Stirred (34 page)

Five minutes after Detective Reed left the interrogation room, Officer Amari returned, unfastened my cuffs from the table, and ushered me downstairs, where I was fingerprinted, photographed, and booked for resisting arrest, but nothing else. No murder charges or anything in connection as Reed had indicated upon my arrest. I wasn’t sure why. I knew he’d have to present his case to the Prosecutor’s Office, but with my boss being the judge who’d signed off on the warrant, the conflict of interest would likely prevent any evidence collected from being used against me, essentially tying their hands.

During the search, Reed had assured me he knew exactly who and what I was, so I found it hard to believe he’d be so sloppy with the warrant. Maybe he’d done it on purpose. Maybe he already had the evidence he needed to arrest someone else and was just covering his ass, so he could say he’d investigated all involved. Then again, maybe he was just pushing the system, hoping it’d be overlooked, unlikely with any competent lawyer, let alone a high-priced one. Or perhaps Reed was testing me, to see if I’d either confess or out my ability to circumvent the law. But, for some reason, a gut feeling or a hunch, I didn’t think any of those were the case.

It started with that look he’d given me when he Mirandized me, then again not ten minutes ago, right before he left me in the interview room—that look of warning, those words telling me things weren’t always as they seemed. I think he was trying to hint at something he couldn’t otherwise say outright, which led me to think he most likely believed me, that I was not guilty of murdering two people. Just the thought buoyed me with unexpected relief.

Reed was a seasoned detective, a cop with at least a decade of experience behind him, if not two. If that level of wisdom told him someone other than me had committed those crimes, then I had that much more faith in myself, regardless of my memory lapses. So I felt much more confident upon leaving the east precinct than when I entered. But before I was released, the discharging officer relayed a message from Detective Reed, asking if I wouldn’t mind coming back up to see him.

Curious, I agreed and was escorted upstairs. On the way up and while walking down the long hall, my head turned from side to side, peering in windows and through open doors, hoping to catch another glimpse of Eden. Even though her betrayal had cut deep, like a knife to my heart, and I wasn’t sure how much I should trust her, I was still worried about her. She might not have had a loving marriage, but Eden had been with her husband for a long time, and they’d had a child together. His death must have come as a great shock to her, and that he’d been with her best friend, who’d suffered the same fate, could only have served as a double punch to the gut.

I prayed she was at least with her son, and that Ian could comfort her, that they could comfort each other. That was when I realized I wished it could be me instead who held her in my arms, that no matter what she might have done, I forgave her and just wanted to move forward from here, wherever that may be. To that end, I slowed my step and peeked in every room I could, falling behind my escort, who’d stopped and turned back to me.

“This way,” he said as he stood outside an open doorway with his arm raised.

I caught up with a few quick steps and nodded as I passed into the Detective Division squad room. I glanced around the large, open space. There were well over a dozen mismatched old, metal desks set in three haphazard rows. A few were occupied with casually dressed detectives, some on their computers, others on the phone, scribbling in legal pads, or filling out forms. Though there were more men, I was surprised that at least a third were women. Strangely enough, they all seemed to dress the same.

I spied Detective Reed at his desk in the farthest corner. He was fortunate to be situated up against the wall of windows that lined the entire length of the exterior wall. He was leaning back in his chair, one hand at the back of his head as he stared out the window while talking animatedly on his landline. He didn’t appear to be happy at whatever news he’d just received.

No matter what he may or may not think of me, I didn’t relish the idea of being raked over the coals again by an angry Detective Reed, so I side-stepped my way back toward the door. I’d almost made it into the hall when Reed turned in my direction and noticed me trying to duck out.

He stood, snapped his fingers, and yelled out, “Mr. Bennett,” before excusing himself to whomever he was talking to on the phone. Reed waved me over as he said his goodbyes and hung up.

I remained in the doorway, where I glanced up and down the hall, still hoping to see Eden, but she was nowhere to be found, so, with a sigh, I turned back and walked over to Reed’s desk.

“Have a seat,” he offered with his arm extended.

I swung my head toward the open door one last time, then sat down in one of the chairs in front of Reed’s desk and met his gaze. He had a weird look in his eye, smug and expectant at the same time.

“She’s not here,” he announced.

“Who’s not?” I asked.

Reed chuckled and plopped down into his seat, his hands clutching each armrest. “Your lover…Mrs. Ross.”

With a smack to my knees, I stood. “Look, Detective, if you’re just gonna—”

“Sit down,” he ordered, then added, “Please.”

I remained on my feet, my hands on my hips. “I don’t think I should—”

“Do you trust her, Mr. Bennett?” Reed interrupted.

I shook my head. “Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Ross. Do you trust her?” he repeated, his eyes intense, but genuinely curious.

“I honestly don’t know,” I said as I slipped back down into my seat. “I want to, but…”

“But what, Mr. Bennett?” he asked. But I remained silent. “You know, I’ve had a feeling all afternoon that there’s more to your story, something you’re not telling me, something you
want
to share, but aren’t sure if you should. Am I right?”

I stared at Reed for a long moment, my brain warring with my gut. One told me to remain silent, that I’d already divulged too much, while the other urged me to come clean and be honest.

Finally, I nodded. “Yes. You are.”

Reed leaned forward, elbows perched on his desk, hands clasped, fingers steepled beneath his nose as he studied me in silence. “Obviously, I can’t make any promises, Mr. Bennett, but…at the moment, you’re not my priority,” he explained, his implication as clear as the mighty Mississippi.

“Which means what exactly?”

He rocked his head from side to side, an exaggerated frown on his face. “Intuition plays a heavy role in what I do, and it’s telling me things aren’t as they appear.”

