by Jayce, Aven
“At this time, since some of what we need to discuss may be very sensitive and personal to you and your family, perhaps you’d like to reconsider. She’ll be in good hands, I promise.”
“Sophia is family, Detective Hayes.”
She pauses then nods and smiles at the two of us. “Very well. We found some things in Paul Jameson’s house....”
“On the third floor?” he asks promptly.
“Yes.”
“Describe the room to me. I need to know what it looks like,” he requests. “Paul once told me that he had my soul locked away on that third floor, and I’ve been haunted by those words ever since. What did he mean? What’s up there?”
“The side stairs from his second floor office lead to a private bedroom, bathroom, and a large safe. Nothing truly out of the ordinary, but we did find a second stairway leading to another third floor area. A single room containing Paul Jameson’s collections.”
Cove exhales and fidgets in his chair. “Describe it to me, please. There are some things I’ve been waiting an entire decade for, and this is one of them.”
“Very well,” she sighs. “I spent a few hours in that room so I know it well. It’s dark, there’re no windows.”
“I can see a row of windows across the top from the outside of the house,” he responds.
“The windows you see outside are purely decorative. It’s a small room, a cigar lounge, with backlit glass cabinets, or I should say fully stocked humidors, walls covered in dark red wallpaper with a printed gold floral pattern, a red leather sofa, matching chairs, and dark wooden bookcases with coordinating coffee and end tables. The rug is black with gold spots, and the only source of light is from three corner floor lamps. There’s also a fireplace and some artwork in the space.”
“Black and white photographs?” he asks.
“Yes, but may I ask how you know that?”
“Paul used to tease me, or I should say taunt me about the contents of that room. He said it contained bits and pieces of my family, my mother’s art, and secrets, things I’d never know about. He once pointed the door out to a guest and said it led to his pleasure space. He’d disappear for hours at a time through that hallway door and when he came out he always smelled of smoke and sweat. At first I thought it was his bedroom, and he had women up there, but later I realized his bedroom suite was above his office, so I was always confused as to what exactly he had in that room that related to my family... and why. What else?” he inquires nervously.
“Why do you need such visuals? Can’t you just ask the detective what they found? You’ve waited so long, Babe. Stop torturing yourself.”
“I’m hoping it will give me some sense of closure. Some peace. I need to know so I can get it out of my head. What else?” Cove asks again.
“A small bar, a display case full of antiques, boxes filled with company magazines, and a flat screen television.”
“So it was a masturbation room,” I groan.
“It was a private space, that’s for sure, a place where he was able to fulfill his voyeuristic habits, so yes, masturbation most likely occurred in the room. I believe your father had a sex addiction. Voyeuristic sex is a very isolated activity and watching others sexually arouses voyeurs; that’s how they satisfy their cravings. They never form any emotional connections to their subjects, and the secretive nature of spying on others is what excites them. The flat screen monitored the security cameras, and was used to watch his employees, his sites, and his cable stations, as well as the rooms in his home, and the homes of family and acquaintances. There was also a walk-in closet full of old footage from his company... including your father, Mr. Everton, and we believe we may have found old NOVA footage. We have detectives going over the videos right now.”
Cove releases his grip and places his hands in his lap. The detective notices his change in body language and gives him a moment to process her words. I turn around as an officer enters the room and Detective Hayes stands, meeting him at the door. He whispers something and hands her a file before stepping out of the room. She opens it, flips through a pile of pages then places the file in front of Cove.
“Can I ask you to open the folder in front of you and tell me who’s in that photo?”
He slowly reaches out to the corner of the manila colored folder and opens it just enough for a quick peek then closes it immediately with a sigh. I saw the legs of a few people, but wasn’t able to see the entire shot.
“It’s me... I don’t know the other three kids’ real names. We weren’t allowed to tell anyone who we were. They were all NOVA stars, like myself, and that’s all I know.”
“Twins Robert and Mitchel Walker from Los Angeles, and Nate Simms. He lives here in Las Vegas. How old were you in that photo?” she asks.
Cove looks at her with disappointment in his eyes. “Young,” he takes another quick glance at the photo. “If you’re looking to question them, the twins are dead and Nate’s a junkie. You won’t get much out of him.”
“Look at the file under the photo,” she smiles in a reassuring manner. He opens the folder and looks at the papers piled under the photograph. I lean in so I can read the words. The first page is an email from my father to someone addressed Colt44. He requests contact via landline with this person, giving him a date and time for them to speak. There’s a handwritten note on the piece of paper that a recording of the conversation documented on CD labeled September 21, recording number five, can be found in Patrick Everton’s storage unit. The detective opens her laptop, places a CD from the file in the slot, and asks Cove if he recognizes any of the voices.
I immediately hear my father’s voice, but Cove doesn’t say a word. The three of us sit and listen.
“We need to fix the fucking Everton case. Get it taken care of. Start with the Los Angeles witnesses and head east. Guarantee me you can do this,” my father demands.
“It’s not an issue, you want ‘em dead or to change their stories?” a deep voice inquires on the other end of the line.
“What’s the price?”
“Ten dead, five to shut ‘em up.”
