NO CAMERAS, NO WITNESSES—THEN HE SAID THE OFFICER’S FIRST NAME
Chapter 1: The Name That Erased His Smile
Officer Tommy Riker took his time putting on the second glove.
He pinched the bright-blue cuff between his thick fingers, stretched the nitrile with a deliberate snap, and rolled it over his wrist.
Across the metal table, Arvand Burlington sat handcuffed to a steel chair.
His dark jacket hung open over a charcoal hoodie. His shoulders remained squared despite the uncomfortable position of his arms, and his eyes followed every movement the officer made.
The room was small and windowless.
A harsh ceiling lamp illuminated the table, leaving the corners in shadow. An old security camera hung above a dented utility cart, its black lens pointed toward the floor.
It hadn’t worked in years.
Beside the cart sat an aging police radio and a tray holding zip ties, a flashlight, trauma shears, and several other pieces of equipment.
The steel door looked more appropriate for a warehouse than an interrogation room.
Riker flexed his gloved hands.
Then he smiled.
“No cameras. No witnesses.”
He leaned toward Arvand.
“I can make you confess to anything.”
Arvand studied him.
He was forty-seven, a Black American man with close-cropped hair, a carefully trimmed beard, and the composed expression of someone who had spent years learning how to conceal fear.
He looked at the gloves.
Then at the officer’s face.
Finally, he spoke.
“You should take off those gloves, Tommy.”
The smile vanished.
Riker froze.
For a second, he seemed unable to breathe.
Then his eyes moved toward the dead security camera.
“How the hell do you know my name?”
Arvand didn’t answer immediately.
Riker crossed the room in two strides.
He grabbed Arvand’s jacket and pulled him forward.
The chair scraped across the concrete.
Pain shot through Arvand’s wrists as the handcuffs tightened.
“ANSWER ME!”
Arvand steadied his breathing.
“I know a lot more than your first name.”
Riker’s face turned red.
“Who sent you?”
“Nobody sent me.”
“Then why are you here?”
Arvand looked directly into his eyes.
“Because fifteen years ago, somebody made a mistake believing you would keep your mouth shut.”
Riker released his jacket.
For the first time, real fear appeared on his face.
Arvand continued.
“Do you remember a nineteen-year-old named Darius Bell?”
The officer stopped moving.
Outside the room, somewhere beyond the steel door, a radio crackled.
Arvand leaned back as far as the restraints allowed.
“Of course you remember him.”
He paused.
