The Devil's Snare: a Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 4) Read Online Free Page B

see my ass and see how alleged the cut is looking? Ask Kevin and Ken. They showed up at my house. They saw the damn knife taped to a seat cushion. And they read the note that the asshole knife guy left for me.”
    “Deputies Kevin Long and Ken Majors are actually the ones who broke this case wide open. And since you already mentioned the note you found,” Ken emphasized “found” by using his fingers to demonstrate air-quotes, “that’s reason number three that you’re enjoying my company. I have a few more reasons but I would think you’d rather find out more about reasons two and three first. Am I correct?”
    Bo’s mind raced back to the previous night. He couldn’t remember much about what happened, who he may have been with and who, if anyone, got selfish with his supply of cocaine. Despite his inability to recall the night’s events, he knew he would never commit arson, especially arson that killed an old friend of his. “Go ahead and tell me,” he said. “Tell me the reasons I’m here.”
    “Glad you’re cooperating. I hope that after I give you what we have on you, you will continue to cooperate.”
    “I didn’t burn the house down and I sure as shit didn’t kill Mack,” Bo snapped.
    “The knife had one set of fingerprints, those being yours. We know they’re yours since we have your prints on file. You remember your pistol permit application, don’t you?”
    “Yeah, and I know my prints were taken for the permit.” Bo paused a beat. “Man, you really are stupid. My prints are on the knife because I pulled it out of my ass. Probably touched the damn thing when I found it.”
    “You didn’t pull the knife out of your ass, you sat on the knife, probably jumped in shock and pain and, according to the deputies who you called to investigate, the knife was still duct taped to the seat cushion. Plus, your prints were not only on the blade, but the handle as well.”
    “I never saw that knife before,” Bo said, a bit confused and worried about the upcoming reasons McCallion was about to reveal.
    “Not only did you see that knife before,” McCallion continued, “but you purchased it from Bass Pro Shops at nine forty-seven last evening. You see, the note that was tucked between the knife and the seat cushion, it was written on the back of a receipt. Your receipt, with a copy of your signature on it.”
    “Bullshit,” Bo said. “I didn’t go to Bass Pro yesterday or any other day this month. Hell, I probably haven’t been in there in three or four months.”
    “Yet the security footage we pulled from the store’s security system shows you clear as day, standing in line, then paying with a credit card at check out. You were there, Mr. Randall, and you purchased that knife. Oh, and by the way, you also purchased three five-gallon gas cans and a roll of duct tape. Duct tape, believe it or not, is a great surface for us to life prints from. And, before you ask, yes, only your prints were found on the tape.”
    “This is all bullshit. I didn’t do anything and I never went into Bass Pro!”
    “Can you prove it? Because, the video evidence is going to be really hard to deny.”
    Bo paused, breathed heavily, and strained his mind. The harder he thought, the fewer details he could recall. It was as if everything he did yesterday had glazed over in his mind, leaving only ideas and guesses about his activities. “I know I was at Route 69 around dinner time, and there’re about six guys who were with me.”
    “You arrived at Route 69 around five thirty, according to some eye witnesses, and left the place a little after eight pm. You’re are one hundred percent correct about that. Your issues begin after you left Route 69, showed up on video surveillance at Bass Pro at nine forty-seven, and weren’t seen by anyone again until two deputies showed up at your door this morning. See Bo, the fire that killed Brian Mack and his mother started around eleven last night, giving you plenty of time to