They’d both introduced themselves when I’d sat down. Morelli is tall, built, with wavy black hair and Olive skin – very obviously of Italian descent.
“Of course I do, Detective, with my every breath,” I answer, a little confused by the line of questioning, but not in the least bit rattled.
“Do you love Miss Beal?” he asks further.
I really don’t see what one has to do with the other but I actually don’t have an answer for that. Do I love her? If this were Molly or any other woman I slept with, would I be losing my mind and losing sleep trying to find them?
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“Why the hesitation, Mr. Hayes? Every other question seemed so easy for you.”
He crosses to the desk, now facing me. The look on his face is one of calm, but the accusatory tone with which he asked the question rubs me in a way that I shouldn’t let it.
“What the hell is with these questions, Detective Morelli?” I demand, growing angry. The other detective is yet to say a word. He just watches me with appraising eyes.
“You’ve been holding out on us, Mr. Hayes. You haven’t been as forthcoming as we’d have hoped,” he says crossing his arms.
“What? I’ve been nothing but truthful to every last one of you goddamn cops!” I fume.
“But, you failed to tell us that you and Miss Beal broke up. You led us all to believe that you two were a loving couple,” he asserts in a patronizing tone.
“Don’t fucking patronize me, cop,” I seethe.
“Stop evading the damn questions then!” he shouts. “We want to know about the breakup,” he demands.
“It seems you already know all you need to know, Detective, and based on what – my mother, I bet – told you, you’ve already gone ahead and formulated a theory. I will need to speak with my lawyer since I am now a suspect,” I say coolly, easing back into my chair, my earlier pique forgotten.
“Who said anything about being a suspect?” the other Detective – what was his name? – finally chimes in from the door against which he is leaning watching everything. He, too, is tall, but not very lean as he has a protruding belly. Too many donuts, I presume. His tone is too cool for comfort, but I won’t let that rattle me.
“I know how this thing goes, Detective. Don’t insult my intelligence. You get a story, you run with it, form your little crazy theories around it, and try to nab a suspect based on it. I need my lawyer,” I answer straightforwardly.
“We’re just asking a few questions, Mr. Hayes. Why so defensive?” Detective Morelli says with a sly smirk on his face. I really, really, don’t trust cops.
“Yeah? Then the next thing I know I’m in cuffs being shoved behind bars for being a prime suspect in the kidnapping of a former girlfriend. If we’re done here, I’m not saying anything further without my lawyer.” I get to my feet, waiting for them to let me out.
The two detectives stare at me with arms folded, appraising me. Don’t they know I don’t fluster easily? Besides, what do they expect to get out of me? What would I be doing here if I had anything to do with Sullivan’s kidnapping? Do they think I’m that stupid? Where would I even have the time to plan a kidnapping? These fucking cops are as ridiculous as the stories they’ve weaved in their simple minds.
The other detective – ah, Detective Witherspoon – opens the door and with a scowl, releases me.
“Darling!” My mother grabs me and folds me in her arms. “Why did they call you back? Did I say something?”
“Apparently I’m a suspect,” I tell her, peeling her off me. “Matt, get Harvey here.”
“Oh, my God!” she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Was it because I mentioned the breakup?”
I give her a tight nod. My mother has always been honest to a fault and very detailed. God bless her.
“If I had known that it would have made you a suspect, I would never have told them about it. I am so very sorry, son.” She throws her arms around me once more and hugs me tightly to her.
“It’s okay, mom,” I reassure her.
Pulling her away, I realize that she’s been crying. Turning back, I glare at the two officers who regard me coolly as if they don’t care. Ugh, they’re not worth the time or the fucking effort.
Just as I turn to face the others, Harvey stalks in. Big, surly, reeking of money and power in his well-tailored black suit with a striking blue tie and crisp white shirt, already looking like he wants to go to court with his briefcase in hand. Ah, my lawyer…always ready. I almost break out laughing, but control the urge.
