29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Ryan
" S ix feet of rope, an unregistered Glock, duct tape, zip ties, and a bottle of Ambien under another person's name," A stocky, older detective says as he reads out the inventory report taken from my car.
Of all the people to stop on the side of the road, she had to find a fucking cop; I think to myself as I'm thrown in the back of a police cruiser. It's better than lying face down on freezing concrete but watching a hysterical Faith trying to explain the situation to police officers from the back of an ambulance makes my blood boil. I can only imagine the lies she's making up while the officers taking her statement nod their heads between looking up at her and over at me with contempt in their judgmental eyes.
She infuriates me more when she drops everything to make her way to Derek as he's finally pulled out of the truck and onto a gurney. When the police officer tries holding her back, I'm furious to see her determination to get to him, to beg the paramedics to let her ride with Derek back to the hospital. Eventually, they cave, and she and Derek disappear into an ambulance, leaving me behind with the wrecked cars and police officers ready to lock me away.
At the station, I seethe with frustration as two detectives sift through their file folders, reciting damning details that make my situation seem worse by the minute. Cuffed and treated like a common criminal, I was subjected to a humiliating search, and my car and I were both thoroughly inspected. Time drags on endlessly until I'm finally shoved into an interrogation room. Hours feel like they stretch on forever as I wait for the two detectives to walk in, my anger boiling over with every passing second.
The older, stocky one introduces himself as Detective Nelson with a polite handshake, while his younger, slimmer partner introduces himself as Detective Martin, who doesn't bother shaking my hand but instead leans into the back corner of the room next to the one-way glass where I'm sure another pair of eyes are watching me. As far as I can tell, Nelson is the good cop, while Martin is the bad cop.
Nelson reads off the inventory again, shaking his head as if he's trying to understand from my point of view, but no matter what tactics he thinks will work, he can forget it. There's no way in hell they're keeping me here on any charges.
They can't prove shit, I remind myself.
"Aside from the gun and pills, I'm allowed to have those things in my car," I point out, already knowing the case Detective Nelson is trying to make against me.
"What were you planning on doing with all those things?" he asks, leaning back in his chair while his partner watches from the corner of the interrogation room with sharp eyes like he's trying to catch a lie before it's said.
That's none of your business," I answer.
"Actually, it is knowing you almost killed two people, one of which was your ex-girlfriend who filed a restraining order against you," he says, reading off the information from his little file folder. "You liked smacking her around, huh?"
"She has no proof," I scoff.
"Oh, yes, she does," he chuckles. "She also has photos of your handy work of the property damage to her boyfriend's truck."
"He's not her boyfriend!" I snap, slamming my hands down on the table.
Despite the sudden outburst, Nelson and Martin don't so much as flinch. Instead, their eyes remain steady and unphased while I force myself to reel it back in.
I think to myself, "They're going to say anything to get to you. Don't give them satisfaction."
"Why does that upset you?" Detective Martin asks. The way he's looking down at me with his arms crossed makes me want to slam his head against the glass.
"It doesn't," I say calmly. "You're choosing to listen to a hysterical woman who doesn't know what she's talking about. You guys have it all wrong."
"Then explain it," Nelson says with a tone suggesting he's on my side, that somehow, we're friends if I tell him what I know he wants to hear. "Start with what we found in your trunk."
"Most of those things aren't illegal to have in my car," I remind him. "It's circumstantial evidence at best. How do you plan on pinning me with attempted murder, detective?"
"Most being the operative word, and you didn't answer my question," he chuckles. "An illegal firearm and pills associated with date rape drugs are a huge red flag. I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from as an investigator."
"Okay, then all you have is possession charges," I shrug like it's nothing.
"We also have attempted murder via vehicular homicide," Detective Martin adds in a matter-of-fact tone.
"It was a simple car accident. You can't prove that I tried killing anybody."
"Are you sure about that?" he grins.
"I'm certain," I reply. "I was just trying to make sure she was okay. She hasn't let me close enough to really talk to her about everything going on between us, so I had to follow her to get her attention."
"Really? And then what? You were trying to make up, so you could what? Run off into the sunset together?" Nelson asks, almost in a mocking tone.
"Exactly, nothing nefarious going on," I sigh, but the man doesn't look convinced.
"Then how do you explain this?" he asks, pulling out two pieces of paper, both contained in their own clear evidence bags. One for me, one for Faith.
"Those… those are…," but I can't explain them, the two pieces of evidence I thought they would never find tucked under the center consul of my car.
"Suicide letters," Martin says. "Typed out but signed by hand. Your hand. I will say it's always impressive when a man can forge a woman's signature."
"It's not what you think," I insist, but both detectives aren't buying it.
"It looks like you were going to kidnap your ex-girlfriend, who filed a restraining order against you, because if you can't have her, no one else can," Martin suggests with ice in his voice. "Why else write them out?"
Don't react, don't react, I tell myself, but I can feel my hands close into fists in my lap, hidden under the table, while I fight to loosen the tension from my clenched jaw.
"In other words, to answer your question, this is how we prove you tried killing Faith and her boyfriend," Nelson crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, watching as reality starts to set in over me.
"There's nothing circumstantial about writing out suicide notes on someone else's behalf," Martin adds. "How do you plan on explaining that away?"
I look up from the scattered evidence on the table to Detective Martin, whose snide grin and crossed arms make me want to lunge at the man. I envision his blood smeared across the glass, just like Derek's blood smeared on the driver's side window of his truck. The thought is almost intoxicating. Instead of acting impulsively, I ground myself to my chair, took a deep breath, and ended the conversation the only way I knew how.
"Lawyer," is all I say.
"Yeah," Nelson chuckles darkly. "You're definitely going to need one."
They both walk out right then, leaving me with nothing but a disheveled reflection of me for company. My eyes are still red and swollen from Faith's pepper spray, not to mention my groin still stings from her slamming her boots into it. It's not exactly how I want to be reminded of her, but I'm sure the prison bars that await me will never let me forget why I'm here.
But with every crime, there has to be a loophole, a technicality to get me out of it. I have to find it, and when I do, Faith and I will finally be together, whether in this life or the next.
Either way is fine by me.