“Let’s use the twins as an example to everyone else involved. Ten for them... we’ll take it from there.”
“Accident, double suicide, disappearance, how do you want it to look?”
“I don’t give a shit, accident’s fine I guess. Just take care of things before this case moves forward.”
“I knew it,” Cove whispers. “I knew that fucker killed them. I always had a bad feeling about that. That’s Paul, it’s him talking, but I don’t recognize the other voice.” The detective stops the recording and leans back in her chair. Cove and I both mirror her action and he takes my hand. “This is good, right?”
“Yes. This is good,” she grins. “Patrick is your savior.”
“He’s my father’s savior,” he responds.
“No,” I say. “Yours as well. He did this for you too.”
“If we have an entire storage unit that contains information like this to process, it may take weeks. I can also tell you that there was a file found on Paul Jameson’s desktop in his office that the St. Louis police department confirmed is the same file found on your father’s desktop when he was arrested, only Paul’s version is the original. It’s longer and unedited, which tells us that the file found in your childhood home that day somehow came from Paul. As this information unfolds and we pass along what we find to the St. Louis detectives who were originally a part of your father’s case, we’ll have more questions for you. My suggestion, in light of this new evidence and what’s now beginning to surface, is that you find a good lawyer as we continue these conversations, not for yourself, but to help your father. I’m now sure that his case is going to be revisited, and soon. Let’s do this right.”
He releases my hand, places his elbows on the desk, rests his hands against his face, and exhales loudly. “Thank you,” he says in a soft, cracking voice. “Thank you,” he repeats louder as he removes his hands and lea
ns back in his chair. His eyes well with tears, but his smile ignites the entire room and like a chain reaction of a person who yawns, the detective and I can’t help but unite in his expression. “What’s in the box?” he asks.
“Something we found with the video tapes in the closet on the third floor of Paul’s house.”
Cove reaches for the box and the detective clutches his hand. “Mr. Everton... wait. It’s something I was going to ask you if you recognized, but that was before the other detective brought me this folder. Perhaps it’s not the right time. I think we can look at it with your lawyer present and without your girlfriend in the room. It was just a suspicion before, but I have a different feeling about it after sitting here speaking with you. Let’s revisit it later.”
“Show me,” Cove demands.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cove leans back slowly in his chair and lowers his hand from the office file box on the detective’s desk. “I know what it is,” he says in a calm voice.
“Mr. Everton, I don’t think...” the detective starts to speak only to be cut off by Cove.
“It’s a souvenir,” he whispers. “From the first day. It was so fucking cold and my sweater and hair had turned to ice on the walk home. I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes, but my chest was on fire... from the tattoo,” he recalls in a quiet voice. “I was sick... piss-ass drunk and all I wanted was for my mother and father to wrap their arms around me, to comfort me, protect me from Paul and his business. That mention of having my soul, that’s what he meant. He left me with a feeling of guilt, like I had done something wrong. I could feel it to the depth of my inner core. That’s what he was talking about. He took my sense of worth, my self-esteem, and my spirit and kept it in that little box as a keepsake of that day... the day NOVA began.”
I reach out and take his hand. He’s shivering; his skin’s ice cold and goose bumps cover his arms. I can sense anger and hatred in his body language, along with pain and suffering. He grips my hand tightly and looks at the box, then back to the detective. She pauses and we wait for her to comply with his request to view the concealed contents. After carefully reading the tag on the outside of the box, and flipping through a few files in one of the folders on the desk, she finally takes the cardboard top off the file box and pulls out a clear plastic bag.
“Do you recognize any of these items?” she asks.
“Bastard,” Cove whispers. He quickly closes his eyes and lets out a deep exhale before nodding. “Yes,” he replies, eyes still closed. “My socks, shirt, and underwear from that day. He kept them for all these years,” he sighs.
“Paul was ill.” The detective says in a reassuring tone. “He was probably abused by someone when he was a child or a teenager, and it’s believed that some victims of sexual abuse become abusers themselves. Not always, but there are links between being a victim and a perpetrator; a cycle of sexual abuse.” She places the bag back in the box and writes a note on a page in one of the file folders.
“Paul never touched me,” he replies. “Not sexually. He beat me, threatened me, and almost killed me a number of times, but he didn’t abuse me in the way that you think he did. He never laid a hand on me... not like that.”
“Yes, Mr. Everton, he did,” she states. “He forced you into his company. He made you perform against your will, viewed your body, watched you, and forced others to perform sexual acts on you, just like he did to Patrick Everton when they were in college together. That’s all sexual abuse originating from the hands of Paul Jameson.”
I’m silent and at a loss as to what I can do or say at this moment. My heart aches once again as I picture him as a defenseless young boy who fell prey to my father.
“How did he get these articles of clothing from you?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes still closed, his grip tight around my hand.
“Do you have any other questions about the murder of my father, and not Cove’s past?” I ask. “And if not, can we leave? We need some time...”
“It’s all related, Sophia,” Cove says. He opens his eyes and looks up at the detective.
