CHAPTER 31: ATTEMPTED MURDER

Tyler slipped the phone back into the nylon bag, pressed the seal shut, and handed it back to Chen.

"Take the phone and SIM straight to Digital Forensics," he instructed. "I want the deleted logs, texts, everything they can pull from the memory. And don’t forget the SIM. If Razor used it to call Hoffman or anyone else, the carrier’s records will tell us."

Chen nodded briskly, tapping two fingers against his temple in a quick salute. "On it, Detective." Then he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor.

Tyler exhaled through his nose, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders, before heading toward the bullpen. Rows of cubicles stretched across the wide room, the low hum of keyboards and phones filling the air. Most detectives worked out here—no fancy offices, just clusters of desks, paper stacks, and the occasional coffee mug balanced too close to a case file.

He found Ramirez leaning over his cubicle wall, chatting with another officer. Tyler rapped his knuckles against the partition, and Ramirez straightened immediately.

"Razor first," Tyler said. "We squeeze him, see what comes out. After that, I’ll call Erisia, keep her in the loop. She’s the victim, she deserves to know where we stand."

Ramirez gave a sharp nod. "Think she’ll want to come down here?"

"Definitely will want to," Tyler replied. "If she does, we’ll let her observe Razor after the interrogation. Nothing wrong with her seeing the man who was hired to kill her."

...

Razor sat with his arms folded tight across his chest, his bald head gleaming under the interrogation lamp. A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, the kind of grin that said he thought he was the smartest bastard in the room.

Tyler slid a slim tablet onto the table and tapped the screen. Call records. Bank transfers. Screenshots of trending headlines. Each file opened with a quiet swipe, the glow of the display casting light across Razor’s face.

"You like games, Razor?" Tyler asked casually, leaning back in his chair. "Because this is one. It’s called connect the dots."

Razor snorted, leaning back in his chair like he owned it. "Pfft. You don’t got shit. A couple files and some pixel junk? Please."

"Funny," Ramirez said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "Because your driver already sang. And I gotta tell you, his pitch was flawless."

Razor chuckled, low and mocking, though the sweat already beading at his temple betrayed him. "Yeah? Driver’s a punk. Probably just said what you wanted to hear so you’d quit riding his ass."

Tyler swiped to another screen. "Bank transfer. Direct to your boy’s account. Timestamped. And this—" he tapped to enlarge the log of the driver’s call for confirmation before the car gunned forward, "—this was the green light. He called you. Five minutes before the hit."

Razor leaned back further, spreading his hands wide like he was performing on stage. "So what? People call me all the time. Maybe he was calling to ask about lunch. You ever think of that, Sherlock?" His smirk widened, trying to mask the twitch in his jaw.

"Right," Tyler said smoothly. "Except your phone’s logs for the last two days? Wiped. Clean. Like they never existed. That’s what we call a problem."

Razor’s grin faltered for a beat. He shifted in his chair, then forced a laugh. "Deleted calls? Man, everybody wipes their phone now and then. You gonna arrest me for clearing spam, too?"

Ramirez dropped his voice low, hard as gravel. "Thing is, you’re not smart enough to cover your tracks. Forensics is already digging through your phone. The SIM’s on its way to the carrier. Every deleted call, every number—it’s coming back to life. And when it does? Your name’s written all over it in big, bold letters."

Razor’s bravado slipped. He pressed his lips together, then clicked his tongue. "Tch. You pigs think you’re clever, huh? Always sniffing around like dogs. Well, newsflash—I don’t snitch. Not for free."

Tyler leaned in, voice quiet, cutting through Razor’s bluster. "This isn’t a negotiation, Razor. You give us the name of the man who paid you, now. You help yourself, or you go down for conspiracy to attempted murder of a celebrity. And when the internet gets ahold of that? You’ll wish prison was your biggest problem."

The silence stretched, the only sound the hum of the light overhead. Razor’s eyes darted between them. His smirk was gone now, stripped down to nerves and twitching hands.

Finally, he muttered, almost spitting the words like they tasted bitter, "Adrian. Adrian Hoffman. He’s the one who called the shot."

Tyler’s mouth tightened into a grim smile. He locked the tablet, passing it to Ramirez, and stood. "Knew you’d see sense."

...

Erisia was in Rita’s living room, sitting cross-legged on the rug while Rein batted lazily at a toy mouse. The kitten gave a chirp or a meow every time she wiggled the string, her tail flicking in happy little arcs. Her phone buzzed across the coffee table, and she reached for it, glancing at the caller ID.

"Officer Tyler," she greeted, pressing it to her ear. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Ms. Erisia. Hope I’m not disturbing you," Tyler’s voice came steady, professional.

"Not at all," she said lightly, giving Rein a scratch under her chin. "I was just with my Kitten."

A small chuckle hummed on the other end. Then his tone shifted. "The warrant for Razor’s arrest was approved last night. We went to get him this morning. He’s in custody, and we’ve already run the first round of interrogation. He confessed."

Erisia sat up straighter, eyes narrowing in surprise. "Really? That’s fast. I thought it would take up to two days or less."

"Normally it would," Tyler cut in, his voice lowering. "But the judge and prosecutor had no choice but to speed things up. Too much attention online, too many eyes watching. They couldn’t risk public backlash, so they pushed it through last night. That gave us the green light this morning."

Her fingers stilled on Rein’s fur. "And...?"

Tyler exhaled. "And Razor gave us a name. Adrian Hoffman. He admitted Hoffman called the shot. Now, what we need are his call logs and confirmation of the money transfer Adrian made to him. Once we have that, we can secure a warrant for Adrian’s arrest before he gets spooked and tries to bail."

Erisia leaned back against the sofa, stroking Rein absently as her lips curved into a slow smile. "Thank you very much, Mr. Tyler. I know this must have been a lot of work for you. I can’t thank you enough."

"This is our job," Tyler replied firmly. "Don’t worry—we’ll get him. Warrant or no warrant, we’ll get him." He paused, his tone softening. "Actually, the reason I’m calling is also to ask if you’d like to come down to the station. Maybe take a look at Razor for yourself, see where we’re at. I can walk you through the details in person."

Erisia glanced around Rita’s quiet house. The morning light spilled through the curtains, and the absence of her friend—off on her hospital shift—pressed gently on her chest.

"Yeah," she said finally, still stroking Rein. "I’ll drop by. Could use a stroll, anyway."

"Good. We’ll be expecting you," Tyler said. "Goodbye, Ms. Erisia."

"Thank you, Officer Tyler." She ended the call, pocketed her phone, and gave Rein one last scratch before standing.