Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
BONNIE OPENED the door before Roxanne got to it. Al stood behind Bonnie in the doorway. He stepped around the woman to go outside outside, appearing grimmer than she’d ever seen him. There was only one thing this could mean. Roxanne wiped tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.
Her heart pounded violently as she walked up her front steps. The implications raced through her mind.
“The police have a warrant for my arrest.” She spoke calmly in spite of the jump in her stomach.
Al nodded, looking past her to Brian’s car pulling out of the driveway. Roxanne thought she better do or say something before Al cried too.
“Don’t worry, Al. I’ve got a good lawyer.” She walked past him and patted his back with a smile.
He laughed and covered his face with one hand. She shivered. She was about to walk in the house, but he stood rooted on the front steps.
“The police called last night,” Al said. “I told them I’d bring you in. I’ve stalled them as long as I can. I’ve been spending this time trying to line up a bail bondsman. I tried to use your house for collateral. But no takers.”
“Penelope’s lawsuit?” No bail. She couldn’t imagine it working out any other way.
“Maybe that’s it,” Al said. “Penelope engineered the language in the complaint to call into question your title—in spite of the fact that we already won that issue. There’s a motion to dismiss pending but it’ll take time.
We could mortgage the house, for Christ’s sake, but that also takes time.
You have any other quicker sources of money? ”
“If I had, I would have tapped them long ago.” She thought of who she’d gone to when she needed quick money for the research fund.
The instant, repulsive taste of bile rose to her mouth.
She’d counted on Brian Dennis too heavily, almost without even realizing it.
She’d relied on him to be her guardian angel and he hadn’t disappointed her.
To her detriment, she’d ignored the one lesson her daddy had taught her: don’t rely on anyone but yourself, especially not men. And she was regretting it in spades.
“What about …” Al began.
“Don’t even say it.” She stared at him until he backed down.
“Roxanne, the alternative is jail.”
“I don’t care. How bad could the town of Marblehead’s jail be?” It didn’t matter where she was. She was doomed to feel miserable for a long, long time.
She had only herself to blame. This was the final prayer of her penance, losing her heart to Brian. Everything else—Don’s death, losing her money, her job, even getting arrested was not enough. Nothing was more appropriate.
“If we’re going, let’s go,” she said. “We’ll take your car in case we have to sell mine.” She quirked her brow.
He wasn’t amused. They walked to his car.
Bonnie came with them. She only nodded her head at Roxanne.
She knew there was nothing to say. Poor Bonnie had run out of things to say, run out of steam long ago.
She should be retired somewhere by now, Roxanne thought as they all got in Al’s car.
She’d put the woman through enough. They’d have to talk about that. Later.
She was hoping for a silent drive, but it wasn’t to be. Al spoke.
“I see you got Brian to return with you without a problem.”
“Look, if this is your attempt at idle conversation, you picked the wrong subject.”
“No. I picked the right subject. There’s a custody hearing coming up soon …”
“You absolutely do not have to worry about me being involved with him for another second.”
The prospect that they’d actually take his daughter away now seemed unimaginable to Roxanne. But she wasn’t about to play spoiler.
“I am worried. About you. They found a big crack in your alibi. That’s why they decided to arrest you now. Seems you were seen leaving the party that night, at least for a short while. We need Mark Baines more than ever. You were with him?”
“Yes. I was.” She sighed, remembering. There was no doubt he would remember.
“You look like hell and this hasn’t even started yet,” Al said as he glanced over at her before returning his attention to the familiar winding roads leading into town.
She laughed in spite of his seriousness. “Good. Then I can only get better, right?”
He shook his head and said no more. She didn’t know if it was because he was defeated or because they had arrived at the police station.
The thudding in her chest returned with a suddenness that wiped everything else from her thoughts.
It was as if her mind suspended operation and she went on automatic pilot as she got out of the car and went through the glass doors of the station.
She neither thought nor felt. She merely went through the motions.
Detective Turner was in the lobby to meet them. He handed Al the arrest warrant for him to examine. Al’s look at the document was perfunctory. Of course all was in order.
