Chapter 17 #3
“I’m glad you got rid of that woman, Brian. Did you know she murdered her husband? What were you doing talking to her anyway?” Vicki’s friend Karen Marie said.
He’d been wrong about being numb. He felt the sting of the words as if he’d been accused of murder himself. He made a conscious effort to keep his voice low. “She did not murder anyone.” He added, “I was talking to her because she’s a friend.” The statement surprised him. It was true.
Vicki spoke in a hushed voice. “Then I should warn you that one of the reporters made a comment earlier implying that you were somehow more involved than that. Made it sound like maybe she murdered her husband because of you.” She regarded him with a sympathetic yet curious glint in her eye.
He had to laugh, though he wasn’t at all amused. If reporters were talking like that, then Al could be right and his relationship Roxanne might well affect his custody suit. He felt cold fury. Worse still, her relationship with Lindy might be affected.
As they waited for Dave, more press emerged from the dressing room and the dark dingy hallway got crowded and noisy.
While he was engaged in conversation and the guards were around, at least the fans didn’t bother him.
But the very second he turned toward Dave McCall’s voice, a new bevy of reporters closed in.
One young stringer opened his mouth and Brian sighed with resignation. The boy’s eyes widened in amazement at some sight beyond Brian down the hall. Brian turned.
Two cops, three Garden security guards, and a sixth man who might be a detective were walking his way.
The plainclothes man looked directly at him with a plainclothes blank stare that caused Brian heart-sinking apprehension.
He had no idea what was going on until he saw Roxanne beside the detective.
The man took her elbow, holding it to guide her alongside him as if she were reluctant to be there.
Brian met her eyes. Her look was almost pleading. The detective’s badge snapped as they stopped in front of him and brought the entire crowd abruptly to silent attention.
“Detective Brent Turner, Marblehead Police Department. I’m conducting a homicide investigation, Mr. Dennis. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you’d be so kind as to accompany me to the station.”
This was no joke. He glanced around at the gaping reporters, friends, fans and teammates. This was a hell of a mess.
“I’d love to assist you in clearing up any misunderstandings you have, but couldn’t we do this another time, Detective?”
“We’ve been trying to contact you for a day and a half. We generally like to avoid unnecessary delays, keep the wheels of justice spinning.” The detective glanced at Roxanne. She must have been exerting great control not to slap Turner’s face. She stood taller.
“Ms. Monet here has already tried to ah…persuade me to postpone this talk. But I promise it shouldn’t take long.”
Roxanne flinched. Brian darted her another glance and stopped himself quickly from wondering exactly what the detective meant. When the first camera flashed amongst the crowd, Detective Turner took charge.
“Let’s take this discussion to more private quarters?”
It was a convincing argument and Brian started following the man back the way they’d come. The detective still held Roxanne’s elbow.
The media erupted. “Ms. Monet, what is Mr. Dennis’s involvement in the murder of your late husband?”
“Detective, are you prepared to make an arrest yet and if so, who will it be? Who’s the number one suspect at this time?”
Turner turned back to face the reporters as they continued to pepper him, Roxanne and Brian with questions.
“We’ll be holding a press conference tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure you can wait until then.” Detective Turner and his men all proceeded, taking Roxanne with them, save one blue uniform who waited for Brian.
“Do you want me to call your lawyer?” Dave whispered the question over his shoulder.
Brian turned to him. “Yeah. Have him meet us at the station in Marblehead. And you I’ll meet at the Top of the Hub at midnight—or shortly thereafter.” He gave Dave his best confident smirk. Dave looked skeptical.
Then he joined the group of police as they walked down the hall to where two cruisers with flashing lights sat parked just inside the Garden garage at the top of the ramp.
Detective Turner shoved him and Roxanne into the back seat of the cruiser before getting into his own car. Then they all drove off.
***
The Marblehead Police Department was housed in a sleek new concrete slab building, as cold and intimidating as Roxanne remembered it from her earlier visit.
But she felt nothing but numbness in spite of every reason to feel terror or at least apprehension.
Before Don’s death, she’d never visited the place and couldn’t have dreamed up this scenario in her most wild of visions.
Nothing seemed real. She decided she was better off that way as she nodded at Detective Turner when he held the glass door open for her.
She allowed him to escort her straight through to a windowless room with a couch, two chairs and a soda machine in the corner.
She looked at the Diet Pepsi. Her mouth dried up.
