Chapter Twenty-Two
‘You’ve waived your right to a lawyer?’
Amy Downie sneered. ‘Have a sod with a stick up his arse tell me what to say? To hell with that!’
Callan leaned on his crutch. Given the circumstances, they had permitted Callan to observe the interview, and he’d be damned if he rode in on a wheelchair.
‘Besides.’ Amy spread her arms in the interview room. ‘You’ve got nothing on me.’
Callan itched to wipe that smirk off her face. Patience. A little longer with Walsh and Irwing, and Amy wouldn’t be smiling.
Irwing flipped a folder, dragged it across the table to her. ‘Care to explain this?’
‘The guy needs a new car.’
‘And life. You killed Macalister and set his car on fire,’ Irwing persisted.
‘You can’t prove shit.’
Walsh leaned in, eyes sharp. ‘You sure? Because you’ve be
