Angus sighed. “No. I’m just getting bored. We’ve gone over all this before and my timeline and alibis haven’t changed.” The empty seat next to him served as a reminder that he’d gotten Scott shot. The lawyer was still in the Intensive Care Unit and hadn’t awakened after his surgery. “Maybe we should wait until my attorney is up to working again.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Buckle said, her eyes sparking. “Speaking of lawyers, it turns out the gun that shot Scott has your fingerprints on it.”

Angus nodded. “No shit. I mean, no kidding. Pardon my language.” He was close to losing it and needed to get a grip. “I grabbed the weapon out of the shooter’s hand and then shot him with it, so no doubt my fingerprints are on it.”

“Only yours,” Tate said helpfully.

Angus lifted a shoulder. “The guy was wearing gloves. I already told you that.” He looked back at Buckle. “Did you check the clip and bullets?”

“Yep. No fingerprints on those at all,” she said.

Angus leaned forward. “There you have it, then. If I was dumb enough to leave my prints on the gun, do you really think I was smart enough to wipe the clip and bullets? No. Somebody else had that gun and I think you know it.”

Buckle leaned forward, mimicking his movement. “I think you’re smart enough to mess with us in that kind of way. Wipe some of the gun and not the rest. Right?”

Sure, he was smart enough. “I didn’t shoot Scott,” he said. Again.

“Is this the guy who did?” Tate flipped over a picture, showing a blond man with green eyes. He wore a bloodstained sweatshirt and was pale in death.

Angus pulled the picture closer. “Yeah. That’s him.” His shoulders stiffened. “I shot him a few times with his gun. Where did you find him?”

“Ballistics confirms that the same bullets killed him as the ones that were taken out of your lawyer,” Detective Buckle said. “Why did you shoot this guy?”

Angus stilled. “I told you. He shot Scott and tried to shoot me. Who is he?”

“You tell us,” Tate said, working well with his partner. “Who is he?”

Angus barely kept from sighing. Was he this much of a pain in the ass when he interrogated a suspect? “I hereby identify this man as the guy who shot Scott and tried to shoot me. I don’t know his name. We didn’t exactly talk.” He angled his head to see the now-closed file folder. “Was the blonde with him? Did you find her?”

“Ah. The blond girl who knocked you out?” Detective Buckle asked, just enough derision in her tone to be annoying.