of society -- and that was a positively smile-inducing thought. Let them rot.