“You’re here fast,” I remark. “Your day time whore wasn’t doing a good job?”
One thing with Harvey: he loves his money and his women.
“Ben,” Mom admonishes with a slap to the chest. She knows this is how Harvey and I rib each other.
“I was around the corner trying to pick up your cousin, but then I remembered that she wasn’t good the first time,” he teases back.
I smirk at him, the bastard, as we shake hands.
“Did you say anything to them, Mr. Hayes?” he enquires with a frown; now all business.
“No, I didn’t, Harvey. I’m not stupid.” I scowl at him with pursed lips. Why was everyone insulting my intelligence and why am I so goddamn sensitive?
“Sorry, Harvey, been having a rough night.” I shrug in explanation of my pissy mood.
“That’s alright, Ben,” he assures me. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“By all means, take this room,” Detective Witherspoon chimes in, giving us a sardonic smile.
“I have nothing to hide, Harvey. Let’s go speak to these cops now and get it over with,” I huff, trying to reign in my temper; because, really, what I want to do is bash their faces in for thinking me a suspect and for wasting precious minutes that can be spent searching for Sullivan.
“But, Mr. Hayes––”
“Harvey, there’s nothing to be fearful about. I have nothing to hide.”
“Except that you had broken things off with Miss Beal after you both had a fight,” Detective Witherspoon interjects. I am beginning to dislike this man…a lot.
“Fuck off, Detective!” I curse. “You don’t know a goddamn thing.”
“Ben, calm down. This will only count as a strike against you in their book,” Harvey says with a warning grip on my arm.
“Better listen to your lawyer, rich boy,” Detective Witherspoon jabs.
“I don’t want to talk to this prick,” I puff.
“Well, you’re shit outta luck there, playboy,” he scoffs. “There’s no one else.”
“I won’t talk unless you back the fuck off with the attitude, Detective. Since I’m not under arrest, I can walk the fuck out of here,” I threaten, “and since you only have a weak ass theory to go on and not enough evidence to put me away – as you so desperately want – I would guess that you need me to be very cooperative with you right now and give you everything you need.”
“Withe’,” Detective Morelli mutters sullenly, resting a hand on the detective’s shoulder. “He’s right. Back off.”
Witherspoon glares at me and walks away from the door and over to the big window. He’s like a petulant little puppy with his tail between his legs right now. The urge to laugh and then smile smugly and triumphantly at him pops up, but I bat it down. The real kick-him-while-he’s-down moment is about to come up, when I tell them the story behind Sullivan’s and my breakup. An apology will definitely be in order.
Harvey and I walk into the room while Morelli closes us in. My steps are light and easy as I stride to the chair I had vacated earlier and sit down insouciantly. Harvey sits next to me and eases his back calmly into the chair, giving off an appearance of cool. I’m glad he gets the message from my demeanor.
There is nothing to worry about.
“So, are you ready to talk?” Morelli asks, sitting down in front of us, his forefingers tented under his chin.
After little over half an hour, I’d tol
d them the whole score between Sullivan and me – from the time we met, to the breakup. I felt I had to give them the whole story – or at least the abridged version – for them to understand how things are – or were – between us. By that time, Witherspoon had sat down, listening raptly to me talking.
“When I went to the restaurant, it was all in a bid to try to win her back. You can ask Rachel, she’ll back up my story,” I say evenly.
“Detectives, she drives me crazy more than anyone ever has, and it’s driving me crazier knowing that someone has taken her from me,” I continue. “If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do. I wouldn’t have a problem spending life in prison just to avenge her. Yes, I was mad as hell when I learned she knew and kept my father’s infidelity from me, but does that warrant me kidnapping her? What would I have to gain from her kidnapping? I guess it’s your judgment call. If after all I’ve said, you still think that I’m a prime suspect, then I just have to prove myself in court and I have no problem doing that.”
I lean forward, my palms flat on table, fixing them with a hard stare as I say to them, “Know this, though: every second we waste, is precious time that could be spent intensifying the search for her.”
