by Amy Faye
Then again, it could be some kind of shit-test for the new guys. You'd find out pretty damn quick on a hot day if they can stand outside for a few hours without passing out.
The third possibility is that he's usually patrolling, but he's been placed here special for my visit. Each seems about as likely as the last possibility.
Josh slips out of the car. Anna comes out after. She's got a habit of following his lead, one that she seems to have slipped into so naturally that she might not have noticed it.
She might do it with every guy she runs into, now that she's untied. An extreme submissive attitude. It only means one of two things: stupidity or abuse.
She wants approval, and she wants it so bad that she'll debase herself for it. Either someone's convinced her that she will regret it if she doesn't, or she's really incapable of getting anywhere without someone helping her.
She hasn't shown signs that she's a dumb girl. It would be obvious. She'd be incapable of taking care of herself, for Pete's sake. Never mind care for a child, she wouldn't even have managed to stay in that apartment.
On the other hand, there aren't many people who would have caused a girl like this to think of herself as some guy's accessory.
In fact, if the story is anything like what it's supposed to be, the two of them had been dating since high school. There wouldn't have been many chances for someone else to have gotten to her. None of them recent enough to still have such a strong grip on her.
Anna waits patiently for him to pass by. Josh tries to smile reassuringly. She doesn't look suitably reassured, but then again how could she be expected to be?
He keeps his head up as he walks up to the guy. Anna surprises by greeting him by name.
"Hey, Terry." The big guy's got a scar on his face and his nose has never been set right from several breaks. He looks for all the world like he might be the roughest son of a bitch on the planet.
"Miss Anna," he says. He winks in a way that doesn't hide it, but says that he can't be more friendly on the job. It's an interesting mix of professionalism and friendliness. The sort of thing you might build up over time with a staff, if you were a friendly kind of person.
And again it speaks to the sort of man that he works for. It may prove to have been more trouble than it was worth, in the end, but for now it seems as if bringing Anna isn't going to be a dead end. She's already telling him things about the house, without even knowing it.
The big guy—he is damn big, too—reaches back to open the door, ushers them inside, and then takes the lead, down a side path and into a longish hallway. After a short walk he turns to the right.
Anna must know where they are. She's probably been at this house a thousand times. She'll know every room in the place. She doesn't offer any insight into where they're going, and neither does 'Terry.'
"Go on inside, Detective. Mr. Queen is waiting."
"Thanks."
Josh walks in. It'll be interesting to see whether or not Anna comes inside. She does, but only a step. She stays by the door. He leaves her there for the moment. It will play out how it's going to play out. The door closes behind them.
"Mitchell Queen?"
Two men stand up. Both of them are in thousand-dollar suits. When they turn, not quite in unison, it's much easier to tell them apart.
The one in the black suit is older, hairline receding, spectacles that sit low on his nose. He starts moving almost as soon as I speak, circling around the other.
The younger man has tight, thick black hair, and the face of a celebrity. Both figuratively, and literally, because he's been a celebrity since he had the good fortune of picking the right family to be born into.
"Detective Meadows? I'm Jake Morrow; I've been retained by the Queens as their attorney, I'll be present for any questioning."
"I don't have many questions. I'm sure this will only take a moment."
"Excellent," the thin man says. He uses the side of his thumb to press the glasses up his nose. They slip down again a moment later.
"Do you mind if I sit?"
"No, not at all. Go right ahead," the attorney says. It's odd.
Or, it seems odd, until Josh gets a look at Mitchell's face. He's not looking at the detective, which is exactly what the plan had been. He's looking at the girl. Whatever he's thinking about her, he's not saying it.
Josh goes across the room and sits down. The chair faces the door, puts his back to the wall. It's a fabulously comfortable chair, as well. Really surprising. The thing looked so ornate that he assumed it would be like sitting on a bed of nails.
"If you'll pardon the intrusion, Mr. Queen, I've just got some potentially upsetting news, and a few questions."
Queen hasn't sat back down yet. He's still looking at the girl. The statement, now that I'm seated, causes him to slowly settle down into his own seat. His face turns over towards mine like it's causing him real difficulty.
"I'm happy to be of any assistance I can."
Josh takes a deep breath and pulls the digital recorder out of his pocket. Unlikely. If he were really being asked the questions going through Josh Meadows's mind, then 'happy' would be the last thing he'd be.
"Do you mind if I record this? Makes it easier than writing notes down, you know?" Mitchell's eyes flick down to the tape recorder. Then they move over to the pad that Josh pulls out with his hand. "Oh, this? Just in case I think of anything while you're speaking, you see. I'd hate to cut you off, especially being who you are. Or if you refuse the recording, of course."
He takes a second. He leans over to the attorney without speaking, keeps his eyes on the recorder. The attorney leans back, says something, and Mitchell nods. "Sure."
"Thanks. You're a real help. I appreciate it. I'll put that in my notes."
