The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (159 page)

“Um, okay.”  I hang up and walk to the door, full of trepidation. 

The knocking and pounding hasn’t stopped, so I have no choice but to open the door.  My
friend
Detective Harper is standing there with a scowl on his face.  “Miss Fletcher, I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but you’re under arrest.  I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, please.”

I can feel all the blood drain from my face.  I didn’t even notice Detective Guardino standing to the side, smirking.  It’s he who approaches with a pair of handcuffs in his hand.  “I need you to turn around, ma’am, and place your hands behind your back, please.”

“Tom, seriously?  I don’t think that’s necessary,” Harper tells his partner.  Then he turns to me. “You’re going to cooperate, right?”

All I can do is numbly nod.

“See, she’s cooperating,” Harper points out.  Detective Guardino puts the handcuffs back into his pocket, but he’s still smirking.  He’s made his point.

“Can I get my purse?” I squeak.

“Yes, you’ll need to bring your ID down to the station.  Make sure you have it with you,” Harper responds.  I turn to retrieve my things, and as I shut the door, Harper grabs it and takes a step inside the threshold.  “I’ll just wait right here, if you don’t mind.”

Maddy must sense their less than honorable intentions, and she remains watchful and vigilant, ready to pounce in an instant.  I try to calm her and remove her leash, but she doesn’t take her eyes away from the unwelcome intruder.  She’s a good guard dog.

I know Gavin told me not to worry or panic, but I can’t help it. I’m absolutely terrified.  My house keys jingle in my shaky hand as I struggle to get them into my purse. 

I warily walk back to the front door and follow the detectives to their car.  Just as I’m about to be placed in the back of the cruiser, Derek comes out to see what’s going on.  “Jette?  What’s happening?” he shouts from his driveway.

“Derek, I’m being arrested.  Call Evan.  Now!” I holler as the door shuts, closing me away from the safety and security of my home and friend.  I just returned home, and now I’m being taken away from it again.  Who knows for how long this time.

It’s a short drive to the police station and I know I’m not supposed to answer any of their questions, but Gavin didn’t say anything about asking a few questions myself.  “Um, excuse me, detective, can you tell me what this is all about?”

“We’ll fill you in on all the details when we get there,” Guardino curtly replies. 

We pull in to the front of the police station, and parked right in the front of the building is an all-white police cruiser with a gold badge on the door that reads, “Indianapolis Police”.  Thoughts swirl around in my head.  Are they here to transport me back to Indiana?

I’m escorted from the car into the building.  The detectives greet the dispatcher at the window and she buzzes us through the door into the back.

No one tells me anything.  I’m ushered from room to room.  In the first room, my ID is taken, the contents of my purse are searched, itemized, and I’m asked to sign an inventory.  Just as I think I’m about to get it back, the officer places it in a locked closet at the back of the room.

My next stop is to get fingerprinted.  It’s surreal.  I’m transported back in time to when I was a Girl Scout, standing in this very spot, taking a tour of the police station and learning how the police take fingerprints.  This experience is very different from that of my childhood.

After I clean off my hands, they deliver me to be photographed.  I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before my mug shot is leaked to the press and becomes the breaking story on Celebrity News Network.

I’m then taken into a small room with a table and a few chairs.  The officer leaves the room and I find myself sitting there alone in silence.  No one comes to check on me and no one offers any explanation as to why I’ve been brought here.  I have no idea how long I sit there.  There is no clock on the wall, and my watch was removed when I arrived.  It might have been five minutes, but then again it might have been twenty.

Finally the door opens and in walks my attorney, Gavin Wolff.  There’s something about him that makes people immediately sit up a little straighter when he walks into the room.  Based on the way he’s dressed, I’d say he came to play hardball today.  He’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, a white dress shirt, and a smart blue tie.  His gray hair is receding at the temples, and is long enough in the back that it sweeps the collar of his suit.  But what really completes his take-charge look is the low-rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of his nose, tethered by a cord dangling from the arm.

He takes a seat directly across from me and removes a yellow notepad from his briefcase.  “Okay, here’s what we know.  You have been arrested, which simply means you’ve been taken into custody.  They haven’t charged you with anything, which is good.  That means they can only hold you here temporarily.”  He flips through the pages of his pad looking for something.

“Why am I here if they’re not charging me with anything?” I ask.

“I said they haven’t charged you; that doesn’t mean that they won’t.  But that’s why I’m here.  I won’t allow you to say anything that will incriminate you.”  He finally finds what he’s looking for and looks up at me.  “They’re going to send in two detectives from Indianapolis who have a few questions for you.  I suggest you answer their questions as best you can.  Use one-word answers if possible, and do not give them any more information than they ask for.  If they ask you something that I feel you shouldn’t answer, I’ll step in.”

“So you want me to tell them what I know?” I ask.  He nods.  “But won’t that make me look guilty?”

He looks up at me over the rim of his glasses.  “They have the pictures and a few of the videos.  There’s no point lying to them about any of it, Juliette.  It’s best to be honest.  Stick to the facts as you know them.  Do not embellish.  Do not discuss your feelings, your fears, or your attitude toward the victim.  In fact, use his first name as often as you can.  Did you have any nicknames or pet names for him while you were dating?”

Reese and I had our share of nicknames for David, that’s for sure.  But I don’t think Dickhead or Dumbfuck will go over very well right now.  “No,” I tell him.  “Just David.”

