Chapter 30 #2
I turn my head, looking back. A tall, older man in black slacks and a light blue button up shirt shuts the door and rounds the desk.
He pulls out a chair and sits in front of me, tossing down a yellow notepad and a folder onto the cold, metal table as he straightens his tie.
Now that he’s closer, I can tell he’s really not that old at all, despite the deep lines that mar his forehead.
He’s probably in his mid-forties. You can tell each one of those lines hold a story that he keeps locked up tight. I can’t imagine the things he’s seen.
“I’m the detective investigating your wife’s attack. Damn near took me pulling teeth to get my hands on that security footage. Imagine my surprise when we viewed the surveillance video.”
My eyes don’t leave him while I wait for what he’s found. I know from his body language and the way I’ve been treated that I’m not here for an update; I’m here for an interrogation. I just don’t understand why.
“You see, the security footage shows you and your wife were the only ones to leave and enter the penthouse that day.”
Though I want to jump up, yell, scream, and tell him that’s bullshit, I even out my breathing instead.
In a normal situation, I might lose my shit, but right now he’s assessing my behavior.
Just as he’s analyzing me, I’m analyzing him.
I’m reading his body language, tone, and expression.
And from all three, I can tell the best thing for me to do is sit in my seat and stay calm.
“Sir, I can assure you, Jaxon entered our penthouse. Are you positive you have the correct footage?”
“Don’t insult me. I know how to do my job, Mr. Graham.
I’ve seen guys like you. Big name, hot shot athletes, who beat their wives, thinking they can get away with it because of who they are.
They convince their wives to lie for them or blame someone or something else.
Well, let me tell you something; that’s not going to work with me. ”
I’m not even going to entertain the dig at my career because he’s not wrong. We hear all the time about famous people getting away with all kinds of shit.
“I would like to see the footage.”
“You would like to see the footage,” he chuckles, his tone mocking as he shakes his head in disbelief.
“Yes, please,” I say in an even tone, maintaining eye contact with him.
He shifts in his seat, his brow tugging deep, like he’s trying to figure me out.
As he studies me, I already have him figured out.
I know he’s seen a case like he’s described one too many times.
I would be willing to bet that he had no choice but to let someone walk, only for it to end badly.
And in his mind, he thinks that if he can get it right this time, he can absolve himself from some of the guilt he carries.
“I can assure you, sir, I would never hurt my wife. I’m not insulting your intelligence, I’m only informing you that you have the wrong footage.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No, sir,” I say, steepling my fingers together.
“Given what I know about domestic abuse, I would hope that you wouldn’t believe that, nor let me go easily.
Not because I’m guilty. I’m not. It’s just .
. . if someone would have done their job correctly the first time and dug deeper into Jaxon when he nearly killed my wife two years ago, then we wouldn’t be here now.
I don’t expect you to believe anything I say.
I expect you to use proper evidence in your investigation.
I expect you to build a solid case against the bastard who did this to my wife. ”
He taps on the table with his pen as his eyes narrow at me. “What time did you come home the night of the attack?”
“Do you even know the date of the attack?” I counter.
I’m not trying to be a smartass; I’m proving a point. He opens the file and his eyes scan over the report.
“Sir,” I say, garnering his attention. He looks up from his folder.
“I want Jaxon Martin locked up. I want my wife safe. You have me here, interrogating me . . . and fine, do your due diligence, but while you’re wasting time on me, Jaxon is out there.
He could be plotting his next move, and who knows what the outcome of that move could be.
I’m asking you to double check the date on that footage. ”
“I’ll be right back.” He lifts to stand.
“Before you go . . . I’ll give you the information you need.
” He lowers back down to his seat, and I continue.
“The date was November twenty-first. I arrived at our building a little after six twenty. River and I had plans for a date that night, and I was supposed to be home by six, but I got held up at work. Nigel, the concierge stopped me in the lobby and wouldn’t let me go up to our penthouse.
Brian, one of the security guards, brought River down to meet me in the lobby until your officers arrived. That should be on your footage.”
“Anything else?” he asks, writing everything down on his notepad.
“River’s sister, Aspen Miles, owns the Blaze organization. She’ll be glad to provide you with video evidence of what time I left the facility that night to clear my name.”
A knock sounds at the door, and an officer enters. “Mrs. Graham is causing quite the scene out here.”
I chuckle and lift one brow at the detective.
“Do you want me to toss her in the tank? She refuses to go home without Mr. Graham, and they’re about to restrain her.”
I can only imagine the hell she’s raining down on them right now.
Jesus.
“Actually, I think I have what I need here,” Detective Matthews says, closing his folder. He directs his attention to me and slides his notebook over before standing. “Can you write down your contact information?”
I write down my cell number and email, then slide the notebook back to the detective. He pins me with a curious look then hands me a business card.
“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Graham.”
I stand and offer my hand to shake his. “I sure hope so.”