A Time to Speak

by Riley Scott

  “Me, too.” Dominique gazed up into those bright green eyes, basking in the gratitude and warmth of their connection.

  Amy cleared her throat and looked longingly into Dominique’s eyes. “I don’t really know how this is supposed to work,” she said, shaking her head. “But do you want to see just me?” She let out a deep breath. “Do you want to…” she trailed off and shrugged.

  “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Dominique asked, smiling broadly. “Is that what you’re asking? Do we want to be exclusive and committed to one another?”

  Amy bit her lip and nodded rapidly.

  “Yes. That’s what I’d very much like.”

  “Me, too,” Amy said, her devilish grin returning. “In that case, let’s celebrate with round two.”

  “I like the way you think.” Dominique squealed as Amy shifted her weight and pulled Dominique up onto the seat only to straddle her.

  “Round two of many,” Amy said, her eyes twinkling as though she was securing her prize.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fiddling with the cuff buttons on his button-down shirt, Clayton looked in the mirror and nodded. His decision to dress up today made him feel more confident. He pushed out his chest and straightened his shoulders. Steeling his eyes, he put on his no-nonsense face and exited the station bathroom.

  “Morning, Stark,” he called out down the hall as he saw Joe Stark heading toward his office. He picked up his pace, trying to run the old man down before he got settled at his desk. It was of no use. He sighed, following Stark into his office. “Morning,” he said again, poking his head inside Stark’s office.

  “Good morning, Clayton,” Stark said, gruffly nodding his head.

  “Did you get my email, sir?” He looked down at the floor realizing he probably should have used another method of communication.

  “I haven’t turned on my computer yet. What’s going on?”

  Clayton forced a smile and silently reminded himself to be more patient. His generation was prone to checking email after hours. It wasn’t Stark’s fault that he preferred to be called. He cleared his throat. “I need your help this morning, if you have some time.”

  “You’ve got it. What can I do for you?”

  Glancing around the hallway and smiling to himself, Clayton took a step closer, shutting the door behind him. There was too much hustle and bustle outside for him to explain exactly what he needed, and he wasn’t ready to let the cat out of the bag until it was a done deal.

  Stark narrowed his eyes but kept his expression as neutral as possible. “You’re not quitting, are you?” he asked, while Clayton took a seat.

  Clayton let out a laugh. “No, sir. I’m not planning on going anywhere. But I do need some help.”

  “You mentioned that,” Stark prodded, cocking his head in Clayton’s direction.

  “I wanted to be the hero, and I think I’m onto something big.” Clayton shrugged and smiled sheepishly. Stark was his superior, and he hated having to ask for help. But it would be worth it. “But I’m also not stupid enough to think I can do it alone.”

  “Admirable,” Stark noted.

  Clayton let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He nodded, and launched into his plan. He laid out the details as he knew them—or rather, the lack of details. Talking in hushed tones, he outlined all he had unearthed in his most recent round of questioning. No one else had known about Amelia, and in that lack of knowledge, there might just be an answer if they played their cards correctly.

  As he finished, Stark smiled. “You’re right, kid. You might just be onto something. So you needing a little ‘good cop, bad cop’ scenario staged? If we do, he hasn’t seen me yet. I’ve been doing the behind-the-scenes stuff and haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting the kid face-to-face, so we have the element of surprise on our side.”

  Clayton moved his head from side to side, considering the approach. “If we do that, I’ll have to be the bad cop. He already hates me.”

  “You’re doing your job then,” Stark said, shaking his head. “If I had a nickel for every criminal who’s hated me over the years, I could have retired years ago.”

  Clayton pursed his lips, taking another deep breath. “Do you think he is a criminal? I mean, I’ve heard enough to form my own opinions.”

  “What are those opinions?”

