Angelo was sitting in an interrogation room by himself, staring at his cuffed hands and unfamiliar sleeves. His clothes had been switched out, even if they were only lightly tinged with blood, for forensics tests. People had been in and out of the room constantly, asking him questions, demanding answers, and he had remained silent throughout it all.
He didn't like being stuck in a room with a mirror staring at him, because honestly he knew there were people behind it. He didn't enjoy the thought of people looking at him like an unsolvable mystery, gazing through a single sheet of metal and wondering what he was all about. There was a simple answer – give him a damn piece of paper.
The door opened again, but Angelo didn't even move. A new person walked in, with ebony espresso skin and bright brown eyes. He had dense, curly black hair that was close cropped and had braids along the sides, leaving the top free and gently styled into little perfect coils.
He wore a tight dark red button-up shirt that defined every single muscle underneath, his tie loose to show off the first undone button to his cherry chocolate skin. His pants were a dark black that went well with his dark red shirt, and his police department badge hung at his hip. Loafers clicked on the ground, and anyone would have been intimidated by his 5'10" (177 centimetres) height, but all Angelo could do was wonder if this guy tried any harder on his appearance, maybe he could actually pull a couple of girls.
An older gentleman walked in behind him – someone Angelo had already spoken to. Detective Hale, whose first name went unknown, walked in behind this mountain of a man and closed the door with a tight click. He looked annoyed, just as he did when he first came in here, but Angelo guessed he didn't get a lot of criminals that refused to bite back to his snarky comments.
"Found him standing over the body like a statue," Hale gruffed. "No ID, no prints on his fingers due to burns, and not a goddamn word." Hale sighed and went on. "And still not talkin'. Not even lookin' at us. Like a painting with a pulse."
The second individual stared at Angelo curiously, who just gazed at the table as if it could get him out of this hell. Hale turned to the man with a disgruntled huff, who looked at him in return.
"Your turn, Dante." He said firmly. "Get your prodigy skills out of your ass and crack the mime."
Dante, assumably that was his name, gave a humoured smirk and pulled out a chair from across Angelo. He sat down with a brief moment of silence, looking at a folder in his hands. He let Angelo sit in silence, who didn't mind it one bit, but he still didn't look at Dante directly. He gave a glance to his name tag – D. Winters. Dante Winters.
"You were found near the body." Dante said, presumably reading aloud notes. "Your boot tread in the blood. But you didn't have a gun, and there was no gun found." He paused, looking at Angelo. "Was there someone with you?"
Angelo didn't react. That was a question brought up multiple times – he knew how to lie his way out with no words.
"You said he hasn't talked?" Dante noted to the other detective.
"Nope," He gruffed. "Not a single damn word."
Dante put down his notes, and Angelo was pretty sure the newbie detective had given up long before the others. There was no getting Angelo to talk – people had tortured him, and he knew cops wouldn't even go that far. Yet, Angelo barely saw it – movement, but familiar. He glanced, barely, then it became clear.
How are you?
Dante had just used sign language. Apparently he had looked up a little too quickly, because Dante flashed a warm smile. Angelo didn't know what else to do besides look at his hands, expecting more, but Dante just raised his arm and waved at Hale.
"Is there any way we can get him uncuffed?" He asked gently, still looking at Angelo.
"Are ya crazy?" Hale mused. "He's suspected for murder. We ain't gettin' the cuffs off."
Dante nodded like he understood. "That's fine. How about a piece of paper and a pencil?"
Hale glanced between them, but then nodded and opened the door, leaving the room. Dante leaned forward, looking between Angelo's sides of his face – it took him a moment to realise he was looking at his ears.
"Are you deaf?" Dante asked.
Angelo shook his head.
The detective hummed. "Mute?"
He nodded in response.
"And were you the one who killed that man?" He asked, a little casually like asking someone if they dropped their ice cream.
Angelo shook his head.
The door opened again, and Hale entered the room. He was holding a really short pencil with a dull tip and no eraser, a piece of paper with no clipboard. He slid it on the table and rolled the pencil after it, and Dante caught both in his hands. He passed it to Angelo, looking at him expectantly.
"What's your name?"
Angelo took the pencil and wrote on the paper.
Angelo Herrera
Dante nodded before he even turned, holding out a hand to stop him. "And age?"
He wrote it down.
19
"Birthday?" He continued.
August 19th
Dante folded his hands across the table. "And why were you with the body, Angelo?"
He didn't even hesitate writing his next words.
Heard a gunshot. Came to investigate. Didn't want the old lady next door to freak so I closed the door behind me. Wanted to check if the guy was alive but I heard something outside the window. Saw a woman running. Ladder was broken before I could follow after.
"So you played vigilante?" Dante asked.
Yes
"And why didn't you run?" He questioned, actually sounding more curious than accusatory.
Angelo glanced away, then wrote.
Running makes you guilty
Dante bit his lower lip, nodding. "You know we don't actually have proof that you're not guilty. The cameras seemed to be hacked before you even arrived. You look more liable than you do innocent."
Angelo wrote slowly, not rushing himself.
You also have no proof that I am
"Yes we do," Hale chipped in, sneering. "Like, what were you doing there in the first place?"
Angelo wrote quickly, but not quick enough to look desperate.
Visiting a friend. He lived next door. His name is Howard, I think his last name is Coile. Not sure on spelling
"Really?" Hale mused. "We'll have to confirm that, y'know."
"No we don't," Dante smiled, looking at his documents. "Dante said his friend went to investigate and he didn't know where he went after that."
Hale squinted, peering over Dante's shoulder at the papers. "So it seems." He huffed.
Hale didn't press or open anymore questions, simply turning away with a lingering look at Angelo before he exited the room. Angelo stared at his paper, at the notes he had given freely, before he realised Dante was still there. Staring at him.
"Still doesn't explain a lot," He said slowly. "You have no fingerprints. Can you explain that?"
Angelo wrote slowly.
Got some pretty nasty burns on my hands a few years back. Fingerprints didn't really show up again after that.
Angelo pushed the paper to him to read as he held out his hands, showing that his fingers were indeed brutally scarred. It looked like it went across his whole palms, and it was obviously years old. Dante squinted, then tried to reach forward to touch his hands… and Angelo flinched back. The detective looked up quickly, smiling a bit sheepishly.
"Sorry," He said politely. "Just… curious."
Angelo didn't bother with a response, simply closing his hands tight and looking away. Dante looked at him a moment longer before gathering up his files and getting to his feet. He left the room without another word, leaving Angelo alone as he stared at his hands.