Dead End Job (18 page)

“So you’re saying that you couldn’t have murdered Maya Abrams because you were
fucking my husband?
”

My whole body jumped back. Then my mind began to race out of control- the only explanations I could muster for this wild statement was that this lady was delusional or seriously imbalanced. Either that or there was some type of interrogation technique that I’d never heard of where you said crazy things to try to get someone to confess. She was breathing audibly through flared nostrils when I answered, remaining as calm as I could.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what you’re talking about. I was not with your husband. I don’t even know your husband. I was with Rocky Evans. You know, the sergeant. We met last week and we went on a date and things just kind of clicked, you know? I wasn’t planning it. It just kind of happened…”

I was still rambling when she suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She set both hands on the edge of the table, like she wanted to push it into me.

“I know who Rocky Evans is you dumb bitch!” her voice thundered, cutting me off. “I know him because he’s my fucking husband! How DARE you. You stupid slut!”  She got louder and louder as she went on, and when she said “stupid slut” she was full on screaming, the whites of her eyes bulging out. Her fists were balled up so tightly that her fingers were turning white from lack of blood flow, and for a moment I was sure she was going to hit me. Instead, she turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door. I could hear yelling as she banged her way out of the interrogation area and down the long hallway that lead to the lobby.

There must have been some kind of mistake. For a few minutes I sat in the plastic chair, feeling scared and dumb. I was ashamed of myself for freezing up when confronted, but a little voice inside of me was afraid that she was telling the truth. I didn’t want to believe it, but what if Rocky
was
married? It couldn’t be true. What kind of guy would have the balls to hook up with a suspect while being married to a detective? Did he think that no one was going to find out? No way, I rationalized, it was just too crazy.

After a few minutes of sitting there another emotion joined the fear and shame I already felt: anger. I was angry that was in this situation. I was livid that someone was killing people at Merit. In fact, the police should have been protecting me, not locking me in this little room and then shaming me for my love life. This was total bullshit, and I intended to tell someone exactly that. 

I stood up and went over to the door. I paused for a moment, took a deep breath and gathered myself for the indignant march down the hallway and the demands I would make in an eloquent, formal speech, requesting fair treatment and justice—as a citizen and a tax payer. I put my hand on the door and pulled it open, prepared to storm into the hallway, when I was met immediately by the tiny but imposing figure of Detective Wang.

“Oh my God!” I blurted out in surprise.

“Ms. Hallstrom,” she said. A statement, not a question.

“Yes, I need to talk to someone about the outrageous way that I have been treated this morning,” I said, trying to maintain my dignity.

“Come with me,” she replied, completely ignoring my statement. She grabbed my elbow and swung me around, dragging me back into the room. For such a tiny lady Detective Wang had no problem controlling me physically: she led me right back to the chair where I had spent the last hour and brusquely took a seat opposite me. When her grip loosened, I could already feel a bruise forming. “What the he--,” I began to protest, but she cut me off. “Now sit down,” she demanded.

I rubbed my arm. For a second I thought about pushing back against her domineering attitude and refusing to sit, but after taking one look at her cold dark eyes I couldn’t help but sink myself back into the seat. All of my former gusto abandoned me. This was really not going the way I had pictured in it.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to upset Detective Lopez like you did, but you certainly aren’t making any friends around the station this morning,” Detective Wang lectured.

“I didn’t do anything!” I started to say, but it was useless—she waved off my comment and continued.

“Now, my suggestion is that you explain why one of my best detectives and my brightest sergeant are screaming at each other in the break room.”

I took a couple of deep breaths and gathered myself. I was not going to let either of these bitches push me around like this. No sir! I was going to stand up for myself.

