Eleven Read Online Free PDF Page A

and we’ll be in the front row watching you take your last breath. Tell us the fucking truth and maybe that won’t happen.”
    Bingham’s arms pulled back, his constraints allowing him little advantage in the struggle with a free man. A guard peeked through the window in the door but stepped back when I brushed him away with the wave of a hand.
    Bingham’s face flushed from a pale pink to a bright red.
    “Who is she?” Jack held his face inches from Bingham’s.
    Bingham gasped for breath and Jack eventually let go. He stepped back.
    “I might recognize her.” The southern accent was gone.
    Jack went back for his throat.
    “Go ahead. What have I got to lose?” Bingham laughed, and his eyes returned to mine. They latched on as a life-sucking vine does to the brick of a house, destroying the mortar, crumbling it to a fine powder. “I killed cows. I assaulted my neighbor.”
    “You must think we’re idiots.” Jack looked at me. “He thinks we’re idiots.”
    “I’ll talk to the youngin’, not you.” Another series of finger tapping.
    “We’re not negotiating with a murderer.”
    “You haven’t proven that I am.”
    “It will only take a brief amount of time and I assure you that your ass with be in that execution chair.” Jack gestured between us and repeated his earlier words, “The two of us in the front row.”
    “You’re extremely aggressive, Special Agent.” Bingham spoke to Jack yet his eyes were on me. The smile had disappeared from his lips, but the wildfire in his eyes sparked with amusement. “You leave. I’ll talk to him.”
    My heart sped up. The government believed in me, and the least I could do was muster enough confidence.
    Jack straightened up. “You have two minutes. After that I’ll be coming right back in that damned door, you understand?” He passed me a glance, one I was certain not to miss. His eyes read, are you ready for this kid, before he left the room.
    “He doesn’t have faith in you.”
    “This isn’t about me.”
    “But yes it is, Special Agent Brandon Fisher. It most certainly is about you.” The smile spread across Bingham’s lips again.
    “You said you recognized her.”
    “I could have been mistaken.” He cocked his head, pointed to my wedding band. “You married Special Agent?”
    If he were trying to manipulate me or divert my course, he wouldn’t meet with success. “These people were found under your property. Forensics will tie you to the murders, the torture.”
    “Does your wife know about her?”
    His question faltered my thinking process for a second. “You said you recognized her.”
    “I said I could have been mistaken.” Steadfast eye contact. “My guess is she doesn’t know.”
    “The most recent victim was murdered while you were in prison. This one.” I glanced at the photograph on the table.
    “Certainly you can’t pin that one on me.”
    “Who do you have working for you?”
    A proud grin ate his mouth.
    “You had a partner who killed with you.”
    “Will your wife divorce you when she finds out about the other woman?” Bingham clasped his hands.
    “Mr. Bingham, your life is on the line—”
    “As is your marriage. Confess, come clean of your sin and be forgiven.”
    How did this man know about the affair? Or he was messing with me, taking a gamble on the statistics of the failed marriage arrangement of the twenty-first century.
    “You tell me to confess? You don’t even know me. Follow your own advice; cleanse your soul. You murdered ten people—”
    “You just said nine.”
    I stared blankly at him.
    “You said someone else killed another while I was in prison.”
    “You tortured them, you killed them and tore out their intestines, maybe ate them.” My words paused as Bingham sat back; the intensity in his eyes was stronger than before.
    “Who said I did that after they were dead?”
    “You’re confessing to the murders?”
    “No, I never said that. But why assume their intestines were removed after