14. Ben
BEN
MY FATHER ARRIVED about five minutes after I was dragged back into the interrogation room by the lady detective whose name I’ve already forgotten. And about one minute after that, he was sitting down next to me with cups of coffee for both of us.
“You look like hell, son,” he says, not even a trace of affection in his voice. “Jesus, what have you gotten yourself into?”
That’s the thing about Donovan Carrera. Anyone who sees him here will see a father deeply concerned about his son.
Bringing him coffee, sitting in the room with him to offer moral support and keep the cops from trying anything shady.
But I know my dad, and the real reason he’s here is because all this looks pretty damn bad for his reputation.
And what’s bad for his reputation is bad for his business.
My father has very little patience for anything that is bad for business.
He didn’t build the Carrera name up from nothing—less than nothing, honestly—for it to be torn down by his only child.
In fact, I imagine he’s already turning over in his mind the ways that Sadie’s murder will end up helping Steven Cooper come out on top this year.
The two are working on a major development together, but they both still seem to be keeping score.
Still trying to one-up each other like they did back in high school.
The thing is, though, my dad should be smarter than that.
He’s a winner, and winners operate under the constant belief that the game is already won.
“Gentlemen, thank you for joining me.” The lady detective sweeps into the room and shuts the door behind her with force.
She’s the kind of woman who was probably smoking hot fifteen years ago, and she’s still not bad now, although now that I can see her up close and in bright light, I realize that this line of work clearly isn’t doing her any favors.
I expect my father to speak first, and I’m anticipating that he’s about to rail against this woman for keeping me held hostage here and demand to know why the state is involved.
I expect him to bring every inch of his six-foot-four, former-football-player body into the conversation and tower over this petite woman like the mountain of stone he is.
That’s what I expect. But that isn’t what happens.
“Sloane Budd,” he says simply, quietly. “I’ll be damned.”
The lady detective—Detective Budd, or whatever—smiles. “Not while I have anything to say about it,” she replies. “It’s good to see you, though, Donovan. I’m sorry about the circumstances.”
They shake hands, and my father clasps her hand with both of his. “You and me both,” he replies. “At least somebody with a brain stepped in around here. I appreciate the favor.”
Detective Budd shrugs. “I figured the ask came from you once I got the details of the case. It’s the least I can do. And, hey, I heard you’re doing well for yourself these days. Must be, to call in a favor like this. I’m glad for you. It’s hard-earned, and you deserve it.”
I’ve been trying to keep my calm during this baffling interaction, but I can’t anymore.
“Can one of you please tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask finally. “Dad, you know this woman?”
“Benjamin.” My father always insists on calling me Benjamin.
It never ceases to annoy me. “This is Detective Sloane Budd. She was on the local beat here when your Uncle Christopher was killed. She’s the only one who believed I didn’t do it.
I owe the entire life I’ve built for you and your mother to her.
She was a damn persistent rookie, no matter how many higher-ups she pissed off with her stubborn streak. ”
There is a look in my father’s eyes that I’ve honestly never seen before, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. Admiration. He actually admires and respects this woman. Hell, he’s happy she’s here.
He asked her to be here.
“Um.” I’m not sure what to say to that. “Right. Well… um… cool.”
She nods in my general direction without taking her eyes off my father.
“We never did nail the guy who really did it, though,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry about that, Donovan.”
“Not your fault. You were a rookie—what were you supposed to do when they closed the investigation? Even if you’d threatened to quit, it wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“True. The captain just transferred me instead, anyway. Turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me.”
My father nods approvingly. “I can see that. And I put it behind me, so here we both are. And anyway, we aren’t here to talk about the past. We’re here to talk about the very unfortunate situation we’re dealing with at present.”
My dad’s face looks very grim at the mention of “the very unfortunate situation.”
“We are. And thank you for being here in person. Given the sensitive nature of the incident and your son’s involvement, I thought it would be best to have a parent present while I continue the questioning.”
“It’s kind of you to extend the courtesy.”
“You deserve the courtesy, Don.”
Okay, what the hell is going on here? My father flips out if anyone dares to call him Don.
It’s the ultimate insult, and yet when this bitch does it, he smiles like it’s a beloved nickname?
The only thing I can think is that he’s putting her on, trying to build back up to whatever kind of rapport they had back when my uncle was killed.
He was clearly able to manipulate her back then, and if he called in a favor to get her here now, I can only imagine he has the same plan this time around.
He probably just needs some bleeding heart to agree that this whole thing is a tragic mess and then sweep it under the rug where it belongs.
I guess I just need to trust that he knows what he’s doing.
I briefly wonder if he slept with this woman—it would have been before he and my mom were married, although only barely, and I can see how they might have been each other’s type twenty years ago.
But speculating about my father’s love life before my existence isn’t particularly helpful. I can feel myself starting to spin out again, and I locate the small piece of green tape on the floor from before. Obviously, the smudge on the coffee cup isn’t here anymore, but there is the tape.
Green tape.
Okay.
I am here.
I stare at my dad, trying to figure out what he’s playing at.
Because here’s the thing. My dad killed my Uncle Chris.
I’m almost positive. I don’t know exactly what went down and if there was more to it than that girl or whatever, but I know my dad, and it sounds like my uncle screwed him over somehow.
I know my dad is not someone to just take that.
Even when it’s family… maybe especially when it’s family.
It’s weird, knowing your dad is a murderer. But if I’m being honest, I’ve always respected that about him. Knowing that he did whatever it took. Because I did whatever it took too last night. I did what had to be done. Just like him.
I can even admire the fact that he has this Sloane woman fooled into believing that he had nothing to do with it. After all, that’s probably what got him off. All he needed was one stupid cop to fall for the story he was selling and boom. Done deal. It’s brilliant, really.
And I can only assume the main reason he showed up here is because he’s about to talk us out of this room and talk me out of prison time for what I did.
He’s got to understand, probably better than anyone.
I’ll admit it; in the few moments they’ve left me alone in here, I’ve built up this idea of what would happen when my father showed up.
In my imagination, he shows up swearing and brandishing every relationship he’s got at every level of government in the whole state.
Hell, maybe even in the whole country. And he tells me that I did what I had to do, which is what makes a man a real man.
A real leader. And the two of us get the hell out of here in his Range Rover, and we just keep on driving until we’re far outside the town limits.
Then he takes a bottle of whisky out of the back seat, and we each take a swig while he tells me that I finally made him proud.
That I’m finally a leader, and I did what I had to do, just like he did.
That’s how he knows I’m ready to take over the family business.
Not after college, not ten years from now, but right now. Today.
I’ve spun this idea around my brain so many times that I can practically taste the whisky. I’m already gone in my head, and my father and I are partners in crime.
I haven’t been paying attention to what they’ve been talking about, but when I tune back in, I realize the detective lady is filling him in on what happened last night. How I strangled Mason with my bare hands.
My dad looks… horrified? Disgusted? A little queasy?
What he doesn’t look is proud. No slap on the back. No Way to go, son; that bastard deserved it.
My dad kind of looks like he might cry.
What the actual fuck is happening right now?
“So, as horrific as it all is, it does seem like a very clear-cut case of self-defense,” Detective Budd is saying. It’s almost like she’s trying to console my dad. “I just need to ask Ben a few more questions. I’m honestly not foreseeing any issues, Don. Jayne Cooper’s story matches Ben’s.”
My father turns to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Benjamin, you’re in good hands with Detective Budd. Just be honest with her. Explain what happened, exactly how it happened.”
I’m confused.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Aren’t you staying in here? Didn’t you come here to get me so we could just be done with all this?”