“Oh, yes. The governor’s office will be flying her up in a helicopter. She should be here within the hour.”
Brent knew time was of the essence now. “If Denise is anything like she used to be, she may not want the truth to come out.”
“Or,” Tony said, remembering Denise himself, “she may welcome it. It’ll all depend on which scenario works best for her. Because make no mistake about it: it’s going to be all about Denise in the end.”
And Brent and Makayla looked at each other. Because they understood the stakes. It was one thing for the boy to be accused of killing some random man, a man who Brent was assuming had kidnapped him. It was another thing entirely to be accused of killing a high-level, presumably above-reproach government official. And if Brent remembered Denise the way he was remembering her now, he knew that she was not the kind of woman who would keep this low key. She was going to blare this out. She was going to play it for all she could play it for, and then play it for more. She wanted to stir up the wind.
Brent looked down at the boy beside him. His prayer to God was that this child, his son, would not reap the whirlwind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They began walking toward Belma’s desk like an army brigade, with Denise leading the charge. Belma stood to her feet. It was her job to run interference for her boss, and today would be no exception.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Denise pointed. “Is that Brent’s office?”
“It is Chief Sinatra’s office, yes. May I help you?”
Denise looked at Belma. “No,” she said, went to Brent’s office door and opened it, and went inside.
But Belma hurried behind her and closed the door. “One at a time,” she said to the others. “If they need you, they’ll call you.”
But as soon as Denise entered Brent’s office and saw her child in his arms, she had all she needed inside that office. “Markie!” she cried, and ran toward her son.
Marcus’ big green eyes flew wide open when he heard his mother’s voice, and he looked at her. But it was telling to Brent that he didn’t go to her.
“Oh, my baby!” Denise had tears in her eyes as she pulled her son into her arms and cradled him, even though he was almost as big as she was. “I miss you so much!”
Brent stood up, and so did Makayla. Tony walked over and stood beside Eddie. They all wanted to get a look at Denise, all for their own reasons.
Eddie wanted to see what a Lieutenant Governor’s wife looked like, and was pleasantly surprised to see that she was African-American.
Tony first met Denise when she worked for the Jericho Inn Bed and Breakfast, and he was the one who introduced her to Brent. He wanted to see a difference in her. She was so immature and foolish when they first met that even he, who wasn’t exactly Mister Responsible like Brent back then, found her surprisingly childish too. But that was a decade ago. She certainly looked the role of a more mature woman now. But beauty-wise and body-wise, which everybody viewed as her strengths back then, she hadn’t changed one bit.
Brent wanted to see how she interacted with the boy. He could tell she loved the boy. She seemed overwhelmed with joy and other emotions only a mother could probably explain. The child, Marcus, showed recognition, and some relief too. But it wasn’t at all the kind of unbridled emotion Brent would have expected a child, who had been through the ordeal Marcus had been through, to display toward his mother. That reaction, or lack of reaction form Marcus, concerned Brent the most.
As Denise continued to shake Marcus as if he was a lap baby and kiss his smooth cheeks, she also turned her attention to Brent. When they first met, she thought he was the best looking man she’d ever seen. That flowing raven hair. Those intense green eyes. That body. But what astonished her was that he was even better looking now in his mid-thirties than he looked in his mid-twenties, when they were an item. That amazed her.
What also amazed her was how vividly she remembered him. Not that she had forgotten him. She never did. She still had dreams about how he used to do her; how he used to take her into his big arms, put that monster-sized cock inside of her, and fuck her like it was nobody’s business. And how he used to treat her like a queen. He was the only good man she’d ever known. He was the only man who could give her a great life, great sex, and a great future. She still hated herself for leaving him to run back to Mark. She shed even more tears just thinking about how much she hated that fateful decision she made that long, cold decade ago.
“I want to thank you, Brent,” she said to him, “for looking out for my child. You don’t know what that means to me to know that he was in your care. Thank you so much.”
