Deception

by Ordonez, April Isabelle

  The next message is from my brother, at eleven-twenty-two: Are you guys all right? We’re getting worried.

  And the last message is from my mom, at eleven-thirty-four: Amy, what happened? The ship is backing out of the port. We tried to have them wait, but they said that they couldn't.

  I dart over to Rich. "The ship left?" I ask, exasperated.

  "I guess. I―I thought that it wasn't leaving until twelve-thirty. Apparently, I read the itinerary wrong. I thought it said we could board at eleven-thirty, but it says that the ship leaves at that time." I stand there flabbergasted, looking at him with a shocked look, my mouth hanging open. "So what now?"

  "They said that they can try to get us on the next ship that is scheduled to leave today at five-forty-five."

  "I don't want to go on the other cruise," I yell. "My family is on this cruise."

  "I know, Amy. I'm sorry," he says, wrapping his arm around me. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."

  "Take me home," I direct, wiggling out of his arms.

  I snatch my phone out of my pocket, and text my mom: Sorry, we didn't make it in time. Rich is an asshole.

  • • • •

  "Amy?" Julie says, confused, when she sees me walk in. "What are you doing here?" She gives me a once over, looking at my sundress and sandals.

  "Don't ask, Julie. Long story. I'm forced to stay home." I stomp to my office, and Julie follows directly behind.

  "You’re not going?"

  "We got to the port after the ship already left. My family was forced to go without me."

  "Are you serious, Amy? How late were you?"

  "We got there about eleven-fifty. The ship pulled out of port around eleven-thirty," I answer, pushing my lips together in a tight line, and raising my eyebrows in annoyance.

  "Why did it take you guys so long to get there?"

  "Well, Rich thought that we were supposed to board at eleven-thirty, so he scheduled a car to pick us up for ten-forty-five. The car got there late because of an accident or something. I think we would’ve been late to board, regardless, because the ship was scheduled to leave at eleven-thirty."

  "No wait, you mean the car was scheduled to pick you up at nine-forty-five, right?"

  "No, ten-forty-five, because he thought we were boarding at eleven-thirty." I shoot her a quizzical look.

  "Well, when Rich called here on Monday looking for you, he asked me if I had the itinerary. I told him I did. He asked me to email a copy to him. He also asked me to schedule a car service to take you to the port. When he asked me what time you needed to be there, I told him you could board at ten-thirty. He said to schedule the car to be at your house for nine-forty-five. I know I told the woman on the phone to have the car at your house by that time. I received the invoice this morning in the mail, and it clearly states nine-forty-five on it."

  "What? Why? What?"

  "I don't know, Amy. But I'm not lying. Do you want to see the invoice?"

  "I believe you. But I don't understand what happened."

  "Maybe Rich looked at the itinerary afterward and thought that I got the time wrong, so he called to reschedule the car service?" she says, shrugging.

  I narrow my eyes, not really convinced. "Maybe."

  "That really sucks, Amy. Your mom was looking forward to this."

  "I know. And so was I."

  "Are you really here to work? You should go somewhere else for the weekend."

  "No. The only place I want to be right now is with my family on that cruise. And I can't. I'm here to work," I say, annoyed. "And I certainly don't want to be home with him right now," I mutter under my breath. She frowns. I shrug.

  I tell her that I'm going to close the door and catch up on some work, and advise her to not let anyone know that I'm here. Taking out my iPod, I place the ear buds in my ears and look through case files. But I can't seem to stay focused. I toss my sandals off, and put my feet up on the desk. Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes and allow myself to get lost in the music. Reflecting on my life, thoughts of Travis' parents consume me. Feeling guilty for blowing up at him yesterday, I think about how alone he must feel not having his parents anymore. Then suddenly, thoughts of everything that he put me through fill my head, and I’m left unsure of what the right thing is to do.

  I page Julie. “Do you have a phone number for Travis Cashman?" I ask her while she stands in the doorway.

