Page 25 of In Her Path

She had begun with standard questions, but so far Warren had given her nothing—no verbal confirmation, not even a shift in his expression. She had moved on to questions about his whereabouts the morning Curtis Paige died, about his relationship with the councilman, about his conversation with Natalie Grasso. Each question had been met with the same blank stare, the same unyielding silence.

“You know,” Jenna said, leaning forward slightly, “I understand why you would be angry at Paige. He took your store, your livelihood. Anybody would be furious.”

Warren’s expression didn’t change, but something in his breathing shifted—a subtle catch, quickly controlled.

“You’re not the only person in this town who lost something because of him,” she continued. “But most people didn’t talk about killing him, Warren.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jenna glanced at Jake, then she tried again. “You can help yourself here, Warren. If you talk to us, if you give us something to work with, things will go easier for you. I promise.”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” Jenna’s voice hardened. “You ran from officers. You assaulted a sheriff. Those are charges that stick, Warren. The resisting alone is a class E felony. That’s four years.”

“And that’s before we even get to the murder,” Jake added, his deep voice filling the small room.

Warren’s gaze snapped to Jake’s face, anger flashing in his eyes before he caught himself and looked away. It was the first real reaction they’d gotten.

“So, you do understand what we’re saying,” Jenna pressed. “That’s good. Now let’s talk about Curtis Paige. About why you wanted him dead.”

Warren’s lips thinned and he said, “I want a lawyer.”

Jake and Jenna exchanged a silent look. Then Jenna put in a call for a public defender. During the hour and a half that passed before he arrived, she kept asking questions, taking different angles—appealing to Warren’s sense of justice, his desire for closure, his fear of the system.

Nothing broke through.

The station’s shift change came and went, the sounds of departure and arrival filtering through the closed door. Warren shifted in his chair, his back stiff from the uncomfortable position, his lips dry and cracked.

“Water,” he said suddenly, the word rough and unexpected in the quiet room.

Jake stepped out, returning a moment later with a paper cup. He set it on the table, sliding it within reach of Warren’s cuffed hands. Warren drank without acknowledgment, the cup crumpling slightly in his grip.

The silence returned. It wasn’t the silence of a man hiding something, or the silence of a killer with nothing to say. It was the silence of someone who had given up, who had nothing left to lose.

A knock at the door broke the moment. Jenna turned as it opened, a flash of irritation shooting through her as Martin Greer stepped into the room, his salt-and-pepper hair disordered, as though he had arrived in a rush. The public defender wore his usual uniform—a rumpled suit with coffee stains on the lapel, a tie loosened at the throat, a folder tucked under one arm. Ss always.

“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” he said before turning to Warren. “Mr. Oswinkle, I’m Martin Greer. I’ll be representing you.”

Warren looked up, the first real movement he’d made since they’d brought him in. His eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, fixed on Greer’s face.

“Mr. Oswinkle has indicated that he wishes to exercise his right to counsel,” Greer continued, turning back to Jenna. “He will not be answering any further questions until I’ve had a chance to consult with him.”

Jenna stood, pushing back from the table. “With all due respect, Mr. Greer, this is a murder investigation. Mr. Oswinkle is a person of interest, possibly a suspect. We need answers now.”

“Then you should have waited until I arrived to begin questioning him,” Greer replied, unruffled. “As it is, he’s entitled to representation before any further interrogation.” He glanced at the bloodstained bandage and added, “It looks like he’s already a victim of unnecessary force.”

“He attacked us,” Jake said.

“So, you say.”

“A man is dead,” Jake said. “At the very least, we have reason to believe Mr. Oswinkle may have information relevant to the investigation.”

“And he’ll be happy to share that information—after I’ve had a chance to speak with him privately.” Greer’s tone was mild, but his eyes were sharp. “Unless you’d like to explain to Judge Hemsley why you denied a suspect his constitutional rights.”

Jenna bit back her response. They were on thin ice already—Warren had asked for a lawyer, and they’d kept questioning him. He’d said nothing, and nothing they’d done was technically illegal, but it skirted the edges of proper procedure. If they pushed now, anything Warren said could be thrown out.

“Fine,” she said, gathering her notes. “We’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

“Thirty,” Greer countered. “My client has had a difficult day.”