“His name is Marcus?” Brent asked her.
Denise felt almost embarrassed that she had taken her attention away from her child. “Yes,” she said, looking back down at her son. “His name is Marcus. We call him Markie.” Then she looked at Makayla.
Brent immediately placed his hand on the small of Makayla’s back and moved her forward. “This is Makayla Ross,” he said.
“Hello, Mrs. Stravinsky,” Makayla said. “I’m the Deputy District Attorney for Jericho County. I’m so sorry we had to meet under such terrible circumstances.”
“You’re the D.A.?” Denise asked.
“And my fiancée,” Brent said.
Tony looked hard at Denise when Brent made that declaration. Although her facial expression seemed unchanged, there was a flicker of alarm in her eyes that barely registered. But Tony caught it.
“Oh,” Denise responded. “Your fiancée? How nice.”
“And this fellow right here,” Brent said, “is Captain Eddie Rivers. A good friend and a good cop.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Eddie said with a nod of the head.
“Nice to meet you.”
“And I’m sure you remember my brother Anthony,” Brent said.
Denise smiled. “Of course I remember Tony,” she said. “How have you been, stranger?”
“I’ve been good. But let me echo what Mal said. I wish we would have met again under different circumstances.”
“Yes,” Denise said, angry with herself for forgetting to show total contrition again. But her look changed on a dime. She was the contrition queen once more. “They said my husband,” she said, the tears returning. “They said they found him . . . that he---”
“Come and sit down, Denise,” Brent said to her as he took her arm and helped her take a seat on the couch.
“What happened?” she asked Brent after she, with her son still in her arms, were seated. “I’ve heard such awful things. Please tell me what happened.”
“Tony, why don’t you take Marcus to sit with Belma until we finish here.”
“Sure thing,” Tony said. “If it’s okay with Denise.”
Denise nodded her okay and was about to hand over Marcus as if he was a small baby.
“He can walk,” Brent said, causing Tony and Makayla both to look at him. And Brent knew it was a contradiction since he had been cradling the boy since they met, but that was because he was a brand new baby to Brent. Brent’s brand new baby. But cuddling time was over.
“And see if you can get him to eat something,” Brent added as Tony took Marcus by the hand and began walking him out of the office.
When they left, Brent held out the chair for Makayla to sit down, and he sat down himself. Eddie remained standing. “Would you care for anything to drink?” Brent asked Denise.
“No, I’m fine.”
“I tried to get Marcus to eat, but he wouldn’t touch a thing. He did drink a juice just before you arrived, but that’s been it.”
“I have to force-feed him on a good day. He has never been a big eater.”
He was scrawny, Brent thought, and that concerned him too.
“But please tell me what’s going on,” Denise said. “What really happened?”
“He had my name in his pocket,” Brent said.
Denise looked confused. “Your name?”
“No. Why would anybody do something like that? That makes no sense,” she said, as if the obvious resemblance to Brent was no resemblance at all. “None of this does.”
“Did you know they were coming to Jericho?” Brent asked her.
“No. I had no idea. That’s why this is all so confusing to me. They were going to Kennebunkport, on a fishing trip. How did they get to Jericho? Please tell me what happened.”
Brent exhaled and gave in. She had a right to know the full story. “Eddie, Captain Rivers here, discovered the body.” Brent looked at his second-in-command. “Tell her what you found.”
Eddie hated to be the one to tell her. No wife and mother should ever have to hear what he had to tell her. “I responded to a disturbance call,” he said. “At a motel. The Super Fin motel. When I arrived, along with two of our uniformed officers, we found your son sitting beside the body of a white male. Your husband. The butchered body of your husband.”
Tears reappeared in Denise’s eyes. Eddie looked at Brent. Brent nodded for him to continue.
“Your son, ma’am, had a knife in his hand.”
“A knife?” Denise asked.
“A knife that was still dripping fresh blood.”
