BUILT ON BONES

Chapter six

The police station interrogation room smelled like old coffee and industrial cleaner.

Marcus sat at a metal table, a blanket around his shoulders despite the hospital having released him in clean scrubs. His left arm was in a sling. Bandages wrapped his hands where the ladder and debris had torn them. A dark purple bruise spread across his cheekbone where something had hit him during the collapse. He looked like he'd been through a war.

He felt like it too.

Detective Sarah Reeves sat across from him, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and graying hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She'd let him sit here for twenty minutes without speaking. Just staring at him with that cop expression that was part judgment, part curiosity, part predator sizing up prey.

Marcus stared back and said nothing.

Finally, Reeves leaned forward. "You're not helping yourself by staying silent, Mr. Chen."

Marcus said nothing.

"We have questions. Lots of questions. About how you knew where that body was. About your relationship with Victor Hutchinson Senior. About why you were really at Celestial Heights Tower yesterday." She tapped a folder on the table. "About your history of making false claims about structural problems."

Marcus watched her carefully. Vivian had warned him: Reeves was compromised, feeding information to Hutchinson. Every word Marcus said in this room would be in Hutchinson's hands within the hour.

"I want my attorney present," Marcus said.

"You already invoked. Your attorney knows you're here. She'll arrive when she arrives." Reeves opened the folder. "In the meantime, let's talk about your background. You've worked for Bridgemont Engineering for three years. In that time, you've filed fourteen reports claiming serious structural problems with buildings that all passed inspection by other firms."

Marcus said nothing.

"The Westside parking garage. You predicted catastrophic collapse. It's still standing, perfectly safe." Reeves consulted her notes. "The Riverside apartment complex. You claimed the foundation was 'built on bad ground' and would fail within five years. It's been four years. No problems. The Harbor District office tower. You wrote a twenty-page report about 'stress patterns that indicate imminent failure.' The building's insurance company investigated and found nothing."

She looked up at him. "Do you see the pattern, Mr. Chen? You have a history of crying wolf. Of seeing problems that don't exist. Your supervisor described you as 'erratic' and 'obsessive.' Your coworkers call you 'the building whisperer' and not in a complimentary way."

Marcus's jaw tightened, but he kept his mouth shut.

"So when you show up at Celestial Heights Tower—a building you had no authorization to inspect—and you start making wild claims about bodies in the foundation, about murder, about conspiracy..." Reeves spread her hands. "What am I supposed to think?"

"I want my attorney present," Marcus repeated.

"We're not interrogating you. We're having a conversation." Reeves pulled out a tablet, turned it toward him. Crime scene photos. Victor Hutchinson Sr.'s skeleton, photographed in situ before excavation. The platinum necklace. The caved-in skull. "This is real. A real body. A real murder. And you knew exactly where to find it."

Marcus looked at the photos. Felt the memory of Victor Sr.'s final moments pressing against his mind—the rain, the betrayal, the blood mixing with concrete. His hands trembled slightly. He clasped them together to hide it.

"How did you know, Mr. Chen?" Reeves's voice was softer now. Almost sympathetic. "Did someone tell you? Are you protecting someone? Because if you were coerced, if someone threatened you, we can help. But you need to talk to us."

It was a good strategy. Play the understanding cop. Suggest he was a victim too. Make him want to explain, to defend himself.

Marcus had watched enough interrogations on TV to know the game.

"I want my attorney present," he said for the third time.

Reeves's expression hardened. "Fine. Let's talk about the concrete."

She pulled out another set of photos. Close-ups of the foundation where the body had been buried. Marcus could see the layers—older concrete underneath, darker and stained, with newer concrete poured on top. The geological strata of a cover-up.

"Forensic analysis shows two distinct pours," Reeves said. "The lower layer is approximately fifteen years old, consistent with when Victor Hutchinson Senior disappeared. But the upper layer"—she tapped the photo—"is three months old. Fresh concrete poured recently to re-bury the body."

She leaned back, watching his reaction. "So either you planted this body three months ago, or you knew about it being moved and didn't report it. Either way, you're involved in a crime."

Marcus felt rage building in his chest. This was exactly what Vivian had warned him about. Reeves was building a narrative, twisting the evidence to make him look guilty instead of Hutchinson.

"I want—"

"Your attorney present. Yes, I heard you." Reeves closed the folder with a snap. "But here's what I'm hearing, Mr. Chen: guilty conscience. Innocent people want to tell their side of the story. Innocent people cooperate. You're hiding behind a lawyer because you have something to hide."

The door opened.

Vivian Park swept in like an avenging angel, her briefcase in one hand and a paper cup of expensive coffee in the other. She was dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Marcus made in a month, her hair pulled back in a severe bun that made her look like she ate opposing counsel for breakfast.

"Detective Reeves," she said pleasantly. "How nice to see you again. I believe my client has repeatedly invoked his right to counsel?"

Reeves didn't look surprised to see her. "Ms. Park. Your client and I were just having a friendly conversation."

"My client and you were engaged in custodial interrogation without his attorney present, in direct violation of his Fifth Amendment rights." Vivian sat down beside Marcus, set her briefcase on the table with a decisive thump. "Any statements he made are inadmissible, and I'll be filing a motion to suppress if you try to use them."

"He didn't make any statements. Just kept asking for you." Reeves smiled thinly. "You've trained him well."

"I've advised him of his constitutional rights, which is more than you did." Vivian pulled out a legal pad and an expensive pen. "Now, are we charging my client or releasing him? Because if you don't have sufficient evidence to charge, then this interview is over."

Reeves and Vivian stared at each other across the table. The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees.

"We have evidence," Reeves said finally. "Your client was found at the scene of a collapsed building, in possession of knowledge about a buried body that only the killer or an accomplice would have. The building's owner has filed formal charges for destruction of property, trespassing, and criminal conspiracy."