41. Anderson
41
ANDERSON
O ver coffee the next day, I text Dana before returning to our conversation. “And you liked it?”
When June blushes, she is so fucking sexy. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You sound unsure. What didn't you like?”
“It was just a surprise, that's all.”
“The plug, you mean?”
She nods, then turns away. “I didn't. I never knew. I just?—"
“It's okay to say that you liked it. I want to know all the things that I can do to please you. No matter how unusual or deviant they might be.”
“Call them, um … “she starts. It's hard for her to look me in the eyes when she says it. “Do you think maybe we could try a little bondage one day?”
Oh, if she's not careful, she's gonna make this table rise another eight inches. I swallow, trying not to sound too eager. “I think I can make that work.”
“I mean, is that something that you're into, or are you thinking of it more like a favor to me?”
I huff a laugh. “Anything I get to do to please you is a favor to both of us. Whatever you want to try, June, I am up for it. And besides, I think you'd look rather sexy in a pair of shiny handcuffs.”
Her eyes widen. “I was thinking maybe those pink fuzzy ones. They seem safer.”
I can picture it now. I am not getting out of here today without fucking this woman. “Whatever you want.”
A moment later, Dana texts me back. “I'll look into the video rumor.”
It had been on my mind for a while now, of course. The only thing that really puts it out of my mind is fucking June. Or thinking of fucking June. Really, the moment she's naked in my mind, all of the noise disappears.
When she's naked in real life, the world goes away.
But for now, I have to stay focused. Moss wouldn't have brought any of this to my attention unless it had the potential for fallout. If only we knew?—
“I just so happen to have a pair of those pink fuzzy handcuffs. They're stored in my underwear drawer.”
And just like that, I have no more thoughts in my head. “Let's go see what you look like in pink. Last one to the bedroom loses.”
She grins and squeals before I race her to the bedroom. I bar the doorway so she loses. But I make sure she wins, too.
Hours later, June is asleep, and I check my phone on the kitchen island again. There's a text from Dana. “They're bluffing. Call me.”
For fuck’s sake, please let this be the news I need to hear. “Dana, what's going on?”
“It was all bullshit. I had my people on the force dig into it for me. They found out the rumor of the video was so that they could pressure you and June into a confession. They've got nothing.”
I can’t believe it. “You're sure? A lot of important lives hang in the balance here?—"
“Anderson, come on. You know me. I wouldn't tell you it was bullshit if I didn't know for sure it was bullshit.” She sounds very offended.
“I know. I'm sorry. This has been one of the most stressful things in my life, and I'm … I'm not sure that I want to believe that it's going the way I need it to go. I can't have hope and have it taken away from me again.”
“Honey, I know. But I promise you, I'm not giving you false hope. This is real. They have nothing on you. All they have is a bloated corpse and a lot of suspicion. A murder case that does not make.”
I blow out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. It still feels too good to be true. “So when we're questioned again?—"
“You have every right to tell them to fuck right off. You're in the clear, my boy. Don't make the mistake of accidentally confessing anything. Not even so much as speeding to get there. Anything that you confess to can give them probable cause, and that will definitely amp up their investigation on you. This is the very definition of giving them an inch, and they will take a mile. Give them nothing, and you'll get nothing.”
“One thing I don't understand. How is it that Moss’ people had it so wrong?”
She sighs. “It seems to me that the cops know who to tell that rumor to. Moss' people are compromised. I don't know if they truly believe that the video exists or if they are plants to feed him false information. Either way, they can't be trusted. He needs new people.” She pauses. “He's not getting mine.”
I chuckle. “Fair enough. Dana, thank you so much for your help on this.”
“Anytime, Anderson. Hope to see you around more often.”
“I'd like that.” Visitation will be much easier since I won't be behind bars. Now, to handle the rest of it.
By the time the detectives actually call me, I've been expecting them. I don't even speed on the drive in. Like Dana said, I will give them no excuses. Inside the police station, they're all smiles. But behind their eyes, something else lurks.
Confidence.
Give me an interrogation room, Banks carries a folder in one hand and pulls out my chair for me with the other. “Take a seat, Mr. West.”
“Why, thank you.” The three of us sit like civilized people. Banks and Wachowski on one side, me on the other. Their interrogation room looks like any that I've seen on TV. Whoever stands behind the one-way mirror is about to get one hell of a show.