Denise shook her head with a puzzled look on her face. “What are you trying to say?” she asked. She looked from Eddie to Brent to Makayla, and then back at Brent. “What is he saying, Brent?”
Brent exhaled and leaned forward. He clasped his hands together. Makayla could feel his anguish. “Marcus had the murder weapon in his hand,” she said.
Denise’s eyes stretched wide. “The murder weapon? Are you saying. . . are you implying that Marcus, that my son could have . . .? Oh, hell no! I know better than that!”
“I’m only telling you the facts,” Brent said. “We’re not making any judgments about anything yet. But the facts are the facts.”
“I’ll show you the facts,” Denise said with anger in her voice. She stood up, hurried to the exit, and opened the office door. Marcus was surrounded by the staffers who arrived with Denise, with Tony sitting beside Belma at Belma’s desk. Denise called for her son. Marcus looked, and then went to his mother. Denise closed the door back and walked back to the sofa. She sat down, with Marcus sitting beside her.
“This isn’t necessary, Denise,” Brent said.
“Oh, yes it is. If you’re going to call my son a murderer, he’s going to have the right to defend himself.” She looked at her son. “Markie, did you hurt Daddy in any way?” she asked him.
Makayla moved to the edge of her seat with concern. She looked at Brent.
“Let me handle it, Denise,” Brent said.
“Answer the question, Marcus,” Denise said to her son. “Did you harm Daddy in any way?”
When the boy was about to respond, Makayla interjected. She knew, if he said anything incriminating, she could hold it against him in a court of law. “Mrs. Stravinsky,” she said, interrupting Marcus, “I would strongly advise you to seek the advice of an attorney before you allow him---”
“You don’t advise me of anything,” Denise snapped at Makayla. “This is my child, not yours!”
“She didn’t say it was hers,” Brent snapped back. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but she had nothing to do with it. You treat her with respect.”
“Oh, so I’m the bad guy now?” Denise asked. “Some trick gets to tell me how to handle my own child and you expect me to just let her?”
“Some trick?” Eddie said, amazed that she had gone there with Brent’s woman. He looked at Brent. Brent was staring at Denise.
“I don’t know why she even has to be here, anyway,” Denise went on. “You can take care of this. You don’t need her.”
“It’s alright,” Makayla said to Brent. This woman was trying to make this tragedy all about her, and Makayla wasn’t interested in letting her.
But Brent wasn’t about to let it slide. “I need Makayla,” he said, “like I need air to breathe.” He stared hard at Denise, just in case she had any ideas up her sneaky sleeve. “Get used to it.”
Eddie inwardly smiled. That was how you sat down a bitch, he thought. Denise’s heart sunk. He apparently had stronger feelings for this Makayla than she had anticipated. Which meant she had her work cut out for her. But she had been married to a monster for a decade. She knew what a challenge was, and she was up to this one too. Life never came easy for her anyway.
She decided that getting rid of Makayla wasn’t going to work. She therefore ignored Makayla and turned her attention back to her son. “What happened in that motel room, Marcus?” she asked him. “Did Daddy hurt you?”
Marcus glanced at Brent, but didn’t say anything.
“That’s enough, Denise,” Brent said, rising to his feet. “No more questions.”
But Denise was finished. She took her son’s small chin and turned it toward her face. “Did you hurt, Daddy, Markie? You tell me what happened. Did you do anything to Daddy?”
Brent grabbed Denise and angrily pulled her to her feet. “What did I tell you? No more questions!”
But before Brent could put a stop to it for good, as he was about to do, Marcus blurted out three words. “I killed him,” he said.
Brent’s heart fell through his shoe and the entire room went quiet with shock. Makayla looked at Brent. Eddie looked at Brent. Denise and Brent were staring at Marcus. “I know you hated him,” Denise said, further incriminating her son. “But you didn’t kill him, did you?”
“I killed him,” Marcus said again.