The detective turned to her and looked her straight in the eye.
“Roxanne Monet, you are under arrest for murder in the first degree of Donald Boswell III. You have a right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have a right to have your attorney present during questioning…”
He went on in his clipped, professional voice, not taking his eyes off her.
She felt a sickening taste rise again to her throat.
The lightheadedness that came upon her prevented her from paying attention to the rest of what he said.
She felt Al next to her and was surprised to find that she was clutching his arm.
Dragging her attention back to Detective Turner, she forced herself to listen. She had to hear this, to feel every last ounce of stark terror as it closed in around her. It would do her no good to escape into oblivion. She needed this immediate life-threatening spark, the penance.
“Follow me. We’re going into the booking room.” Detective Turner put his hand on her back and firmly guided her away from Al to a door down the hall. Al followed behind.
They walked into a small square room. No windows.
There was a counter on the right, a table ahead with some files, and a camera bolted to the floor on the left.
Detective Turner took her over to the camera where a blue uniformed man waited to take her picture.
She stood on the line of gray tape two feet in front of the stark white wall and allowed the detective to direct her poses for several snapshots.
She nearly choked trying to prevent herself from breaking out into uncontrollable sobs.
There was no such thing as retaining your dignity in a situation like this. No one could. Small consolation.
“Photo session’s over. Come on over for fingerprinting.” Detective Turner led her over to the counter where the ink pads waited.
“Fingerprint cards with my name on them. You must have been expecting me.” Roxanne looked up at the man’s humorless expression. She cut through the tension with her sarcasm so precisely that he looked startled.
His eyes flickered for an instant. “Roll each finger on the ink pad from left to right. Then on the card. Can you manage? Or would you like me to …”
“I think she’ll manage just fine. Detective, this is trying enough for Ms. Monet without your condescension,” Al spoke up.
She did as she was told, biting her tongue rather than saying what she wanted. It looked like Al couldn’t stand it any other way
“Now the palm print.” Detective Turner took her hand and pressed it in the ink and then on the card.
“Perfect,” he said then escorted her away from the table to a sink to wash up.
She didn’t know what to make of his attitude.
It seemed as if he might actually think her guilty when all along she could have sworn he believed her to be innocent.
“Now comes the fun part,” the detective said.
“Wait just a minute. I don’t like that. Don’t you have a female …” Al began.
“What are you talking about?” An edge of alarm sounded, seeping through the walls of her enforced stoicism.
“We frisk you, Ms. Monet. Step right over here please. Take that belt off.”
She laughed. She glanced at Al’s grim expression as the detective felt her over, and not very gently at that.
“Find anything else you want, Detective?” She couldn’t resist the spit of sarcasm in Turner’s direction. Al’s face paled.
Detective Turner chuckled. “Now, now, Ms. Monet. We’re placing you under arrest, not going on a date.” He straightened and looked at her. “All done here. This is where you get locked in a cell, Ms. Monet. Come with me.”
Detective Turner had ice in his veins, she decided. She shivered as he led her through a steel door and down a hall to a jail cell.
It looked like jail cells looked on TV, but not the homey Andy Taylor of Mayberry kind.
It was dirty and small, but thank God there was no one else in it.
The detective swung the iron bar door open and motioned gallantly for her to step in.
She gave him a look aimed to kill, raised her chin, and forced herself to step inside.
Those were the toughest steps she’d ever taken. Life was getting very tough.
“You can stay a minute if you like, Mr. Dover,” the detective said and left.
Roxanne could picture him wiping his hands. This case was not going to make his career in spite of whatever Penelope promised him, Roxanne insisted to herself. Because she would be proven innocent.
“Listen, Roxy, I have to go and prepare for the bail hearing, which shouldn’t be too long. I’ll be back. Hang tight. We might get lucky since you have a good background and no record.”
“Sure. I’m not going anywhere.”
This time she didn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t. She sat on the dirty mattress that covered the metal bed frame and looked straight ahead at the graffiti-covered wall opposite her.
***