Saving Sunni (11 page)

She smiled. “This has been really interesting,” she said happily. “I’m glad we talked. And your—sir, is that right?—seems like a really cool guy. I’d like to talk to him some more.”

So we were going to be friends. I should be happy about that, if we were working together. I still wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about Debi, but this had to be better than hardly speaking.

“So tell me about Geri,” I said, going out on a limb. I’d have to be careful not to say anything that I didn’t want repeated at the store. But it might be a good test to see how much I could trust her.

She laughed a little. “Geri is something else, isn’t she? She reminds me of my Aunt Caroline. Ten cats, no friends, just a crazy old lady. But I like Geri. She’s really very sweet. Goofy, but sweet. If she likes you she’ll do anything to help you.”

“And she has such a fascinating sense of style,” I said before I could stop myself. I wanted to bite my tongue afterwards, but Debi laughed. In a few minutes we were both giggling like best buddies.

“I would seriously like a few new outfits to wear at the store,” I confessed. “Something more trendy than I usually wear.”

“I can help with that. There are some really cool second-hand stores near here where you could get some really sick outfits. Geri will be totally jealous.”

We had so much fun trying on clothes that I completely lost track of time. I had two bags of new outfits, none of which had cost more than five dollars, when I looked at my watch. I would need to hurry if I wanted to be home before Sir.

I got Debi out of the store and drove her the few blocks back to her apartment. I was a little nervous about having been gone all afternoon, but I didn’t give it much thought until I opened the door and stepped into the apartment.

Sir was home early, and obviously upset. He and sage were standing in the dining room when I walked in. They faced each other, but their heads were turned stiffly in my direction, and they had matching expressions of tense worry.

“sunni,” Sir said accusingly. I stopped in my tracks, the smile fading from my face and my story of the afternoon dying untold. I dropped my shopping bags as quietly as possible behind me. They weren’t going to help matters any.

“Yes, Sir? Has something happened?”

His eyes narrowed. “You tell me. Where have you been all afternoon?”

“Debi called and asked me to meet her for lunch. She wanted to ask about the puppy play stuff and the leather community.” I briefly debated going into details about the conversation but decided it probably wasn’t the time for it.

“Debi?” he repeated blankly, still glaring.

“You know, Debi from work. The little Goth chick.”

“So you went to lunch with Debi? And then what?”

I looked at the floor. “We went shopping.”

There was a deadly silence for three or four seconds. “You went shopping. And you didn’t think to ask for permission?”

“Permission to go shopping, Sir?” I was confused. I wasn’t usually required to ask if I could go out when he was at work. An icy pit opened in my stomach.

“Yes, sunni. With everything that is going on right now, I need to know where you are at all times. That includes going out for lunch and shopping. You could at least leave a note.”

“But I was perfectly all right. I haven’t seen Randy in days,” I said, knowing it was hopeless.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, still angry. “sage and I didn’t know where you were, and we were worried. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

I pulled out my phone. “But it didn’t ring.” And then I saw that I had five missed calls and three new voicemails. I guiltily checked the settings. “Oops. I guess I didn’t turn the sound back on.”

Neither one of them smiled. sage glanced at Sir and then, when he didn’t seem to notice, turned and slunk quietly into the living room. I heard the television, although not loud enough for me to hear what she was watching. I knew she was distancing herself from the argument and also trying not to hear it. She hated conflict.

Sir was just getting started. “That’s very disrespectful, don’t you think, considering everything that’s going on right now? You didn’t think that sage and I cared about you and might want to check up on you? Especially with this psycho who’s stalking you. For all I knew you had been kidnapped and murdered. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Tears stung my eyes. This seemed so unfair. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, Sir.”

He opened his mouth to yell some more, but just then sage called from the living room, “Hey, guys, you’d better come see this!”

We both stopped, heads turned, and Sir seemed to debate whether to tell sage that he was busy. There had been a note of urgency in her voice, though, so he bit it back and stormed into the other room.

“What is so important?”

I followed, feeling grateful to whatever had distracted his attention, but stopped in the doorway.

sage was pointing to the television. “I think they were just showing The Keyhole. They were talking about women being abused and said there was a whole video coming up.”

Sir’s angry expression turned serious and concerned and we all stood and watched until the promised story came on.

The announcer’s voice began. “Tonight we have grave news. It has long been rumored that there are places in our town where women are abused on a regular basis. Now, thanks to a concerned citizen, we have proof. I would caution those with young children to send them to another room, for this footage is disturbing. The video you are about to see will have the identities obscured so as not to impair the impending investigation by law enforcement.”

The screen cut to obviously amateur footage panning around a room filled with people. We all gasped in astonishment as it came to rest on a woman cocooned in plastic wrap with a man standing over her holding a huge machete. Their faces were blurred but anyone who had been at the club would recognize the scene.

Suddenly a scream burst from the woman on the table, followed by what looked like an action scene from a gruesome slasher film. The man—could that really be Sir?—was waving the blade all around the girl on the table and seemed to be attacking her viciously. We all looked at each other, the blood draining from our faces.

The picture shifted back to the news anchor. “As you can see from that footage,” he said solemnly, “maniacs haunt the clubs of this town, seeking out innocent young women who can’t protect themselves. We’ve been provided the identity of these people by the courageous citizen who filmed this horrendous scene at great risk to himself. The information has been turned over to the authorities. We will keep you up to date as developments occur.”