  "The guy that you kicked out of here yesterday? Your ex?" she questions, wide-eyed.

  "Yes," I respond, trying to look confident.

  "I believe that he left his number when he called to make the appointment."

  "Can you call him to see if he’s still interested in speaking with me?"

  "Are you sure about that, Amy?" she asks, searching my face for an expression.

  "Yes. Please."

  "I'll call him now. Do you want to meet with him today?"

  "Yes. Whatever time he can come in," I respond, straight-faced.

  A few minutes later she comes back. "I spoke with him. He said that he can be here within the hour."

  "Thank you, Julie. Let me know when he gets here." She nods―not so confidently―and shuts the door behind her. I replace the ear buds in my ears, and turn up the music, while staring out the window at the clouds.

  • • • •

  Julie pulls one of the ear buds out. I’m startled. "Sorry. I tried calling to you from the door, but I don't think you heard me."

  "It's okay."

  "Mr. Cashman is here," she announces, motioning in the direction of the door.

  I spin the chair around, and gaze at Travis. He has a small smirk on his face and it sends chills down my spine. He shuffles from one foot to the other, appearing unsure. Swallowing hard, I bend down, putting my sandals on. Julie hustles out, and I get up from the chair. "Come have a seat," I say, directing him to sit at the table.

  Hesitantly, he pulls a chair out and sits down. He folds his hands together on the table and looks down at them. I sit at the opposite side and open my notebook. When I place the audio recorder in the middle of the table, he looks at what I'm doing through his eyelashes. The silence is deafening.

  Clearing my throat, I look directly at him. "I want to make one thing clear to you. I didn’t ask you here to talk about us," I say, waving a hand in the air, gesturing between us. "I don't want to talk about our past―" He raises his head and opens his mouth to speak, but I quickly intercept him by raising my finger for him to wait. "Please. Let me talk Travis." He retreats, lowering his head back down, but this time, he keeps his eyes fixed on mine. Sadness overwhelms his expression. "I’m willing to assist you and your brother, if it’ll help find who killed your parents. I only want to talk about this case and, after we’re done you’ll go on living your life as will I. Get it?"

  “Yes.”

  "If you’re sure that this is what you want, then I agree to help. I’ll be asking you a lot of questions. Some of them will be difficult, considering what happened to your parents. Please know, everything I ask you is in an attempt to uncover the truth, and hopefully create a clear case to eliminate you as a suspect. I don't represent individuals who I believe are not innocent. I don't feel right allowing innocent people to sit behind bars, but I also don’t allow guilty ones to walk the streets under my watch. If, at any time, I believe that you’re guilty, I will demand that you seek other representation. Is that clear?"

  “Yes.”

  "I’ll interview you today and call over to the jail to schedule a time to meet with your brother, Brian, tomorrow."

  "You don't need to do that." He shakes his head.

  "What do you mean? Does your brother already have a lawyer?"

  "Yes. He does."

  "So why are you guys seeking separate council?" I ask, skeptical.

  "He's hired his friend, who is a low life attorney, and I'm not certain that he's the right lawyer to have. He runs with the same crowd as Brian. I don't want to be associated with that," he says, before pausing. "And I'm
not sure if my brother is innocent."

  "Do you think that your brother is capable of killing your parents?" I ask, shocked by his honesty.

  "When he's high on meth," Travis says, shrugging, "anything is possible." He looks straight into my eyes and it feels like he's peering into my soul. I have to look away. His smoky, gray blue eyes that are filled with so much sorrow make me feel like breaking down the wall that I want so desperately to have between us—the same wall that I built up thirteen years ago, when I lost the one person who I thought was my soul mate.

  "Is it all right if I record our interview?"

  "Yes."

  I press the record button, and begin. "Let's start off with you telling me a bit more about your parents." Travis raises his head and furrows his brow. "I know―I mean―I know who your parents are, but I need to know more about their life for the past year or so," I quickly elaborate. He nods. "So your parents were living in Half Moon?"