  “My gut says he’s a spoiled, rich brat who thinks he can get away with anything, and he probably wasn’t thinking too clearly that night. We have it on good authority he was drunk as a skunk, and shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. That’s a side point, though. The point is that he was drunk. He felt invincible. His daddy has always found a way to get him out of his scrapes before, just like he’s trying to do now. This case is a little too heavy for the mayor to work his charm, though, and I think he knows he’s in trouble. I think he did it. My gut tells me there’s too much guilt behind that smug smile.” Clayton laid his hands out palm up on the desk and shrugged. “Everything else has come up empty. We’ve chased lead after lead, and we’ve found nothing other than evidence pointing to what we already know has to be the truth. That has to mean something, right?”

  “Hit the nail on the head, Clayton,” Stark said, reaching across the desk to give Clayton a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Like I’ve said from the beginning, we’ve had enough to keep him behind bars. But he’s got the best lawyer money can buy, and there’s no doubt they’ll bring a tough case. If we want this damn thing solved, we’ve got to cover our asses, and we’ve got to tighten down our case. That said, I want justice—not just some guy behind bars. So no matter what our guts say, we can’t let that interfere with the truth if, for some reason, the truth is that he’s innocent.”

  “Right.” Clayton nodded, not letting Stark’s reminder take the wind out of his sails. “The truth will come out.”

  Stark nodded. “Good. We’re on the same page. Now, let’s set out a game plan. We can’t go in there without his lawyer. We need this airtight. We don’t want to be one of those cases that gets tossed because we screwed up our questioning process. If we’re going to do this right, we’re going to have to employ a little strategy.” He glanced at his watch. Holding up one finger, he signaled for Clayton to be patient. Picking up the phone and hitting a couple of buttons, he cleared his throat. “Gloria, it’s Stark,” he said into the receiver. “I need you to rally up Westwick’s lawyer. Have him meet us this afternoon. We’ll go down to the County Jail, so we can talk to Trent.” He paused and scribbled some notes on the notepad by his phone. “That works. We can be flexible. You let me know the time, and we’ll get going when they’re ready.”

  He hung up the phone and smiled across the desk. Clayton wanted to do it sooner but bit his tongue. With his jaw set, he nodded at his superior.

  “Don’t worry.” Stark shrugged. “It’ll come in time. We just have to be patient and hold our horses for a bit. It’s best to do this the right way so it counts.”

  Clayton sighed, remembering he had chosen to ask for help. He leaned forward, setting his own notebook on Stark’s desk. There were details that still had to be presented in order for this to be effective.

  As the morning pressed on, Clayton’s head throbbed. There was too much at stake for this to be a long shot. This had to work. Stark had lunch ordered in, and Clayton had only managed to escape the small office for a single bathroom break.

  He was ready and restless. He wanted less talk and a great deal more action.

  He glanced at the clock. There were still twenty minutes to go until they had to leave for their scheduled meeting. He tapped his foot anxiously.

  “You’re like a dog waiting to be let out of his cage,” Stark said, shaking his head. “I’m going to need you to rein it in just a bit. You can’t go in there all eager beaver and expect results. Be patient.”

  “I’ve been patient,” Clayton snapped. “But this process is getting old.”

  “It’s tried and true,” Stark said, slapping his desk. “I k
now how this goes. You youngsters on the force come in heavy-handed, thinking you know best. But I’m going to tell you that I’ve seen men like you come in and blow up a case completely. We can’t have that. Not when all of this is at stake.” He stood, his voice rising as he did. “I am just as sick of working on this as you and every other detective here. It’s exhausting, and the bullshit being handed down by the mayor doesn’t help at all. We’re under strict orders to investigate every possible lead. That means I’m stuck here, just like you are, questioning every single person in this godforsaken town, even pulling in innocent women like that Brandt girl for relentless questioning. I’m stuck, just like you are. But getting in a hurry won’t help anyone. In fact, if we blow even a portion of this, we go back to square one. Is that what you want?” Stunned, Clayton sat in silence. “Is it?” Stark’s voice boomed as he slapped his desk again. “Do you want to be stuck on this for the rest of the year? Or do you want to take a little advice, do it the right way, and possibly walk away from this day a step ahead?”