It is 9:45 p.m., a little over nine hours since she has gone missing. The realization dawns on me then – still no Sullivan. I breathe slowly, trying to reign in my temper and not follow through with my thoughts of pouncing on these two Krispy Kreme eating motherfuckers called detectives. I would be of no use to Sullivan arrested.
“I understand your initial reaction to her knowing about your father’s infidelity,” Witherspoon speaks up and I’m taken off guard by his sudden defense, though I’m still wary of him.
“I would be pretty keyed up too. I love my mother just as much and would kill anyone who tried to hurt her intentionally or unintentionally.” And there he goes, verifying my suspicions.
“I didn’t kidnap her or arrange her kidnapping,” I maintain through clenched teeth.
“I wasn’t saying you did, Mr. Hayes,” Witherspoon argues in a resigned voice. “I am just saying I–we understand your reaction, but it doesn’t make you a suspect. We understand now.”
Morelli pipes up, “You have to understand that everything will be a red flag for us in a case like this, so we take every information we get – and don’t get – seriously. Everyone is a suspect until their story checks out.”
“I understand, Detectives,” I say.
“And we’re…I’m sorry for being so brusque with you,” Witherspoon apologizes.
“Thank you for apologizing, Detective Witherspoon. Apology accepted, sir,” I pardon him and we shake hands as we all rise from our seats.
“Is there anything else you need from my client, Detectives?” Harvey asks.
“No, that’ll be all, but we will need to tap your cell, Mr. Hayes, in the off chance that this son of a bitch calls and asks for a ransom,” Morelli advises.
“No problem, detectives. I suspect you will need to tap Miss Welles’ phone as well. I can use my security team to shadow her just in case the sick bastard wants her too,” I suggest.
“Do what you must, Mr. Hayes. We will be speaking with Miss Welles to see if she can confirm your story, but I doubt very much that she won’t,” Witherspoon says. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Hayes and Mr.?” he indicates to Harvey.
“Matteo.” Harvey extends his hand and shakes both their hands in succession. “Harvey Matteo.”
“Mr. Matteo,” Witherspoon settles.
Outside the interrogation room, worried faces greet me. The detectives call Rachel in and close the door behind them.
Mother embraces me once more. “You look exhausted, son,” she observes caressing my face.
“I’ll be alright, Mother,” I tell her, but I know I won’t be, so long as Sullivan is still captive. A crippling feeling twists my gut and I stumble back a bit. What if he’s hurt her?
“You have to be strong, Ben,” Matt says, laying a firm but encouraging hand on my shoulder. I forgot how much he knows me.
“I’m trying, bro, but every moment without her, not knowing anything, is kicking my ass. I just feel…”
“Helpless, I know.”
Rachel comes out after long minutes and Detective Witherspoon nods at me, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I take it nonetheless. I suspect his hunches are never usually wrong.
“A witness here says they saw both Rick and Miss Beal kissing on the street and that he swept her up and took her into a big black SUV,” a young officer tells us from the phone he holds at his ear. “Uh huh. Yeah, okay.”
Automatically, I sit up, adrenaline humming through my veins. Any information is good information right now, no matter how perplexing it sounds.
We had sent out an appeal for information, sent her picture to different television stations as well as the recording, but no one has been forthcoming with information.
Until now.
“Get that witness down here immediately,” Morelli commands.
“Workin’ on it,” the officer shouts back.
“Listen,” Witherspoon speaks up, “it’s no use you all sitting up here waiting for news. Get some rest all of you. As soon as we get any information, we’ll be sure to call; but for now, get some rest and start fresh in the morning,” he suggests.
“No,” I refuse. How can he expect that I would leave here or even try to get some sleep while Sullivan is in danger? I need to be here, for her sake.
“Son, listen to the detective,” Mother orders.
I want to argue, but I don’t. Instead, I sigh. This is going to be a long night and truthfully, I don’t think I can be alone. “Would you all mind staying at my place for the night? Did you book a hotel, Marshall?” I ask.
