Private Investigation

by Aidèe Jaimes

The two suits stand at the front. They look at the woman, who’s practically rubbing elbows with me, then turn their heads my way.

  “Matthew Grayson?” the older one asks.

  “You gave them my name?” I question her.

  She shakes her head, now appearing confused. “I don’t know your name.”

  The silver-haired man pulls out his badge. “Mr. Grayson, I’m Detective Pruitt, and this is my partner, Detective Mancia. We received a call earlier this morning. It wasn’t hard to surmise that this break-in was you.”

  “I only broke in because I’m looking for someone. And I think she’s in terrible danger,” I tell them.

  “Yes, we’re aware,” the detective informs me.

  “You’re aware?”

  Detective Pruitt looks over my shoulder at the woman who’s now standing behind me as if for protection. “We’d like you to come to the station with us.”

  “Am I being arrested?” I ask him.

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  For a moment, I consider running, grabbing the lady and using her as a hostage to get me out of the house. But I need them to understand the desperate situation Eva is in. I need them to help her. Running won’t get me shit.

  Turning to the woman, I say, “You take care.”

  I follow the men outside.

  “Are you armed?” Detective Mancia asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He removes my firearm, then opens the back door to the black Queen Victoria. The familiar scent of iron and coffee fills my nose as I slide over the black vinyl seat. Guess nothing has changed much.

  The only thing that has changed is that now I’m on the wrong side of the cage.

  Chapter 27

  There’s some chatter between the detectives on the way there, but they don’t direct any of the conversation toward me.

  We arrive at the station within fifteen minutes. I’m escorted through the building to a room in the back.

  “Would you like any coffee? Water?” Detective Mancia asks.

  “Water, please.”

  “Have a seat, Mr. Grayson. We’ll be back shortly.” Detective Pruitt indicates a gray table with four chairs.

  The two men leave me there to wait in the sterile space I’m all too familiar with, but I’ve never been the one being questioned before. It’s disconcerting, waiting here the way that I am. I sit on the metal chair, placing my hands on the surface of the table, palms down.

  Calm and cool, I tell myself. Just breathe.

  I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t give a shit. All I care about is Eva. And though I’m keeping my demeanor composed on the outside, on the inside, I’m screaming to the fucking heavens for someone to help her. To find her.

  Please, God. Please let her be okay.

  Sitting here in the quiet gives my mind plenty of time to go round in circles. I know why I’m here, just as I know why they’re taking so long to “get water.”

  The older detective said they were aware that Eva is missing. A call had come in before the nosy neighbor reported my break-in. They went there specifically for me. To question me about Ember, no doubt.

  Fucking Justin. If I didn’t love him, I’d punch him in the face. Hell, I still might do it the next time I see him.

  I wait at least half an hour, enough time for them to secure the warrant for my arrest, if that’s what they’re going for. When they come back without my water, I realize that’s exactly what they’re doing.

  The two men sit across from me. Pruitt lays a folder on the table and pushes it my way. I don’t look at it, choosing to watch him as he speaks instead.

  “Four years ago, we were made aware of a prostitution ring here in Naples. At first, we thought it was just a small group. We get these all the time. Someone thinks he can make some quick cash. He goes to jail for a night and learns his lesson.”

  “I know how it is,” I say.

  “Yes, I’m very well aware of your work history, Mr. Grayson. Which is why I hope that as a former officer, you’ll help us take these people down.”

  Just as I suspected, they want Ember. Only, it sounds like they’ve been after these women for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI were involved on this one, probably listening in on our conversation.

  Playing dumb, I say, “Can’t you just arrest them and send them to jail for a night to learn their lesson?”

  The detective gives me a condescending sort of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wish we could. See, this small ring turns out to be not so small at all. This is a multimillion dollar organization so damned slippery that every time we think we have a good grip, it slithers right out from under us.”

  “Multimillion?” I ask. “Not possible.” A few hundred thousand, perhaps. But millions?

  Mancia looks at me. “Believe it. They cater only to the filthy rich. There are so many higher-ups involved in this mess that the cases get shut down before we get more than a couple of days into the investigation. Every damned time!” He pounds the table with a fist, nostrils flaring.

  “And when they’re not shut down, they simply elude us. They have a system. Someone on the team knows exactly how to keep us blind, leaving very little trace, if any,” Pruitt adds.

  Lifting my hands to them and shaking my head, I say, “Detectives, while I can appreciate your plight, I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  The two men look at each other as if agreeing who will speak. Pruitt does. “This morning we received a very interesting call.”

  My mind goes to Justin. “So I heard.”

  “Mr. Grayson, I suggest you open that folder in front of you.”

  With a sigh, I do it. My breath catches almost instantly as photograph after photograph of Eva greet me.

  “You know her.” It’s a statement.

  I look up at Pruitt because he’s the lead. “Yes.”

  “Does it make you curious to know why we’ve only photographed her and none of the others in Ember?”

  I can barely utter the word, “Yes.”

  “That’s how well she protects her ‘contractors.’ That’s what she calls them.”

  “No,” I defend. “She’s a contractor—was, I mean. And she hated it, so she’s leaving.”