Chapter Seven
Anna Witt can barely stay standing. He's furious. She can see it right there in her eyes. He's always angry when she doesn't do like she's supposed to. But he's always been good about shielding her from it.
Now, though, it seems like he's more upset than normal. And he has less reason to keep it from touching her. They're not dating anymore. She's nothing to him. A cold sort of fear grips her.
He turns back to Detective Meadows and for a minute, Anna almost feels like she's got the chance to breathe. Almost. It's just a matter of time until the attention is back on her, and then she's going to be in a lot of trouble.
The detective pulls out that recorder from earlier. He goes through the same spiel that he went through with her. Do you mind if I record you, sure. He presses the button in an obvious way and sets it on the table between them.
"Could you state your full name and occupation for the record?"
"I'm Mitchell Raymond Queen, and I work in an advisory capacity for my father's real estate firm."
"Like, they come to you and make sure you give them the oh-kay?"
"More or less, unless this is an interview about my role with the company that's close enough."
Anna's never seen anyone from the company come to him with a single thing. It's better than saying 'I dabble,' though, she supposes. Less embarrassing.
Every part of Mitch's life is overtaken by worry about how things are going to look. It's why he's so touchy. Who could blame him? He's got so much on his plate, after all.
Anna takes a breath and holds it a minute. Three, two, one. Calm down. She's alright.
"Alright, thanks. Your father is Albert Queen, the real-estate mogul, former Mayor, and currently running for congressional office, is that right?"
"That's about right, yes."
"Thank you. Just getting things on the record."
"Not a problem."
Mitch is used to dealing with this kind of thing. Reporters are always asking him questions. Sometimes he gives interviews, sometimes he refuses them. But they always ask these establishing questions, if he accepts.
"Just a few more questions. You know that woman?"
Mitchell doesn't look when Detective Meadows po
ints at me.
"Yes."
"Can you tell me your relationship?"
"We were involved, until March seventeenth of this year."
"At which point, what caused your split, would you say?"
"Irreparable differences of opinion."
He says it flatly, without hesitation. Anna keeps herself quiet. Like a fly on the wall. She doesn't want to say anything. Doesn't want to be asked to do anything. If she could stop breathing, she'd do that, too. Invisible.
"So it wasn't related to her pregnancy?"
"No, sir."
"But you were the father, is that correct?"
"I can't confirm or deny. I've never had a paternity test with the child, so it's entirely possible that I may not be. I haven't disputed it up to this point."
"What can you tell me about Miss Witt's child, which may or may not be yours?"
"She was supposed to have it a few weeks ago."
"You don't know the sex of the child?"
"I haven't investigated the matter."
Anna's chest hurts. Why does she have to be here? Can't she just go home? Why did any of this have to happen? Why can't the world just leave her alone?
"So you wouldn't know that your daughter, Ava Witt, has gone missing as of some time between four and nine this morning?"
"Missing?" Mitch looks over his shoulder now, looks at Anna. She doesn't need to be told that he thinks it's her fault that Ava's missing. He always knew when she was slack, even when Anna herself didn't.
"Right now, we're keeping our options open. It appears to have been some sort of kidnapping."
"Kidnapping? Are you sure?"
Mitch looks back over at the detective, who nods. "Someone unlocked the door, which Miss Witt assured me was kept locked at all times."
"And you're sure she didn't just forget? She can be forgetful sometimes."
Anna starts speaking before she even really realizes what she's saying entirely. "I could have been mistaken. I don't know. I'm sorry."
The detective waves it away. "It's possible, but it stands to reason that the child didn't get out of the crib herself and crawl right out of the apartment, right?"
Mitch turns back to the other conversation, and the weight slips off Anna's chest. She takes a breath. One in, two out. Three in, four out.
"I have just a few more questions, if you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"Can you account for your whereabouts at that time?"
"It would usually be quite difficult, at a time like that, wouldn't it? I'd have been here, asleep."
"Were you?"
"I was not."
"Okay, then. Where were you?"
"I was staying with a friend," he says. "After six in the morning, I was staying with a friend. Until then, I was at one of my father's clubs."
"Until six in the morning? I only ask to confirm. I thought most places closed before that."
"They're lenient when you're the owner."
"I imagine they would be."
Nine in, ten out. Don't think about anything. Just focus on the breathing, focus on the silence in your mind. Eleven in, hold it, twelve out.
"Do you have any other questions?"
"This is, I presume, your first time hearing anything about any of these matters?"
"Yes."
"You don't seem that broken up about it."
"I can't afford to show every feeling I've got on my face, Detective. But secondly, I don't know whether I am or not, but I stopped being that child's father way back in March. We separated, I gave Miss Witt there a sizable amount of money with which to raise her child, and I washed my hands of it."
Anna's counting is disrupted by the thought that Detective Meadows looks angry. He's hiding it better than Josh did, but he's not hiding it perfectly by a long shot.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Queen. If you have any more information, here's my card."
Meadows pulls a little card out of his pocket and hands it over toward Queen. Mitch doesn't move to take it. The attorney reaches out a moment later and slides it into his book.