“I didn’t, actually. I was planning on staying with Rachel, in Sullivan’s bedroom.” Over my dead body! This guy could be some kind of pervert; I don’t want him anywhere near Sullivan or her things. I don’t trust him.
“Rachel, for your safety, I don’t think you should go back to that apartment. I have no problem with you both staying with me until we find her.”
Rachel looks at Marshall who, in turn, gives her an are-you-sure look. She nods and then he agrees.
“Mom and I will come too. You need us, bro,” Matt says. He couldn’t be more right.
Chapter Seven
I tried, God knows I tried to sleep, but when I bolt from bed and into the bathroom to puke my guts out after just three hours of laying my head on my pillow, I knew there’d be no way I’d sleep now.
I don’t know if it was the Jack Daniels along with the Bourbon I’d consumed so much of earlier with Matt, Marshall and Rachel, or the dream I was having of Sullivan being raped and murdered by that fucker Rick that got my insides roiling; but as I wash the sweat from my face and the stench of the vomit from my mouth, I fear going back to sleep because of what I might dream up next.
You can’t give up, I mentally check myself, and I won’t. I have to find my sweet girl. My old buddy Drake Marsden came to mind in an hour of liquor-induced desperation. If anyone can find her, it’s him. Problem is he’s not on the up and up. Getting him involved would raise too many red flags on the criminal watch list.
Bringing Drake in will be last resort, if needs be, but I know if I’d gone to him first, this worry would not be consuming me as it is right now. I don’t even want to imagine what that sick fuck is doing to her at this very moment. I need to clear my mind for the day ahead and a drive can do just that.
Shoving all thought of my criminal underboss friend and a hurting Sullivan, I grab my phone and note that it’s 5:39a.m. Throwing on my leather jacket, I shove my sock-covered feet into my black boots and then open the door to leave. It doesn’t surprise me to see Rachel sneaking out of Marshall’s room in just t-shirt and panties, and the look on her face at being busted is priceless. After I find Sullivan, I will take joy in teasing her about it.
“Mornin’,
” she says awkwardly, turning to go down the hall and to her room.
“Oh no, Miss Rachel, you have some explaining to do,” I tease, gesturing toward my room and waiting for her to turn around.
Rachel harrumphs and stomps into my room. After closing the door, I lead her out to the balcony.
“So, you and Marshall, huh? What’s going on?”
She sighs, “It’s complicated.” That word…
I watch her silently, leaning against the stone white columns, waiting for her to continue.
“When we’re together…” she sighs again but continues, “everything seems so right. We can’t stay away from each other. When we’re apart, that seems right too; like that’s what’s best for us. We don’t have to think about each other when we’re apart, we just exist outside of each other, but the pull is always there. God, it’s just…complicated.”
“That word,” I muse, remembering all the times that Sullivan has said it to me. “That’s Sullivan’s favorite word to tell me when I’m prying into her life.”
“She has her reasons for not telling you, Ben,” Rachel says, and I don’t know if it’s to reassure me or not, but it doesn’t.
“Why does she need to hide anything from me, Rachel?” I question, anger lacing my words.
“Because of things like this. She didn’t want her past catching up with her like this,” Rachel answers.
“So she shot some piece of shit boyfriend years ago and is now running from the cops,” I say nonchalantly. “I would’ve protected her.”
Before I can say anything further, Rachel is already shaking her head. “He would’ve found her eventually.”
“I would’ve protected her,” I insist, pinning Rachel with an intense stare.
Rachel’s eyes gloss as she says the next words, “She was protecting you.”
Stunned, I can’t find a coherent word to say. Protecting me?
“Why?” My voice comes out hoarse and shaken with unexpressed emotion.
“She felt she – her past – would embarrass you, endanger you, and wanted to protect you from having to deal with it all: her mistakes, her decisions…especially her past,” Rachel explains, swatting an escaped tear from her cheek.
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