Banks sets the folder on the table. “I'm glad you could make this meeting.”
I chuckle. “Well, you are the police. I don't think I have much of a choice.”
“You have all kinds of choices, Mr. West,” Wachowski says in that nasal voice of his. “A man with your kind of money? I'm beginning to see you think you can do anything you want.”
“Pray tell what that's supposed to mean?”
He leans forward, dipping his chin down like he's conspiring with me. His voice lowers. “Come on. We both know what went down that night.”
“What night is that?”
When he sees I'm not playing the same game he is, he sits back and hisses between his teeth. I've always enjoyed disappointing my father, but I think I enjoy disappointing Wachowski even more. “Cut the crap, West. We know it was you.”
“Oh? You know what was me?”
He stands up and throws his chair across the room. “Stop fucking around! We know you killed him! We have all the proof we need!”
I sit back and smile. “I'd love to see it.”
“See what?” Banks asks.
“Your proof, of course. I would assume you have more than just a bloated corpse. Maybe some fingerprints? Or DNA? Or even a video?” I can't say that I know about their little lie, but I can certainly intimate it.
Wachowski slams his fists on the table. “Are you asking for a video just to piss us off? Or are you asking because it's some kind of a sick fetish for you to watch yourself beat a man to death?”
And right then, I know for certain they don't have it. If they did, Wachowski would rub my nose in it.
So I calmly tell them, “I am merely asking for the proof you claim to have. Seems to me that if you don't have any, then I'm free to go. In fact, since you don't have any, I'd be happy to sue for harassment, as you have pulled me in here on more than one occasion with no kind of evidence, harassed my fiancée at her place of business?—"
“Listen, Mr. West,” Banks begins. “None of us need to speak to our lawyers to make this go away. All we need is some cooperation from you.” He does his level best to make it sound like such a simple thing.
“What cooperation is that, Detective Banks?” But I know what he wants. He wants a confession.
He opens the folder. There on a slab is Neil's swollen corpse. The sight of it turns my stomach. “Not a pretty picture, huh?”
“Rather nauseating, actually. But I don't know what it has to do with me.”
“A fresh corpse always looks better. Could almost believe that they're still alive.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Whoever dumped him into the Bay must have thought that he was dead. But he wasn't. At least not according to the coroner’s report.”
I know the police are allowed to lie during an interrogation. In fact, the only place they're not allowed to lie is on the stand, which isn't to say that that doesn't still happen there, too. So, sitting here across from Detective Banks, I know that he's lying to me. His skull was bashed. He had no pulse. He wasn't breathing. June confirmed it. I confirmed it. And Moss, our expert on making dead bodies, confirmed it.
Yet the thought of Neil having survived until we dumped him overboard still makes me sicker.
“That sounds horrifying.”
“It is. The stuff of nightmares, really.” He fans out a few more pictures. I know he's trying to get a rise out of me. “Can't imagine what that was like for the guy. That's why I'm determined to get whoever did this. I need to be able to give his family some closure.”
“I can certainly see why.”
He meets my gaze. “I had a wife once, Mr. West. But this job makes relationships hard. I wasn't always there for her. When I found out about her affair, I went a little crazy. Spent way too much time at the gun range. Bought a new sports car. All that shit. I understand it is hard to deal with a woman who's cheating on you. Guys like us, we don't get a lot of sympathy on that. But I get it.”
I'm impressed. They're still trying. Even without evidence. “Detective Banks, I'm not sure what you think you and I have in common, but I am certain that you're wrong.”
“Your girl got a little action on the side. That could make any man crazy. Juries are very understanding about that kind of thing.”
“My statement is not going to change. I had nothing to do with any of this. And now that I'm here and you two have been wasting my time for close to an hour, I know for certain that you have nothing on me. I'm sure that stings, but that’s not my problem.” I stand up. “My problem is a pair of detectives who won't let this go.”
“Why the hell should we?” Wachowski barks. “You rich boys always think you can get away with murder.”
I shrug. “Maybe you can clear this up for me. Am I a rich boy who thinks he can get away with murder? Or am I a sympathetic man who got cheated on? Which is it? Maybe you two can make up your mind before you bother me again. In the meantime, I'm leaving because you don’t have enough to hold me here. Have a nice day.” I stroll out of there, breathing a sigh of relief. The fresh air smells like freedom.