“You killed him?” Denise asked her son, as if twice wasn’t shocking enough.
Marcus looked at his mother and nodded his head.
“With that knife?” she asked him.
He nodded his head to that question too.
And Brent was floored. He ran his hands through his hair. His eyes looked like glass about to break.
Makayla was floored too. She knew she had to act on his confession. She knew there was no going back now.
Then Brent stood up, prompting Denise and Marcus to stand up too. “He’s overtired,” he said to Denise. “We’ll talk with him tomorrow, after he’s had a chance to meet with an attorney.”
Eddie frowned. “Brent, what are you doing?” he asked him.
“You can’t leave town,” Brent said to Denise.
“Yes, I know.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“Brent,” Makayla said. She was stunned that he was willing to overlook such a monumental problem that she was duty bound, not to mention morally bound, to not overlook.
“We don’t have a place, no.” Then she looked at him. “What about Jericho Inn? They may have some rooms available.”
“I think they do,” Brent said.
“Is Jenay still running it? Or has she and your father divorced?”
That was the Denise he remembered, he thought. Her slights knew no bounds. “Yes, she still runs it,” he said. The divorce part was none of her business.
“That’s good,” Denise said with a smile as if her son had not just confessed to murdering her husband. “Jenay and I used to be best friends, you know.”
That surprised Makayla. This woman and Jenay seemed like worlds apart.
“It was me, Jenay, and Norman,” Denise said. “The Three Oddateers.” Then a sad look appeared in her eyes. “That seemed like forever ago.”
“I’ll take you and Marcus there,” Brent said, but Makayla stepped in.
“Brent, that’s not possible. Marcus confessed. I heard him. I can’t disregard that fact.”
Brent looked at a concerned Eddie. “Get Denise and Marcus and wait for me downstairs.”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie said as he corralled Denise and her son to follow him. But as they walked out, he looked back at Makayla as if he was relying on her to make this wrong thing they were doing
right.
Denise looked back at Makayla too, but she looked back with joy in her heart. It could not have gone better if she had dreamed it up herself. She knew Brent would look out for Marcus. She knew it all along.
When they left, Brent and Makayla stood toe-to-toe. “He confessed to the crime, Brent,” Makayla said. “I’m sorry that he did. But he did.”
“He claimed he did it, yes, he did.”
Makayla frowned. “What do you mean he claimed he did it? You can’t determine the truth of his statement without investigating it first.”
“That boy has been to hell and back again. I’m not adding to his horror, and neither will you.”
“But he confessed, Brent.”
“Okay, he confessed! What do you expect to do about it?”
“What I’m duty bound to do. Charge him with the murder of Mark Stravinsky.”
“Like hell you will! I can’t arrest him, Makayla! That’s my son!”
“But he confessed!”
“He’s tired,” Brent said, looking and sounding beyond exhausted himself. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow, after he consults with an attorney.”
“But that’s not possible.”
“Don’t tell me what’s not possible.”
But Makayla held her ground. “It’s not possible,” she said again. “That child said he did it. He did not invoke his right to remain silent.”
“Yes, he did.”
“No, he did not. He did not invoke his right to remain silent.”
“Well I’m invoking it!” Brent blared. “I’m his father and I’m invoking it!”
His pain was palpable to Makayla.
And Brent continued. “Ten years out of his life, I’m invoking it! Nothing he said today will be used against him. Nothing.”
Makayla swallowed hard. He was asking her to participate in a cover up. He was asking her, on her second day on the job, to completely disrespect and disregard the office she held. “And what about tomorrow?” she asked. “What if tomorrow comes and he continues to insist he did it? What if he continues to say, unabated, that he killed Mr. Stravinsky?”
A distressed look appeared in Brent’s eyes. “Then you’ll do your job,” he said, “and I’ll do mine.” He touched Makayla’s arm and then squeezed it. “But not today. Okay?”
Brent Sinatra: All of Me Page 16