  “Sorry,” Clayton said quietly, looking down at the floor. Stark had a point. “You’re right,” he added after a moment of silence.

  “I know I am,” Stark said, pacing a few steps before taking a seat again. “We have to be on the same damn page or this isn’t going to work. Got it?”

  Clayton kept his mouth shut and nodded. He listened as intently as his stubborn mind would allow while Stark, for the millionth time, outlined the so-called “game plan” in his notebook.

  After a few minutes, Stark stood and nodded. “I think we’re ready, so I’m going to go take a few minutes to myself to grab some coffee. I suggest you do the same, or go get some fresh air. We’ll leave in ten minutes, but we need to be crisp when we do.”

  Clayton nodded but waited until Stark had vacated the office before he stood. He hated the waiting game. He let out a sigh and strode out of the building. He might only have ten minutes, but he was going to take Stark’s advice and clear his head.

  Gloria stood beside the building, one leg propped up on the wall behind her, her fingers curled around a lit cigarette. She took a long drag and looked in his direction. “You want one of these?” she drawled, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

  “I don’t usually smoke.” He watched as she drew in smoke again, and smiled lazily at him.

  “I don’t usually either, but every once in a while, it calms my nerves.”

  “What are you nervous about?” he asked, taking a step closer.

  “Everything.” She laughed and then shrugged. “It seems like this place is a ticking time bomb, and I’m just waiting for the next shoe to drop before it explodes. This case is a joke, and it shouldn’t be. There was a life lost and this town should care more about that than anything, but it just feels so far from the town I once knew.”

  “That’s right,” he said, nodding. “I forgot you’re from here. You’re one of them.”

  “No, I was one of them. Who they are now, I don’t want any part of that.”

  She held out the box. Nodding, he gave into whatever offer of comfort—no matter how fleeting—she had to give. Lighting the cigarette, he took a slow drag. As the smoke filled his lungs, he coughed. Gloria laughed, shaking her head.

  “You were right,” she said. “You don’t smoke.”

  “I did once or twice as a misguided teen,” he said, exhaling the smoke. “It was never a lasting thing.” His senses tingled as the nicotine swirled in his blood. “But you were right as well. This does have a calming effect.”

  “I saw you in there with Stark all day.” She let her arms drop to her sides. “Seems like every day lately needs a little infusion of calming. Do you feel like you’re making progress?”

  “Hard to say,” he answered, exhaling another puff of smoke. “It’s always hard to say lately, but I think we’re onto something that could help close this damn train wreck of a case.”

  “Good.” She put out her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe, tossed the butt into a nearby trashcan and checked her watch. “I have to get back in there, but you’ll be fine. Go do what you know how to do. The rest will come with time, and maybe you’re right.” She looked up at the sky and the slightest signs of a smile played on the corner of her lips. “Maybe you’ve got something that will close this thing up. Then the mayor and the rest of the powers that be in this hellhole will finally shut up and let us do our jobs. And maybe, eventually, everything can go back to the way it once was.”

  He nodded and waited until she was inside to put out his cigarette as well. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that nothing would ever be the same in this town. Whatever came from all of this, Knell was forever changed. There was no “normal” anymore.

  Once he was back inside, he headed to the bathroom to wash the smell of smoke off his hands and then headed for Stark’s office.

  Stark was already waiting, pacing back and forth. Clayton sighed, glancing at his watch. They still had five minutes, but Stark liked to be early.

  “Let’s go.” Stark grabbed his keys and walked out the door. Pressing his lips together to stifle a sigh, Clayton followed like a dutiful child. On the drive over, he stayed silent, determined to take the last few minutes of his solitude.