“No,” I said firmly, looking her in straight in the eye. “Now you need to tell ME what’s going on. Two people I work with and know have been killed, and I didn’t do it. I was with Rocky last night because we have been dating. Not for very long, but we definitely went out on a date. And by the way, I certainly would not have been with him if I’d known he was
married
, especially not to Detective Lopez, who, by the way, is completely crazy. And now I’m sitting here being lectured by you. So the way I see it is that
I’m
the one who deserves an explanation. Oh, and if you’re going to keep me here, I’ll also need a lawyer. That’s all I have to say to you, or anyone else.”

Detective Wang leaned back in her chair for a moment, taking me in. To my surprise she didn’t look angry, instead she seemed amused and maybe a little impressed. She remained silent, but lifted an eyebrow and had maybe a hint of a smile on her lips. I was in no mood—I glared right back at her.

“OK,” she said, finally. And with that she got up and left the room. The adrenaline from telling Detective Wang off was rushing through my body, and I had a hard time staying still in the little plastic chair, but I’d somehow managed to maintain my composure by convincing myself that I was right and that I had absolutely no reason to act panicked.

About twenty minutes later an officer whom I’d never seen before entered the room. She told me that the department wanted to hold me at the police station in temporary custody, while things were “sorted out.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but I knew that but sitting in a cell was not it.

It seemed I didn't have much of a choice, because within thirty seconds she already had asked me to stand and was placing my hands in cuffs. The experience was very painful but thankfully short-lived. She took me down one flight of stairs to an office where I was officially booked, complete with all the bells and whistles—I even had a mug shot taken. I didn’t know how I was getting through this without having an anxiety-induced breakdown, but I kept clawing myself back from the brink by telling myself that the whole procedure was just a formality. Since Detective Wang had told me that Rocky was in the station, I half-expected that at any moment he would show up, explain that this whole situation was a big mistake, and take me home where we would have more fabulous sex, fall in love, get married, buy a little white house and have three perfect children—there was nothing to worry about.

But an hour later I found myself locked in a little room with white walls, a small cot with a light blue sheet, a little white-plastic chair, an old color TV, and no Rocky in sight. As I looked at my cramped surroundings, from somewhere inside I managed to muster some sense of strength and calm. I took a couple of deep breaths and let them out, slowly. Then a miracle happened: I didn’t panic. Something I hadn’t been able to do for the last couple of years. I hadn’t murdered anyone. I told myself that I would just have to wait this one out until I was released and the true killer was found.

Chapter 13: Tramp Stamp

I sat on the cot and calmly watched old
Ricki Lake
re-runs for the next few hours. The room was surprisingly warm compared to the interrogation freezer that I had sat in that morning, so I took my sweatshirt off and used it as a pillow. I’m not sure exactly how long I dozed, but I woke up when I heard the metal clink of the key turning the door’s sturdy lock.

The same quiet female officer who had booked me entered the room trailed by an unfamiliar man who looked to be in his late twenties. He was very slight, and wore a light-wool suit in grey with a blue button-up shirt underneath and a navy tie. He completed the ensemble with a shabby-looking leather briefcase, stuffed to the seams with papers.

“Louisa?” he asked. “My name is Adrien Cheng, and I’m your court appointed attorney. May we talk?” He gestured to the chair, asking me if he could sit down.

“Of course,” I said. He then nodded at the officer and she stepped out of the room, closing the door with another loud clinking noise.

“What time is it?” was the first thing I asked.

“It’s just after two in the afternoon,” he answered. Then he sat down and took out a yellow legal pad and a pencil. I nodded. That meant I had already been sitting in the cell for about eight hours.

“Thanks,” I said. “So, how does this work?” He got right down to it.

“As of right now you are on what is called a forty-eight hour hold,” he explained. “That means that the department doesn’t have sufficient evidence to charge you, so they are giving themselves the maximum time allowed by the courts to make a case against you and bring a charge. From what was submitted to me as of this afternoon the only evidence the police have against you is circumstantial. That is, you happened to be in the building on both of the evenings when the two murders took place. So what they are doing now is trying to find any physical evidence against you. The homicide department has obtained search warrants for your desk area at the office as well as for your home and car. Those searches are being conducted as we speak. Is there anything you want to tell me in regards to the searches?” he asked, phrasing his question carefully.

