"Oh-kay?" Kallie extended the word and made it a question.
"Look, I'm not going to press charges or nothing, but he pushed me, and I fell down the stairs. I wasn't going to let him take me to the hospital and make things worse."
"So, Dawson pushed you down the stairs?"
"Yeah. He did."
"What time was that?"
"I don't know. Eight or so."
"And you didn't go to the hospital until midnight?" Kallie swung back to Cynthia's previous answer. The woman was digging herself deeper and deeper.
"Yeah, I thought I could shake it off."
"You thought you could shake off a broken wrist and a broken ankle?"
"I'm tougher than I look."
"Obviously..." Kallie stopped talking when the door opened. Davidson walked in and slapped the folder on the table. "We confirmed everything." He stabbed the folder with his finger and an evil smile spread across his face before he swung his eyes to Cynthia. Holy fuck, one day she wanted to sit in the observation room when the Lieutenant did an interview. It would be epic.
He turned on his heel and left the interview room. "Perfect." Kallie slid the folder to her and opened it.
"What did you confirm? Do you know who killed that guy?"
Kallie looked up and cocked her head. "I believe I do."
"Who? Who killed him?"
Kallie moved to the door. "You might want to have a seat. This is going to take a hot minute." She was gone before Cynthia could sputter a response. Brock exited the observation room.
"Dawson is up next." She nodded to the interview room.
"I'll take him." Brock slid his notebook from his coat pocket and flipped the page open. "Ready?"
"Go get 'em tiger." Kallie winked when she threw Brock's words back at him. The man gave her a lusty smile and waggled his eyebrows before he headed to the interview room door.
Brock winced internally at the sight of the beaten man. He listed to the left. Several butterfly bandages held together the cut over his right eye, and he could see an ace bandage wrapped around the man's ribs through the thin cotton of Dawson's t-shirt. "How are you doing?"
"Been better. Can we get this done with? I gotta..." The man stopped. "Hell, I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Yeah, sure. Dawson, can you tell me where you were this past Wednesday night?"
The man nodded. "Fire and Ice, over on West Hampton. I had dinner with my friends and spent the evening drinking and dancing." Brock held his surprise behind his professional demeanor. Fire and Ice was a gay club.
"All evening?"
"'From 9:00 p.m. to about 2:00 a.m."
"Who were you with?"
Dawson rattled off some names, and when Brock asked, he gave their cell numbers, too. Brock leaned back in his chair. "You and Cynthia didn't have dinner on Wednesday? You sure?"
"God, yeah, I'm sure. She threw her car keys at me and told me to get lost. She gets that way sometimes. Why?"
"Nothing, just checking. Are you gay or bi?"
"Bi." Dawson closed his eyes.
"When did you meet Samuel Treyson?"
"About four months ago? Cynthia got pissed at the old delivery guy and fired him, so I'd go in, get the machines ready for processing and then go do the collections. Thought it was weird that Treyson had more than one apartment." He chuckled, but the sound turned into a pained moan.
"He tell you why he stayed at more than one place?"
"Yeah. Pretty amazing set up, huh?"
"If you're into that type of thing, then yeah, it would be sweet." Brock leaned forward. "Tell me what happened between you and Samuel." Dawson opened his eye and stared at Brock. "I need to know, man, so I can get justice for him and now for you, too."
"Justice? Man, people like me don't get justice. We get pushed to the side or shoved down." Dawson's jaw worked, and he swallowed hard. "Life don't give people like me easy times."
"This time, life is staring you in the face and telling you to speak up. Believe me, I can protect you from whoever did this to you."
"It wasn't Cynthia."
"Didn't think it was. She couldn't swing a baseball bat that hard. Not with the cast." Dawson grunted in acknowledgement. "She said you pushed her down the stairs."
Dawson bolted forward and gasped in pain. "Fuuuck... I never. I wouldn't hurt her. Never. She hits me, bites me and treats me like shit, man, but I wouldn't lift a hand against her. I wouldn't."