  Once they arrived, his head had cleared. He followed Stark down the long hallway, but kept silent. As was their agreed-upon approach, he would go first. Walking up to the room, he stopped and stared. The one-way glass gave him a moment to watch Trent’s interaction with his lawyer. He wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved by the fact that Trent appeared to treat his lawyer with the same insolent disregard that he did everyone else. Either way, he was relieved to see the polished lawyer look at his watch, give a nod, and signal that it was time to come in, even though he couldn’t see Clayton waiting.

  Clayton stood still a moment longer. He had already interacted with William Clarke on this case. But today, he needed to know more about the man he was up against. Bought and paid-for came to mind as he looked inside the window. The pinstripe suit Clarke wore likely cost more than Clayton’s annual salary, and no doubt those polished shoes were worth hundreds. His slicked back black hair seemed to shine, even in the worst lighting, and his striking features echoed what Clayton already knew about this town. Somehow the pretty people all seemed to have money, and they all looked just as fake as could be. He sighed and shook his head. This would do him no good.

  Rounding the corner, he opened the door and cleared his throat. It was time to be all business.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  This guy again. Disgust bubbled up inside Trent. He looked at Clayton with a scowl. “Can’t you all ever find someone new to send in here?” He spat the words in Clayton’s direction and ignored William shaking his head beside him. He turned his scowl on William. “I know what I’m supposed to say and not supposed to say. I’m innocent, so I can at least say with certainty I hate this guy, okay? Stop treating me like a child, or I’ll find someone else to sit in on these pointless little chats.”

  William narrowed his eyes, but Trent didn’t care. He was sick of this bullshit. He had told his father as much, and he’d been promised that this would stop. It hadn’t, and he was beyond angry. He slammed his fists on the table. The cuffs on his wrists cut into his skin, but he didn’t care. When he finally got out of here, he was going to get his revenge.

  “What is it today?” he asked. William nudged him under the table, and he took a deep breath, trying to stifle his anger for a moment. “Come in here to ask me more about stuff I don’t know?”

  Clayton cleared his throat again, and Trent wanted to scream. He bit his tongue and set his jaw. He didn’t have to like it, but he had to stay quiet long enough to get out of this shit hole.

  “Actually I came in here to talk to you about information you knew that you shouldn’t have been privy to,” Clayton said, stretching his legs before casually crossing them and setting out his notepad in front of him.

  If Trent weren’t hand cuffed
to the table, he would have wiped that smug grin right off Clayton’s face. That would do him no good, though. A growl rumbled deep inside of him before escaping his lips as a heavy sigh. “And what is that?” he asked, making sure he sounded every bit as condescending as he hoped he did.

  “Why don’t you tell me? It seems like you had information about Chloe’s life that didn’t quite match up with the lack of close relationship the two of you had.”

  “I didn’t have any relationship with that woman.” Trent pounded his fist into the table again. “I didn’t want anything to do with her. I am a good man. I didn’t associate with her kind.”

  “Why do you hate homosexuals so much?” Clayton’s words were calm and even, his eyes piercing.

  Trent’s heart hammered, and he closed his eyes, warding off the horrific memories. “They’re disgusting,” he said, swallowing hard after a moment of silence. Exhaling, he narrowed his eyes. “I believe there’s right and there’s wrong. She…” Trent was careful not to use her name. “…And everyone like her—they’re all screwed up in the head.”

  “Was it growing up in this town that made you think that way? Or maybe your father’s teachings? Church? Personal experiences with homosexual individuals?”

  Trent jerked his wrists against the cuffs and looked off into the corner of the room. Gritting his teeth, he shot a death stare at Clayton. “This stupid shit has no business on the case. I’m a God-fearing man. Why don’t you go ahead and ask how I feel about politics, religion and everything else that makes no difference here?”

  “It makes quite the difference, actually.” Clayton casually leaned forward, lowering his gaze and looking straight into Trent’s eyes. Trent gulped, but tried to hide the movement. With a stare that intense, it seemed like Clayton could read into Trent’s mind.

  Trent cleared his throat. “Can we stop talking about gayness and all that indecency for a minute and get to the bottom of why you called me out here?”