  “I promise you, she’s more than a simple worker. Two years ago, we received a tip from someone she pissed off. Disgruntled because he was cut off.”

  “Fucking finally,” Mancia throws in, interrupting Pruitt.

  The older man glares at Mancia before continuing. “After we struck an immunity deal, he gave us the most information we’ve ever gotten. Gave us this card.” The detective sets the familiar black card with the Ember logo on the front. “The Ember Jewelry Company. Sounds fancy, doesn’t it? We’ve never been able to tie it to any illegal transaction. Are you familiar with The Ember Jewelry Company, Mr. Grayson?”

  “I bought something from them, yes.” My heart is pounding forcefully against my chest, making it near impossible to breathe. I keep my hands open to prevent my palms from pooling with sweat, though there isn’t much I can do about the rivulet that rolls from my temple to my jaw. All they’d need to link me to Ember is to get a warrant for account information, and they’d see that five-thousand-dollar purchase.

  “Yes, we saw,” Pruitt says.

  “I hope you had a warrant,” I counter.

  “My good man, unlike many others, we do things legally here.”

  “Good for you.”

  “So what did you buy at Ember that cost three hundred dollars?” Mancia asks.

  I frown, wondering why he didn’t mention the much larger purchase. “An overpriced bag for my mother. It’s still in my car if you’re so inclined to check. The receipt’s in the bag. But don’t lose it. I may return it later.”

  “Thanks, we’ll take your word for it.” Detective Pruitt looks toward the camera, then back at me. “How did you meet Eva Jean?”

  “Her husband hired my company to investigate her,” I ans
wer.

  “For what?” Mancia asks.

  “Possible infidelity.”

  “And what did you find?”

  Sighing, I sit back. This is going to take a long time. “If my brother contacted you, then you have the report.”

  “Yes. But we have a feeling you left very important information out,” Pruitt states, also sitting back. “Did you sleep with her?”

  “That’s a personal question.”

  “Not anymore, it isn’t.”

  “Listen, Detective, I appreciate what you’re doing. And I’m not going to answer anything else without an attorney present. But Eva’s out there somewhere. She might be in danger. If her husband has found out, he’ll be very angry. Question me all you want, but please have someone go look for her. She needs your help!”

  “Grayson, you don’t need to lawyer up, because I’m not going to ask any more questions. All I’m going to do is show you. Because I think you need to know. And because it’s we who need the help, not that woman.” Pruitt flips through the sheets in the folder until he comes to the one he wants, pointing at it as he reads, “The Ember Jewelry Company. Or better yet, The Eva Jean Company. EJC.”

  Suddenly, I sit up, looking at the first letter of every word. How did I miss that before? EJC. Shaking my head, I deny it, even though it’s right in front of me. “No.”

  I make sure to keep my eyes on the table as I process what he’s just said. Within a matter of seconds, I riffle through my brain for any hint that she may have given me, any slipped or unintentional words she may have said. Or never said.

  She never said there was anyone over her, anyone to answer to. When she told me how everything began, she said she’d been made an offer she couldn’t refuse. I assumed it was money to sleep with someone. But what if it was more than that? What if it was an offer to start a business? Ember to be exact.

  “We know she’s EJC for a fact. We tried to set up a sting operation, but it didn’t work. The calls are filtered; people are screened and investigated even better than we could do,” Pruitt tells me. “Her people protect her as much as she does them. Every damn time we think we have her, bam! She slips away.”

  “Detective Pruitt, if you’re so sure who she is, why not just go to her house and question her? Speaking of, have you not seen her house? She doesn’t have millions. And if she works where she does, it’s because she felt there was no other way.”

  “Grayson, I know you want to believe her. To see her as some sort of victim. Your brother told me her husband hired you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Unless he’s risen from the dead, that was not her husband.” His blue eyes show no hint of deceit. He reaches over to the folder and flips through the sheets, stopping at a death certificate showing Peter Gabriel Cage died eight years ago.

  “This can’t be.”

  Now I begin to search through the file in earnest, determined to find something that belies what my eyes are seeing. But what I discover is even more damning. There are two more death certificates dated the same day as Mr. Cage’s death. Samuel Cage and Brandon Cage. Age five. Cause of death: Drowning. “I don’t understand.”

  “Mr. Grayson, Eva Jean is a widow. Her husband and two children drowned in the lake by their house on Vaspaa Court. You may have seen the large lake?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “He was driving, lost control of the car.”

  “But… I didn’t find any information on their deaths,” I say, wiping my brow. My nerves are starting to frazzle, and it shows.

  “Did you look?” Mancia asks.

  The truth is, I didn’t look. It wasn’t even a thought. My job was to find out where she was going every day. Simple. Easy. Yet if I’d really done my homework, if I’d never seen her picture, it would have only taken a click to do the research. “No.”

  “It’s her job to lie. Why she chose to share anything at all with you about her real life is—”

  “I paid her,” I interrupt. “She lied because I paid her to. After I realized what she was, I needed a way in. It seemed like the easiest thing to do.”

  “You paid her to lie about her life?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t know why she did that.”