“We’ve got to call them!” I gasped.

Sir gave me a withering look. “You’ve done enough already. Obviously Randy is behind this.”

My stomach plummeted. That face in the club—had it actually been Randy? Maybe I should have said something. I turned back to the television. There was no way I was going to mention it now.

sage’s eyes went from me to Sir. “So what do we do now? Call a lawyer? The police?”

Sir shook his head. We were staring at the television when the door buzzer went off. We all jumped convulsively, and sage took a tentative step toward it, but Sir put a hand on her arm.

“I’ll go.”

He walked to the door and spoke into the intercom. I couldn’t hear the answer, but Sir pressed the button and waited for the knock on the door. When it came, two men dressed in sober dark suits stood outside.

“Good evening, sir. Are you Rutger Wulfgar?”

“Yes, I am,” Sir said.

“Well, sir, I am Detective Hunter and this is Detective Fishburn from the Denver Police Department. I’m sorry to bother you at home but we are investigating an allegation against you and we would like you to come down to the station and speak with us, please.”

Chapter 10

Fifteen minutes later we all filed into the police station. After being escorted through a maze of wide hallways, they showed Sir into a room labeled Interview Room 3. sage was collected by two other detectives and taken into Interview Room 2, and I followed Hunter and Fishburn into Interview Room 1. Once I sat at the table like a murder suspect in a made-for-TV movie, the detectives walked through the door.

I half expected them to start a “good cop, bad cop” routine, but instead, Detective Hunter said officially, “Thank you for coming down to speak with us, Ms. Chambers.”

I gulped a little and nodded.

“At this time you are not under arrest and are free to leave at any time. As you can see, the door will be closed for privacy but it is not locked.” He opened and closed the door, and I wondered briefly if he thought I was too stupid to understand what he had meant by “not locked.” A hysterical giggle tried to escape.

“As you have probably seen on television, we are going to read you your Miranda Advisement since you are here in the PD.” Detective Hunter removed a small plastic card from his right-hand shirt pocket and began to read. I was surprised. I had assumed they would have had that memorized. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything that you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and to have him present with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you?”

He looked up from the card expectantly.

I don’t know exactly how I looked, but I think my mouth hung open. Both men leaned forward a little as if they thought I was going to faint. Or run.

“Am I—am I being arrested?” I choked out.

Hunter smiled grimly and shook his head as he and Fishburn took chairs at the table. “No, you are not being arrested,” he assured me. “We just read it as a precaution whenever we talk to someone in the PD here.”

Both detectives stared at me with what was probably concern for either my physical well-being or my mental health. I couldn’t tell which, but I suspected it was mental.

“Do you know why we asked you to come down?” Fishburn said.

I started to ask if it was about the video in the news, but it occurred to me that might not be the smartest thing to do. It might have nothing to do with that, although that possibility seemed unlikely. Instead I shook my head.

“A citizen has filed a complaint against Mr. Rutger Wulfgar concerning a video in which he was allegedly seen torturing a young woman who was identified as you. Are you familiar with this video?” They both leaned forward slightly.

There was no point in denying that part. They would probably just make me watch it. Idiotically, all I heard was sage complaining about how she looked in her skirt. I almost giggled but bit my cheek to keep my hysteria under control.

“Yes,” I said. “It was the one on the news tonight, right?”

“That’s correct.” Fishburn spoke, but they both nodded solemnly in unison. I wondered how much of me they had been able to see on the video. I had been naked under the plastic wrap, after all. I hadn’t noticed while we’d been watching it: all the attention was on Sir with his waving knife. I felt horribly self-conscious, which was pretty silly considering the number of times I’d been naked in public at the dungeon.

“Was that you in the video?” Hunter took notes while Fishburn asked the questions.

“Um, yes, it was.”

“Can you tell us about that night?”

I didn’t know what trouble I might get Mary into by talking about The Keyhole. I didn’t think there was anything illegal about it, but I was certainly no expert. This could be tricky. After a brief struggle I decided not to convince them I had never been there before and hadn’t been paying attention on the drive.

I was silent for a minute, and their expressions became more concerned, as if worrying that they were making me relive traumatic memories. I smiled a little to reassure them. “I’m not sure what you want to know. S—Rutger and I were doing a scene. It wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t cut me or anything. The knife was just to cut through the plastic wrap, and for show.”

“But you were screaming,” Fishburn said, confused. Hunter scribbled away on his pad. Somehow that made me even more nervous, although I was sure they were required to take notes.

“Yes.” I nodded, trying to smile broadly. It wasn’t easy. “It was a role-playing game. It was all for effect. I wasn’t really scared at all. I trust Rutger completely. He would never hurt me. We’ve—” I only just stopped myself from saying “We’ve played with that knife a thousand times.” Just in case.

Fishburn’s eyebrows shot up, inviting me to finish my sentence, but he didn’t push it.

“So you don’t have any cuts or bruises from that night?” he said in disbelief.

I shook my head, grateful that the wrapping scene had been all we’d done, and that the few scratch marks I’d had were already gone.

“And it was completely consensual?”

I nodded.

“At any time did you feel threatened, harassed or intimidated?”

“No.”

“Did you feel any pain or unwanted physical contact?”