  "Yes. They moved from San Francisco about three years ago."

  "What was the reason for their move?"

  "They were planning for retirement. Their old house was much too large for them, and they wanted to move closer to their granddaughter."

  "They have one granddaughter? Your daughter?"

  "Yes. Amanda," he replies, nodding. My cell phone rings. I ignore it.

  "Were your parents still working?"

  "Yes. My dad had moved his garage to Half Moon, and my mom transferred to the elementary school there. She was planning on retiring at the end of the school year."

  "So they lived a pretty quiet life?"

  He shrugs, but keeps his gaze directly on mine, making me shift in my chair and want to look away. "Mostly. When my brother was clean, things seemed normal. But he's been in and out of rehab for the past eight or so years. Every time he’d come out, they would offer him a place to stay. He'd stay clean for a bit, but it never lasts long. It caused a lot of stress for my parents. It was a never-ending cycle. Each time he'd fall back into his old ways, I could see my mom place guilt on herself. She always felt guilty for his bad decisions. I never really understood why." He clears his throat, looking away. I can see the sadness on his face build up.

  "Would you like a glass of water?" He shakes his head. My cell phone rings again. "Sorry about that," I say, my phone chiming again. "Let me turn that off," I add, getting up and sauntering over to my desk.

  Before pressing the power button, I see a text from Rich: Why aren't you answering your phone?

  I text back: Stop calling. I'm at work and busy.

  While I want to chuck the phone across the room, I quickly remember that Travis is sitting not five feet away from me, and I already scared him off yesterday. I press the power button―quite hard―to power it down, and then shove it into the bottom of my purse. I huff loudly, returning to the table.

  "Was your brother living with your parents at the time of their death?" I continue.

  "Yes. He just came out of rehab the week prior," Travis says in a slow, controlled voice, that I'm now realizing he's had the entire time he's been here.

  "And you and your family live in Half Moon as well?"

  "No. I live and work in Pescadero." I nod, not ever having been to Pescadero, or even knowing where it is.

  "All right, so now I need to know, in detail, what you did on Friday. I’ll need for you to try to remember everything, including the time that you did it, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went to bed. If you can't recall something, we can skip over it for now. But I really need for you to try to remember as much as possible. I’ll make a timeline while you tell me the details."

  “Okay,” he responds, shifting in his chair. I note that this is the first time he's done this since he sat down.

  "So run through your day, starting with the time you woke up."

  "I woke up at six-fifteen, and got Amanda up at six-thirty. I cooked her breakfast, and then dropped her off at school at seven-forty-five. I drove to work, and was there until two o’clock. Amanda stayed after school for computer club, so I drove to the school to pick her up at two-fifteen. We then went to the bakery down the street to pick up a cake for my parents. It was my parents’ thirty-seventh wedding anniversary. After, we drove to Half Moon and stopped at a local florist. Amanda wanted to get her grandma some flowers. We also picked up some take-out from my parent's favorite restaurant."

  "What time did you get to Half Moon?" I interrupt.

  He shrugs. "I think it was around three o’clock, or so."

  "Okay. Continue," I instruct, putting my pen back to the paper.

  "So, we went over to my parents’ house. My mom had just gotten home from work. My dad was in the garage, working on a car. And Brian was out somewhere. I texted him to see if he was going to join us, and he texted back saying he'd be over in fifteen minutes. When he got there, we all sat down and ate. Amanda was going over to a friend’s house for a sleepover, so we left."

  "What time was that?"

  He pauses in thought, and then he presses his lips together and lightly shakes his head. "I think it was around four-thirty."

  "All right."

  "Brian wanted to go out, so he asked me for a ride. He had me drop him off at a friend’s house about three or so miles away. Then Amanda and I drove back home. She packed an overnight bag, and I drove her to her friend's house."

  "Do you recall what time you dropped her off?"

  "I remember it was just before five o’clock, because her friend's parents asked me if I wanted to stay for dinner. I recall looking at the time. I couldn't stay because I had to return to work."