“Um, no—other than my roommate is going to totally spazz out and I’ll probably be homeless after this,” I answered, trying to make a joke. He looked baffled at that response, so I continued. “If you’re asking me if they’re going to find anything, then no. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“All right. Also, according to this draft statement given to me by Detective Wang, it appears you claim to have spent last night with Sergeant Rocky Evans.” I nodded cautiously. “I have spoken to Sergeant Evans and he substantiated your claim. He stated that he arrived at your place of residence at nine-forty last night and did not leave until after five this morning. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling relieved. Maybe Rocky would come to my rescue after all.

“I am going to request that the judge hearing your case dismiss you based on your solid alibi. Until then we’ll have to hold tight.”

“How long will I have to ‘hold tight?’” I asked.

“Not long,” he replied. “I’m going to try to get a hearing as soon as possible—probably this afternoon, then hopefully we’ll get you home.”

“I can live with that,” I said. “But I am going to go nuts if I have to stay in here any longer. The cable is non-existent.” I smiled, but my insides were tied in knots.

Just then we got a knock at the door to the cell.

The door opened and Rocky came in. He was now wearing his uniform, complete with badge and gun. I realized that I was holding my breath when my lawyer stood up.

“Hey, I’m going to step out for a minute and let you guys talk,” he said, leaving the room quickly.

Once he was gone, Rocky came over and sat beside me on the cot. I made my best effort not to swoon. Not only was I feeling hungry, dehydrated and dizzy, but my body was an active battleground of emotions as a mixture of attraction, fear, anger and adrenaline coursed through me. Even though I could feel myself physically reacting to Rocky’s smell and sight from last night, my heart was remembering the agony and embarrassment of the morning after. Anger quickly won out over sexual attraction—I stood up and let loose on the man.

“What the fuck is going on, Rocky?” I demanded. “This detective went totally bat-shit on me today and started screaming that you were her husband. I have no idea what she was talking about, but now, I’m in jail!” I gestured wildly at the small cell walls. “I don’t want to sound like a crazy person, but that is nuts, right? You have to get me out of here. Seriously, I can’t be here. Can you please go down to the station and clear this up for me? You know that I didn’t kill Maya. This is crazy and ridiculous!”

The volume of my voice waxed and waned as with my wild swings of emotion. When I finished, Rocky looked as pale and flat as blank printer paper.

“Louisa, I have to explain something to you,” he said quietly.

This didn’t sound good. I started immediately blinking back tears.

“Technically,” he began slowly, “I
am
married to Rachel—Detective Lopez.”

My heart turned inside out, then in one motion crumpled up into oblivion and my head seconded it. For a second I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, process the meaning of his words.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.
It hit me: she’d been telling the truth. I stared at him and felt a fat tear drop fall down my left cheek.

“But we’ve been separated for the last four months,” he hurried to say. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn’t want to ruin things between us. I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. I didn’t want to scare you away.

“I left her, but she still won’t give me a divorce,” he continued. “She’s a really jealous and unhappy person. That was the problem in our marriage, and it’s still a problem now. But I never meant to drag you into this. I’m really sorry, Louisa.” He seemed so sweet and sincere that part of me wanted to instantly forgive him.

He stood up and wrapped his big muscular arms around me, but I managed to get myself together enough to pull away. Inside my heart was obliterated, but outside my jaw had snapped up and set in a firm line. I was not going to let Rocky see me be sad or vulnerable when in fact, this entire predicament was his doing. He had lied to me, taken advantage of my feelings, and left me sitting in a jail cell while he bickered with his ex-wife, wait, CURRENT wife, over his indiscretions. Oh, that’s right, and he didn’t mention to me that he was MARRIED before, during or after he slept with me. I was not about to put up with that particular brand of fuckkery from any man, no matter how sweet, cute or good in bed he was.