The Midtown Murderer by David Carlisle Page A

that?”
    “No.”
    “When did you meet?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Where?”
    “I rode out to the Whiskey A-Go-Go Lounge to question the Apostles. He was shooting pool with a biker named Utah.”
    “Is that where you got your face rearranged?”
    “Yes.”
    There was a knock on the door , and a key slid into the lock. “That will be Radcliff with the coffee,” Clay said, keeping his eyes steadfastly on Trent.
    Radcliff set a tray of coffees on the table. He glanced over McClure’s shoulder at his notes, gave Trent the gunman’s salute, then backed out the door.
    “You alleged,” Clay said, sipping his coffee from a paper cup, “that you rode out to the Apostles club. Why?”
    “I wanted to discuss the park shooting and kidnapping and learn Garcia’s thoughts on it,” Trent said to a host of disbelieving stares. “Hey, if anyone could use something hot to drink, it’s me.”
    McClure handed him a cup of coffee.
    “Because you were searching for Chloe,” said Clay.
    “ Yes,” Trent said, devouring the bad coffee.
    “Try to see our side of it,” McClure said, noting that fact in his book. “You leave the Miami Police Department with a dishonorable discharge and pitch your tent in Atlanta; then you ‘happen’ upon a carjacking and knife one gangster and kill two with such pinpoint accuracy that it looks like a top pro knew their plans inside and out.”
    “And the next day you’re involved with the park murder and child abduction,” said Priest.
    “Any question s you may have formed about me will be answered at a Board of Inquiry,” Trent said, staring at Clay. “That’s the fair thing to do.”
    “And now,” McClure said, dutifully picking up the ball and trying to roll it forward, “Winston is murdered in your apartment, and you claim that a hit man was using you for target practice in Piedmont Park.”
    “ Claim?” Trent asked, trying to find some firm footing in all of this. “You think I’m making this shit up?”
    Clay spoke. “Everyone in my circle thinks that you’re a mischief-maker; and that you had some level of complicity in the shootings and child abduction. I can’t ignore the accusations they have brought against you.”
    “You can bring all the accusations against me you want,” he said, glancing at Butler. “ Until I drove out to the Whiskey A-Go-Go Lounge, I had had nothing whatsoever to do with the gangsters. And I’m not a contract killer.”
    Butler looked at Trent as if he were something unpleasant that he had just stepped in. “We’ll keep you under observation,” he said. “If you’re up to any tricks, we’ll know; so you might as well level with us.”
    Trent held his cup with both hands and said, “What the hell should I have done? I fought off some cranked-up psychos on the highway. And then I found Maya searching for her daughter. So what?”
    Priest tapped a knuckle on his tooth and said, “ How do you explain your proximity to each murder?”
    “I can’t,” he said, nodding at McClure and motioning to him with a finger to switch off the recorder.
    McClure consulted Clay with his eyes, nodded silently, then picked up the recorder and shut it off.
    “I’ve done some research,” Trent said steadily, “and I’m positive that you have a spree killer roaming Midtown; you think I’m that killer, don’t you?”
    He’d caught them on the hop. Priest was looking at his heavy coat hanging by the door. McClure rubbed his hands across his shaved scalp, and Butler frowned. Only the slightest flush betrayed Clay’s irritation.
    “I don’t think you’re th at killer,” Clay said. “But, yes, we do have a serial killer working the downtown.”
    “If you can’t find him,” Trent said, “air it on America’s Most Wanted. They have a good track record when it comes to catching criminals.”
    The room remained silent.
    “The message on my answering machine,” Trent said. “Did anyone listen to it?”
    McClure consulted his notes again.