  The two men look at each other.

  “She would have known he’s a P.I.,” Mancia says to Pruitt. “She accepted him knowing he’s an investigator?”

  “This interview is over. We need to go,” Pruitt tells Mancia before addressing me, “Mr. Grayson, get your attorney here.”

  Chapter 28

  “It should be there.”

  “Well, it’s not,” my attorney, David Flores, tells me. “Unless you can see something I don’t.”

  “No.”

  “Would you have used any other account?” he asks, studying my statement once again.

  “No. I don’t have any other accounts, and this is my only credit card. All of my actual money is in retirement.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still living paycheck to paycheck. What about all that money you saved before Lena’s death? Her life insurance?”

  “Invested. It keeps me out of trouble. If it goes into a bank account, I’ll spend it. Otherwise, it’s safely tucked away so that when I’m old and gray, I can buy myself a mansion in Costa Rica. Though, by then, I won’t give a shit about spending it anyway.” I shrug.

  “I’m old and gray and still give a shit.”

  “Maybe you should have saved all your money. You could be living the life in Costa Rica right about now.”

  David huffs, taking the documents out of my hand. “Well, if you didn’t pay for it, you didn’t buy it.”

  “Maybe they forgot to charge me,” I suggest.

  “Then you should be happy for their bad memory. It might save you from going to jail.”

  “I admitted to hiring her.”

  “Matthew, that mouth of yours needs to stay shut when we talk to them. Understood?”

  Nodding, I agree. I called the family attorney earlier. It took him four hours to get here, and during that time, I waited in a private room. Guess it was hard for them to put one of their own in a holding cell.

  Being there in the silence with no interruptions gave me a damn long time to think. To go over the last week with a fine-toothed comb, looking for evidence that confirms what Detective Pruitt says is true. All the way back to the beginning I went.

  It was all some sort of set-up. From the moment her “husband” hired Grayson Investigations. Pruitt and Mancia alluded to the fact that she’d known I was an investigator from the start. That tells me she wanted me to investigate her. But why? Why put on this charade for me? Was it meant for Justin instead? Did I accidentally become involved in a plan meant for him?

  Then I remember her likeness to Lena. No. She was meant for me. What I don’t understand is what anyone would have gained from putting me through this. There was no loss of money, because, as Justin stated, all of our expenses were paid on demand. And they never charged me. Other than the payment for a shiny purse, I haven’t lost anything.

  Eva knew what she was doing. Fuck, she knew what I was doing, every step of the way. She controlled every scene of my desire. Somehow, even before I met her, she’d studied me enough to know my weakness. Lena. She used my grief against me, making herself seem the victim of a bastard husband with no way out. If there’s one thing I’m certain of in all this mess, it’s that Eva is no victim.

  But the sadness in her eyes… That had to be real. Finding out that her entire family died on the same day, I now know that has to be what darkens her soul.

  I sit silently as David mumbles to himself, examining every charge placed against me.

  Solicitation of prostitution, breaking and entering, withholding evidence, to name a few.

  All of this is so surreal. It’s as if I followed Eva down a rabbit hole, hypnotized by solemn gray eyes, and ended up in some fucked up version of my life. Everything has been a lie, yet it was that lie I sought. I knowingly and willi
ngly fell for it because in that lie, I found something that finally made me happy. Truly, passionately, obsessively happy. A reason to live again. To see the sun.

  But a lie it was, and now I’m left holding nothing but shadows and ghosts. Questions and anger.

  We’re escorted back to the interrogation room, where we wait just a few minutes.

  The door opens and both the detectives and a woman enter.

  Pruitt speaks. “Mr. Flores, Grayson, this is Angela Kingston. She’s one of the agents who’s been involved in this investigation from the beginning.”

  The tall blonde sits across the table from me, flanked by the two men. She pulls out a document and places it in front of me, then lifts her steel blue eyes to mine, staring me down over her platinum readers. The way she scrutinizes me intimidates the hell out of me, but I don’t look away.

  Plastering an unconvincing smile on her face, she says, “Mr. Grayson, the last thing we want is to send you to jail.”

  “What makes you think you have a chance of sending him to jail?” David rebukes. “Don’t forget that he’s a former officer, and I’m his attorney. We know what you have isn’t worth anything.”

  “We have him admitting he solicited sex from a known madam. He knew she was a prostitute for two weeks before the police were informed.”

  “You forgot to mention breaking and entering,” I add snidely.

  Kingston ignores my comment and tells my attorney, “Mr. Flores, I haven’t forgotten that he’s one of us. That’s exactly why we don’t want his record tainted, and why we know he’ll be willing to help us.”

  “Help you how?” I ask.

  “We want you to reach out to her,” Kingston says.

  “I tried. All her lines are disconnected.”

  Everyone looks to Kingston.

  “If she set this up knowing, he’s a P.I, then that means she wants something from him,” Mancia offers.

  Kingston folds her hands in front of her. “You said you hired her. We didn’t find a record of charges.”

  “That’s because he didn’t pay,” David informs her.

  “Did you follow through with the service?” she asks me.