The construction was coming along nicely. Chris and his men had been working around the clock, trying to get the job completed by the projected deadline. With the expected date of completion just weeks away, I was happy with how everything was turning out so far. The grand opening would take place right on schedule. Soon, I would have one of the most elegant restaurants in the city.
I stopped by Monday morning to go over some final details with Chris. The new sign had finally arrived and he wanted to know where exactly I wanted it positioned.
"Move it higher, and a little to the left," I said, as the massive crane hoisted the sign in the air."
"Hey, Trevor, why did you call your restaurant 'Ace'?" Chris asked.
Before I could answer, two men, dressed in cheap drab suits, approached me. "Trevor Morrison?" a burly man with a thick mustache asked as he flashed his badge.
"Please come with us, sir. You're wanted for questioning in the murder of Darrell Channing."
"What, Darrell's been murdered?" I guess I wasn't surprised, he certainly looked nervous and twitchy when I saw him, but that was not unusual behaviour for a crack head on the street.
I cooperated with the police and got in the back of their unmarked police car. Fortunately, they didn't put me in handcuffs. We took a short drive to the police station on East Hastings Street. I had never been inside a police station before and I did not intend to make a habit of it. I figured I would just answer some questions and be on my way.
"Have a seat," one of the detectives demanded. I took a seat on the cold steel chair. It appeared to be bolted to the floor along with the table. I took a brief moment to get acquainted with my surroundings, but there wasn't much to look at. The pale bluish grey walls looked like they had not been re-painted in over fifty years. Oddly enough, it reminded me of my old elementary school. One wall - the same wall with the only door - had a two-way mirror. There was a good chance there were people on the other side listening to what I was about to say.
Finally, my attention was drawn to the two officers standing in front of me, Detective Riviera and Detective Jensen. One of them had his hands on his hips and the other one had his arms folded. They both had a stern look on their faces to show they were serious. It was clearly an intimidation tactic designed to make me nervous. When a person gets nervous, it tends to affect their ability to lie well. We learned about that in law school - Prosecution Ethics. I thought it was interesting to see it in practice.
"Where were you last Thursday evening around eleven o'clock?" one of the men barked at me.
"I was leaving my restaurant."
"Can anyone verify that?"
"No, I was staying late, working on some final things before we re-open."
"Do you have security cameras?"
"No, we took them down for the renovation."
"Do you typically work that late?"
"No, not usually."
"What time did you leave?"
"I remember checking the time on my phone and it was a little after eleven."
"How do you know Darrell Channing?" the other officer took over.
"I went to high school with him, and we were roommates briefly."
"Isn't it true that Darrell owed you some money?"
"How much did he owe you?"
YOU ARE READING
The Art of the HustleMystery / Thriller
Self-made billionaire, Trevor Morrison, recounts his life from being a poor kid from a small town to creating one of the largest companies in the world, all before his 30th birthday. A true underdog tale is told in The Art of the Hustle. When Trev...