“Can we get this over with quickly, detective?” Brian began pacing, effectively shrinking the room.
She sat in one of the boxy upholstered chairs and the detective took a seat near her, armed with a digital recorder and notebook.
“Sure. What’s your relationship with Roxanne Monet?” Brent Turner looked up at Brian. Brian turned to face him abruptly with a growl.
The detective spoke again before Brian had a chance to respond.
“Before we get into this, let me just say that Ms. Monet,” he turned toward her, “you don’t need to be here for this.
You may leave if you like. I had you come along to get Mr. Dennis’s cooperation.
” He spoke with such impeccable manners and pleasant smile aimed at her that she felt like his guest as opposed to a murder suspect. That put her on edge all the more.
“Thank you.” She matched his polite style. “I’m here now. I may as well stay for the party.”
“Don’t stay on my account,” Brian said, not so graciously.
She gave him her most genuine smile and knew her pain showed through. She refused to play even one more single move in their game. Not even for the benefit of the detective. She looked back to Brent Turner with a nod to indicate he should continue.
“You can answer the question any time, Mr. Dennis.”
“Sure. The answer is we have no relationship.”
She felt the stab and reflexively held in her response. Or maybe it was the shock that kept her mute and expressionless.
“I find that hard to believe. Let me remind you that we are gathering evidence for a possible murder and if you impede our progress or mislead us in any way …”
“Fuck the bull, Turner. I said we no longer have a relationship and I meant it. I’m not here to invent stories.
I have nothing to hide. I’ll admit that we did have what you might call an amorous relationship in the past. But that’s over,” Brian spoke directly to Turner with his back to her.
But he turned to her when he finished and gave her a hard stare, as if challenging her to say otherwise.
“Is this true, Ms. Monet?” Turner asked her.
“Yes.” She said the word without hesitating, but it wasn’t easy. The strangled sound of her voice belied the cost. She kept her eyes on the detective. He made no response.
He turned to Brian once more. “When did it begin?”
“I don’t know. Last fall. September, October …” Brian waved his hand imprecisely as he resumed pacing, face aimed at the floor.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Mr. Dennis.”
Brian stopped and pivoted, his look belligerent. “It wasn’t until after her husband was dead, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He walked to the couch and sat on the end near the detective, leaning forward with his menacing game face in place.
“How do you know that?”
“Because she told me.” He flicked her an accusing glance.
The detective appeared perfectly comfortable, as if he were about to pour tea for their little party. He let that response sit for a moment and turned his attention to her.
“Ms. Monet, when did you begin your relationship with Brian Dennis?”
“Several months after Donald was gone. We met at a benefit function for Children’s Mercy Hospital. I told you all this, Detective. I’ve told you every possible detail of my love life since I met my late husband.”
“I know, I know. But we have to have corroboration.” He smiled at her.
She did not feel comforted by his demeanor.
If anything, the more pleasant the detective became, the more tense she felt.
Her heart hammered. The icy fear inside her made her shiver.
It could have been from the knowledge of an impending murder charge, or it could have been from Brian Dennis’s seemingly callous dismissal of her from his life.
She had no right to feel betrayed. Yet the strangled feeling every time she spoke overwhelmed her.
“Mr. Dennis, what is your recollection of your first meeting with Ms. Monet?”
“We officially met at the Tribute to the Celtics benefit for the first time. But we almost met earlier at the TV studio. That’s why I approached her.
” Brian’s words were clipped and unsentimental.
He never looked her way. “I attempted to seduce the woman, but discovered she was wearing a wedding band. I thought she was married. So I left.”
“Subsequent to that, what made you think she was not married at the time?”
“I told you …”
The detective abruptly cut him off and turned to Roxanne, putting a hand on her shoulder. He spoke in a commanding, cop-like voice for the first time. “Wait in the other room, Ms. Monet.” He gestured to a door.
She rose and walked from the room. A pair of uniformed policemen escorted her down the hall.
She sat on a hard wooden bench in the cold lobby, absently wondering what happened to Al.
She wondered what the detective might put Brian through, worried in spite of his betrayal.
She refused to think about any implications that might reach Lindy.
One thought loomed large in her mind, hanging over everything else and almost smothering her: if Brian harbored any doubts before about ending their relationship, it was clear those doubts were eradicated by this episode.
He was probably grateful now that she ended their game.
Not Roxanne. She wished she’d never started it.