"You're very welcome, Detective. Any time."
Mitch slips his public-relations face back on, as if it never slipped off for an instant. Even extends his hand out and smiles.
"I can see myself out," he says. Anna notices that he doesn't take the handshake. Mitch isn't going to like that. It occurs to her, for what might be the first time, that it doesn't matter to her whether or not he likes what the detective does.
Meadows opens the door and steps out. Anna follows him. He's only been here once, but the route out from the study isn't so hard to figure out. Anywhere else, and she might have had to show him the way, which would have been awfully presumptuous. She would have had to do it anyways.
Anna slips herself into the car, puts on her seatbelt, and plants her hands firmly in her lap. "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble for you, Detective."
He closes his eyes for a long minute. No response. When Mitch does that, he's angry. It's hard to say for sure, but Anna gets the impression that the detective is angry, too.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"Don't be sorry," he says. His voice is straining to sound calm. She's used to listening for that. She's used to the sound of it. She's good at it.
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"Oh, don't worry about that. You didn't upset me at all."
He turns the key in the ignition and the car gets itself started. Anna knows better than to press her luck. Whatever is upsetting him, if she asks more than once or twice, it's going to go badly for her.
She'll find out when he wants her to find out, or she won't find out at all. Mitchell hated it when she pressed him on things, and there's no way she's going to forget those lessons.
That's how you end up in trouble, and she doesn't want to get in trouble again.
Chapter Eight
Detective Josh Meadows swallows his frustration. The pictures on his desk are just as useless as he thought they would be. Just as useless. Just like that god damned interview.
What he wouldn't give for just five minutes with that son of a bitch Queen in a dark alley. Maybe he wouldn't find out a thing. They say torture doesn't work, beatings don't do anything at all.
But that's not totally true, either way, because they do one thing. They're still a beating, and that bastard has one coming to him. Josh keeps his hands tight. No problem. He's got everything under control.
Another night passes. He should be asleep. He should have been asleep hours ago. But he isn't, and he's not going to be any time soon.
He still needs to interview the parents. It's already occurred to him that he didn't get the friends name in that interview. A stupid slip-up. A stupid slip-up caused by his own frustration. At least he didn't ruin the fucking case for himself.
He takes a deep breath and pours another two fingers of amber-colored whiskey. It doesn't taste like much of anything going down. Not after the last four.
"What the fuck am I missing?"
The evidence is right there. Or, it should be. But there's nothing that means anything. A few hair and fiber samples. Likely human hair. A DNA test might confirm that they're from Queen.
He'd say, and he has every right to say, that they're from before. He's been in the apartment before, hair moves around. No big deal. It proves nothing.
The parents might have come back, but if they did, it was late. It wouldn't be the first case of a couple new grandparents deciding that their precious grand-baby isn't being watched adequately.
They take it 'for the child's protection' and never give a second thought to the fact that what they're doing is a big no-no. The list of suspects is agonizingly short.
There's always the possibility that Anna herself is responsible. It twists Josh up inside. The idea is disgusting, disturbing. There are plenty of ways it could have happened. The baby gets sick and passes on, maybe.
She can't handle it, and… the tumbling
his stomach does at the thought of it stops him pursuing the thought further. She's not off the suspect list yet, and that's all he needs to know about it.
Why would some random son of a bitch come in the house, though? Why? There's no money to be had. None at all. Queen isn't interested in the kid. Doesn't know the name. Doesn't know the gender.
He swallows the rest of his glass. He should be done for the night. He should go to bed. He should have gone to bed five glasses ago.
The bottle turns over, instead, pouring out the last little bit that he'd had left in the cabinet. He lets it sit in his mouth for a second, trying to get a little taste out of his numbed tongue before he swallows.
What is he missing? There must be something that's going to be the step forward. Something that's going to turn the case around.
He looks at the pictures. Something he's missing. There's gotta be.
Detective Josh Meadows jerks awake from a dream that fades quickly. He's happier when it's gone, but the phone is still ringing in his pocket. He pushes himself up straight on the sofa and pulls the phone out.
"Detective Meadows, who is this?"
"Detective? This is Mr. Morrow, you spoke with my client yesterday about a child being kidnapped?"
The lawyer. Okay.
"Yes."
"I think you should come over at your earliest possible convenience. We've just received a very disturbing letter, and we wanted to call you right away."
"How did you get this number, by the way?"
"Your chief. I called, and he said you were on the case, gave me your number."
Josh made a note to have a word about personal space. Then again, when it came to Al Queen's boy, sometimes boundaries got pushed.
"I'll be right there."
The alarm is screaming in the other room, and for all that Josh knows, it has been for the past two hours, which sounds about right looking at the clock on his phone.
He pushes himself up from the sofa seat, ignoring the splitting headache. Eventually, at some point, he'll have to find himself some painkillers. But for now, he's got to get that ear-splitting noise gone, or it's going to drive him fucking insane.