  "So, you went straight to work after dropping your daughter off at her friend's house?"

  He looks down at his hands. "No, actually, I went home for a bit. I needed to shower.”

  "What time did you get to work?”

  "I think it was around seven o’clock."

  "And what time were you at work until?"

  He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. "Until my brother called saying that my parents were―" He takes a moment to clear his throat, and then says softly adds, “―dead.”

  My breathing quickens and I feel tears prickle in the back of my eyes. "And do you remember what time that was?"

  "I remember it exactly, it was eight-forty-one," he answers, trying to look composed.

  "Do you need a break?" I ask him, hoping he’ll say yes since I could certainly use one.

  "No, I'm fine."

  "This is where it’ll get hard. I understand if you have a difficult time answering some of this. But, please know, I'm asking so that I can understand everything that happened. I will get police reports, but I do need for you to tell me what you know." I want so badly to reach my hand across the table and touch his arm. I refrain, and put my pen back to the paper instead.

  "How were your parents killed?" I ask, forcing out each word.

  He looks down. "They were stabbed repeatedly. They each had over twenty wounds to the chest, and my dad's neck was also sliced open."

  "Did it appear as they fought back?" I manage. I see a tear roll down his cheek, but he doesn't attempt to wipe it away.

  "My mom was bound to a kitchen chair, her legs and hands were both tied. My dad was found on the floor next to her. I don't know if they fought back."

  No longer able to hold back, I reach my hand across the table and touch his forearm. He flinches for a moment, but then looks up at me and tears stream down his face. He continues looking into my eyes while the tears flow. I can't hold back my own tears anymore. I, too, let it out. "I miss them Amy," he says tenderly.

  “I know.”

  Even knowing what it’s like to lose a parent, I can't begin to understand how it is to lose both parents in such a tragic way. "I think this is enough for today," I say, keeping my eyes fixed on his. He looks sad, tired, and broken. "If the police or any reporters ask to speak with you, please tell them to contact me. I don’t want you talking to any of them without me there." I tu
rn off the audio recorder. He nods quickly, wiping the tears from his face. "I’ll need more information from you in the next few days. I may even need to speak with anyone you were with that day to corroborate your story, in case we should end up needing it. That might include having to speak with your daughter, your wife, and coworkers."

  He shakes his head. "There's no wife, it's just me and Amanda." No wife? He must be divorced. A few years back, I heard that he was married.

  "How old is your daughter? Do you think she'll be fine to answer some questions?" I ask, already anticipating the answer.

  "Amanda’s thirteen. And yes, she'd be fine to answer questions."

  "By the way, why is your brother in custody?" I probe, remembering that I don't know the reason.

  "His fingerprints were on the bloody knife they found.”

  I bite down on my lower lip. "All right. Well, in the meantime, please try to think of any reason why someone would do this to your parents, including your brother. Try to remember anything that will help us to get the justice that they deserve." I stand. "Call me with any information."

  "I will," he responds, pushing in his chair. We stand in silence for a moment, and then he smiles ever-so-slightly. "Thank you Amy. Thank you." His beautiful smile sends my pulse racing. I look down at the floor briefly.

  "You're welcome Travis. They were once my family too," I manage to force out, choking back tears.

  He shuffles to the door. Not wanting him to go yet, I decide to walk him out. Once we reach the entryway, he pauses and then turns. He leans in to hug me. Before I can think, I wrap both arms around his shoulders. "Everything will be okay," I say calmly.

  Before I pull away, I take in a breath and his scent intoxicates me. I'm instantly reminded of us―of our past―and of the times that I was so madly in love with him. When we let go, I feel like pulling him back in and smelling him some more. But I think better of it.

  He pushes the door open, without looking away from me. He hesitantly turns and disappears. I remain standing in place a moment longer, absorbing the lingering scent of him in the air. Once my legs begin to feel weak, I return to my office and Julie trails behind. "So how did it go?"