“Yes, it is,” she responds. “We’ll need the information at some point, but I can have the detectives in St. Louis take care of the questioning about your time with Paul when you get back. I’m sure they’ll have a lot to talk to you about, considering the length of time you were in Jameson Industries. For now...”
“A lot happened that day,” he declares. “And I’ll speak to the detectives when we return home, back to St. Louis, that is if the police are really willing to listen to me this time. You know I tried to speak to them years back when my father was arrested and they were pricks.”
“This is different. I promise you. When they see what we found, they’re going to view this case in a whole new light.”
Cove looks at the box and then down at the dark tiled floor. He crosses his feet under his chair and begins to shake one foot in a nervous motion. His grip eases from around my hand and his fingers glide through his wavy dark hair before he speaks. “Paul made me undress and take a shower because I puked all over myself. Like I said, I was drunk, not used to hard liquor, plus being scared didn’t help keep the alcohol down.”
“Did he watch you?”
“Yeah,” he replies in a small voice. “He watched me with a grin on his face that I’ll never forget.”
“But he didn’t touch you?”
“No. Only to tape the tattoo on my chest, other than that he... he...” Cove pauses and streams a hand through his hair again. “There’s nothing else. He picked up my underwear, socks, and shirt, threw my sweater into the shower with me so I could wash the puke off of it, and then he went downstairs.” He stands and holds his hand out for me to join him. “Come on, Sophia. Let’s go.”
Detective Hayes stands and opens the door. She leads us to the front of the station where she hands us each her card. “Please feel free to contact me anytime. We’ll have a few more questions for you, but for now the surveillance in the home seems to account for most of what we need to know. Take care of your foot, Mr. Everton. Make an appointment with a real doctor as soon as possible. Also, prepare yourself for all of the questions the St. Louis police department will have. It’s going to take some time to get through everything. I’m sure you’ll be speaking with the special victims unit for most of the questioning.” He nods as she continues. “Please, seek some help. Professional help. Both of you. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s going to take some time to heal.”
“Thank you,” I respond, placing her card in my pocket. “Did you find our cell phones?”
“Yes, they’re in evidence. Your father left voice and text messages on both of your phones, and we need what he said and wrote for the case.”
“Our suitcases too?”
“Everything from the house is being collected as evidence. This is a big case, beyond a murder. It goes deeper than we could have ever imagined, and gets shadier with each passing hour. We have your wallets for you, but nothing else at this time. You can pick them up from the property room at the end of the hall on your way out.” She points to our left then casts us a smile before disappearing back to the booking area.
We pick up our wallets, the one thing I have in my possession besides the clothes on my back, then Cove sets his hand on my shoulder and we walk out the front doors into the Vegas sun. I close my eyes, lift my head, and allow the rays to warm my face. I see red specks as the bright light penetrates my eyelids, lifting the darkness into something beautiful. I take in a deep breath and smell desert sage mixed with the fumes of city car exhaust. It’s actually a pleasant and welcoming combination of scents after the overpowering vanilla candles in my father’s home, and the staleness of the police station jail cells and offices. Air. Even with the exhaust from the cars, it’s still air. Different than the re-circulated, recycled stuff I’ve been inhaling over the past week.
A small breeze grazes over my face, and I feel Cove’s soft lips press against mine.
He pulls me against his body, into a deep embrace. “I’ve missed you,” he says. “We’re free, Soph. We can go home now.”
“Cove! Sophia!” Leondra’s voice explodes in elation. “Oh, sweethearts!” She runs from the parking lot next to the station and wraps her arms tightly around us. “My sweet, dear children,” her words muffled into our bodies.
“Mother, I thought you shot Paul and I was going to lose you. What the hell happened? I don’t...” He holds her and closes his eyes. “Dad may be free soon. I can’t believe this is happening,” he says holding back tears of joy. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Standing outside police stations makes me nervous.”
We walk together to the parking lot where Lydia waits in the driver’s seat of a dark green Subaru Forester. Cove and I sit in the back while Leondra takes the front seat next to her sister.
“I’m so happy the two of you are alive and safe,” Lydia smiles at us in the rear view mirror as she starts to drive. “And I have to say, I’m glad Paul’s dead.”
“Lydia!” Leondra scolds.
“I’m sorry, Sophia, but your father got what he deserved.”
“Lydia, enough!” Leondra reprimands again. “Sophia,” she turns toward me. “My sister can be most insensitive, I apologize for her brashness.”
“Well, I’m not sorry,” Lydia chimes in. “That man ruined many lives and thank God someone had enough balls to take care of him once and for all.”
“Stop it!” Cove snaps. “Not in front of Sophia!”
“No, Cove!” Lydia yells back. “You can’t sit there and tell me you’re not happy Paul’s dead. Sophia’s smart enough to sense how we feel. We’re going to be discussing this for quite some time, and I’m not going to hide my feelings about it, about any of it.”
“You’re being completely insensitive to this woman,” Leondra states. “Now change your attitude or we’ll leave immediately. We’ll sleep in the airport tonight if we have to.”
Cove and his mother both look out the window as Lydia focuses on the road. There’s silence from everyone until I decide to ease the tension among the group. I clear my throat and lean forward.