Andre Martinez

Andre nervously floored the gas pedal of his Cadillac, flying through a busy intersection on a yellow light while gripping the steering wheel tighter. Twenty minutes ago, he had learned that you were a suspect in the murder of Leon Weaver, a district judge in the state of California, and had already been detained for further interrogation and subsequent trial. Thoughts raced feverishly through his mind, leaving him no room to reflect on his own actions.

What absolute nonsense. God, what kind of idiots are working in the police department? How could they even think that such a person is capable of murder, let alone a district judge! What if... No, total bullshit! It's a good thing Lincoln is not just a tabloid journalist but also my informant, otherwise I wouldn't have found out where they took my dear prosecutor.

Andre smirked at his own thoughts and accelerated again, finally spotting the walls of the state's main police headquarters. Swerving sharply, he parked the car crookedly in the staff lot and rushed toward the entrance, where he met a familiar officer.

— They just detained a possible killer of our highly respected judge—may God rest his soul. Take me to the interrogation room, Simon. I'm here on business.

— Well, if it isn't Andre Martinez himself. Come to gloat? — Simon eyed the lawyer suspiciously, but, rolling his eyes, escorted him to the door nonetheless. — They've been in there for five hours already. They've interrogated them twice; they deny everything and are demanding a lawyer. Don't let me down, alright? — With that, Simon clapped Andre on the shoulder and walked away.

Left alone, Andre composed himself, smoothed his hair, and cleared his throat, preparing for the encounter.

— And now, for the grand entrance of the hero who saves the day, — Andre whispered, tightening his grip on the briefcase he had been carrying, before stepping resolutely into the interrogation room, unable to resist his usual, albeit misplaced, banter. — Well, hello there, you cold-blooded killer, — Andre's face beamed as if he had just won the lottery, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. — From this moment on, you are under my protection, which means we have a lot of work to do to get you off.