Page 57 of Cross the Line
Marshall's eyes widened fractionally before he controlled himself. "I don't know. A couple."
"A couple meaning two? Three? More?"
Voss pushed off from the wall. His casual posture slipping. "This line of questioning is irrelevant to the assault charge."
"Is it? Because it sounds like we're discussing a conspiracy involving multiple officers who leaked confidential information that resulted in violent assaults on police informants. That seems pretty relevant to me."
The tension in the room thickened. Marshall's focus kept darting between Voss and me. Like a spectator at a tennis match where the ball was his future.
"You're reaching, Carlson. Desperate to shift blame from your own failures."
I stood slowly. Hands flat on the table. Kept my movements controlled and deliberate. "I think we're done here."
"We're done when I decide we're done."
"Actually, we're done now. Because this isn't an interrogation. It's a performance. And I'm not playing my assigned role."
I turned to Marshall, who was watching our exchange with growing unease. "One more question, Marshall. The men who attacked Daniel Nguyen. Did they arrive in a police vehicle?"
The color drained from Marshall's face. Behind me, I heard Voss's sharp intake of breath.
"I don't... I wasn't..." Marshall stammered. His rehearsed confidence evaporating.
"That's what I thought."
I straightened. Turned to face Voss fully. "You know, for someone supposedly interrogating a suspect, you seem awfully invested in controlling his answers."
Voss's face hardened into something ugly. "You're walking a dangerous line, Carlson."
"No. I'm just finally seeing the lines that were already drawn. And figuring out which side everyone's really on."
As I reached for the door handle, Voss's words stopped me.
"Whatever you think you know, whatever you think you found in those files, it won't matter. No one will believe you. You're damaged goods, Carlson."
I turned back. Met his stare steadily. "Maybe. But I'm not alone anymore."
The implication hung in the air between us. That Hawley was still in the records room. Still with the evidence. Still connecting dots that Voss and his associates had tried to erase. For the first time since I'd entered the room, genuine concern flashed across Voss's face.
Voss followed me out of the interrogation room. Hovered too close as the door clicked shut behind us. The bullpen's fluorescent lights seemed harsher now. Exposed every face that turned our way before quickly pretending interest in something else.
"Shame how the evidence keeps pointing back to you. Almost like you can't escape your past."
That smirk. I'd seen it before. In the moments before he'd announced my transfer to the entire station, watching me pack my desk while everyone stared. The same satisfied curl of his lips confirmed what I now knew with bone-deep certainty.
He did this.
Voss hadn't just orchestrated my downfall. He'd arranged this entire performance today to rub salt in the wound.
"If that's what you need to tell yourself."
My fingers betrayed me as I straightened my tie. A slight tremor I couldn't quite control. Voss's focus caught the movement. His satisfaction deepening. He'd always been observant. It was what made him effective. Both as a detective and as the man behind my professional execution.
"We should catch up properly, Carlson. For old times' sake."
He placed a hand on my shoulder in a gesture that would appear friendly to anyone watching from across the room. Hisfingers dug in painfully. Thumb pressing into the hollow above my collarbone. The pressure increased. A reminder of the power he still wielded in these halls. I stared at his hand, then back up to meet his stare. With deliberate slowness, I removed his grip from my shoulder. My words dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Touch me again and I'll forget we're in a police station."