“Yes, so you said earlier.”

He sat back in his chair again and swiveled his seat so he could look out the window onto bustling Capitol Hill. “I believe you, son, your story, but I also believe there’s more to it, and that you’re afraid. I want you to know you don’t need to be. If you’re innocent, the evidence will tell me so.” He spun back around to face me.

“But evidence can lie, Detective, just like people.”

“Sometimes, but surely you’d have a convincing rebuttal, Mr. Bennett.”

“And what if I don’t?” I asked, and Reed’s brow scrunched into a knot. “What if I can’t remember enough to rebut?”

“Let’s stop talking in riddles, shall we? Just tell me what you do remember,” he prodded.

“That’s the thing. I already have. Problem is…I have two rather significant periods of time I can’t seem to recall—the first between when I last saw Eden with her husband at their house, until right before I went over to my friend Trinitee’s place.”

“And?” Reed said.

“And…nothing. One minute, I’m in the woods where I fell, as I explained earlier. The next, I’m sitting behind the wheel of my car, parked at a lot on the Microsoft campus, and it’s four hours later, but I don’t remember a thing in between.”

Deep vertical lines scored above Reed’s thin nose as he looked hard at me, and I could practically feel the doubt festering in his mind.

“And the second time?” he asked.

“After I left Trinitee’s place, I drove home, parked, then was hit with a wave of vertigo when I climbed out of my car. I fell to my knees on the pavement, but managed to make it up to my place. Then it happened again just as I got inside. I collapsed on the floor and slowly blacked-out. Next thing I knew, I was in bed, and there you were, standing over me.”

Reed’s lips mashed together. “How long?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Six, maybe seven hours.”

Reed nodded and whirled his chair back around to face the window, where he stared in silence, the minutes ticking by one after another. My heart pounded so hard in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears, I feared I might not even hear when he did decide to speak again. His silence chipped away at any confidence I had after Reed told me he believed me. And I’d bet every dime I had Reed was questioning his much-valued sense of intuition and pondering whether he should re-arrest and charge me.

I was just about to jump from my seat and make a run for it when Reed asked, “What are your thoughts?” and spun around to face me. “You must have questions, theories, right?”

I nodded half-heartedly.

“Tell me. First episode.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d never experienced anything like that before, so I didn’t know what to think. Still don’t.”

“Did you hit your head when you fell in the woods?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Did you consume anything? Drugs, alcohol?”

“I considered that, too, but I don’t remember taking anything, and, except for a pasty cotton-mouth, I didn’t feel hungover. So, no, I don’t think that was it. And when I woke up, it was pretty sudden. Not at all like a morning-after.”

Reed expelled a long, heavy breath. “Okay. What about the second time? Did it feel the same?”

“No, not really, except for maybe the cotton-mouth. That time, I felt it coming on, and I remembered it afterwards. I just can’t recall what came in between.”

Reed nodded absently as he sorted through the information. “But you did drink alcohol at Ms. Marsh’s apartment,” he said as he stroked his chin then tapped a finger above his upper lip. “Do you think it’s possible she drugged you?”

“I watched her pour for the both of us, and we drank from the same bottles, both the whiskey and the tequila.”

“But different glasses, I assume?”

I agreed with a nod.

“Tell me, Mr. Bennett, and be honest. Do you think either Mrs. Ross or Ms. Marsh have anything to do with your blackouts? Because these lapses conveniently lay doubt on your whereabouts during the window of time these murders were committed.”

“Which is when?”

“Between one and seven a.m.”

“That’s a pretty wide window,” I noted.

“It is.”

“How do you explain that?”

“Well, Ms. Wylde expired first, most likely around one or so. Then Mr. Ross around five or six hours later.”

“How’d they die?”

“Ms. Wylde of asphyxiation. Mr. Ross, an apparent heart attack.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Why do you suspect double murder? Doesn’t it make more sense that it was accidental? Eden said they were into kinky bondage shit. Maybe she died accidentally, autoerotic asphyxiation or whatever, and he had a heart attack as a result.”

“That’s exactly what it
looks
like, Mr. Bennett. But—”

“Not everything is as it appears?” I finished.

Reed nodded. “Medical Examiner thinks Mr. Ross died suddenly. So, if he died suddenly six hours later, why didn’t he assist Ms. Wylde, try to revive her, call for help, at least cut her down? What was he doing during those six hours?”

“I don’t know, but obviously something that makes you think he was under duress, or else he’d have gotten help.”

Reed pushed from his chair and rounded the corner of his desk, where he leaned against the edge and peered down at me. “We think he was being tortured.”

My eyes grew wide. “Tortured? Why? How?”

“Well, I won’t disturb you with the gory details, but…autoeroticism it was not. What it was, was hate, pure and simple.”

Now it was my turn to stare out the window, because I didn’t want Reed to see the questions in my eyes. But there was no denying the implications. Who had reason to hate Declan Ross the most?

“You think Eden did this, don’t you?” I asked, then turned back to gauge Reed’s reaction.

“Her son confirmed she was home all night, at least after he returned from taking his girlfriend home. But that doesn’t mean she had nothing to do with it. She could’ve arranged it. She’s rich and resourceful, not to mention creative.” He arched a brow at me.

I pointed at Reed. “Hey, you’re way off base if you think she had
me
—”

“Relax, Mr. Bennett. While the thought certainly crossed my mind, that’s not what I’m getting at here.”

“Then what is?”

“I wanna know, in light of their recently discovered affair, do you think Mrs. Ross is capable of planning and ordering the murder of her husband and best friend?”

I broke eye contact and stared at the tile floor between my feet. “If you’d have asked me yesterday—”