“Okay, then.  Are you ready?”

I nod and swallow hard. “I guess.”

“Let’s get this show on the road.”  He gets up and raps forcefully on the door three times.  When he returns to the table, he sits beside me.  I feel better having him close by.  I just know he won’t let things get too far.

Two sharply dressed men enter the room.  Both appear to be in their forties or fifties.  A third officer joins them, a woman in her thirties, wearing a pantsuit and toting a laptop.  It’s she who speaks first.  “Miss Fletcher, I’m Detective Muller and I’m going to be recording today’s interview.  Before we begin, I just want to make sure you understand your rights and that they have been properly explained to you.  Did one of the arresting officers discuss your Miranda rights with you today?”  She’s clicking away on her laptop as she speaks, not once looking up at me.

“Yes, when I first got here one of the officers read me my rights.”

“Okay then.”  She looks over at the other two, nodding. “Go ahead.”

“Miss Fletcher, I’m Detective Hodan from the Indianapolis P.D., and we’d like to ask you some questions today.”

The second detective introduces himself.  “And I’m Detective Hayes, also with the Indianapolis P.D.  We found quite a few pictures of you and Mr. Jorgenson in his hotel room.  What can you tell us about them?”

I tell him what little I know about their genesis.  They seem to believe me when I tell them I had no idea I was being filmed.  I fidget with my fingers as I talk, and look over at Gavin to make sure that I’m sticking to the plan.  He occasionally gives me a slight nod, barely perceivable, and writes down everything that is said.

“And when did you first find out about the photographs and videos?” Detective Hayes asks.

This is something I can recall vividly.  “It was the night of the Unicef Snowflake Ball,” I tell him.  “The picture arrived in a large envelope addressed to me.  When I opened it, I was ... ”

Gavin cuts me off.  “Next question.”

Crap.  I almost broke one of Gavin’s rules about giving them too much information or talking about my perceptions.

The interview goes on for what feels like an hour.  They ask me the same questions over and over again in different ways, most likely trying to see if I give the same answer to each.  The questions get very personal too.  They want to know intimate details about my sex life with David and if I’ve ever willingly participated in filming sex acts.  I don’t even blink when I tell them with absolute honesty that the answer is a solid no.  They don’t seem to believe me when I tell them that I never even took nude selfies of myself and sent them to David, or anyone else for that matter.  They probably believe that everyone under the age of thirty has done it at some point.

I then have to recount the contents of every letter I received from David and every discussion and phone call we’ve exchanged relating to the pictures.

“Where are the letters he sent you?” Detective Hodan asks.  “I see here in the report from your house search that they weren’t located.  Why is that?” 

Aha.  That’s what they were looking for.
  I’m glad I no longer have them.  “I burned them.”

“Burned?  As in set on fire?” he asks.

“Yes.  I didn’t want Evan to find them.  I burned the pictures too.  I never wanted him to see those either.”  Detective Muller looks at me, and for a moment I think I see a slight trace of empathy in her eyes.

The next part of the interview is about the blackmail and exchange.  I hate bringing Adam and Derek into it, but I can’t lie.  Besides, their only role was to support me.  Neither of them had any direct interaction with David.  They never spoke to him or actually met him.  Yes, Adam was in the same room with him, but David didn’t know that.

The detectives employ the same techniques as before, asking the same question multiple times in multiple ways.  Eventually Gavin steps in to move things along.  “We’ve been over this.  Let’s move on,” he tells them.  And I’m grateful that he does.

“We have videotape from your hotel hallway that shows a man entering your room.  We don’t see him leave until an hour or so later.  Would that be Mr. Jorgenson?” Hodan asks.

“Yes, David came to my room for the exchange.  I was afraid ... ”

Gavin interrupts me with a squeeze on my thigh. 
Stick to the facts, don’t embellish.  Got it.

“And then shortly afterward, is that Mr. McGuire we see entering your room?”

“Yes,” I answer simply.

“It appears you two had an argument in the hallway.  Would I be correct in assuming that he discovered your tryst with Mr. Jorgenson?”

“I wouldn’t categorize it as a tryst,” I correct him, “but yes, he knew I had invited someone into my room and he didn’t like it.”

“Then how would you categorize it?” Hayes presses.

“David intimidated me.  He threatened to release the pictures to the public.  He tried to force me into having sex with him.  He said that if I slept with him, he would leave me alone.  I almost believed him.”  All the men in the room look at me, judging me.  I can read their minds.  They all think I had a choice.  Perhaps I did, but it didn’t feel that way at the time.

“Did Mr. Jorgenson ever force you, hold you down, or cause you any physical harm?” Hodan asks.

“Ever?” I ask him to clarify.

“Yes, Miss Fletcher, ever.  On that day or any other day, did he ever physically cause you bodily harm?” he asks, frustrated with my answers.

I shake my head.  As much as I’d like to be able to tell them he did, I can’t lie.  “No,” I grudgingly admit.

“What did Mr. Jorgenson like to do with his free time?” Hayes inquires.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I honestly tell him.

Hodan jumps in. “You know, was he into sports, movies, NASCAR?  Anything like that?”

“David wasn’t really the athletic type.  We used to get together with our friends and play poker a lot, I guess.  Sometimes a little blackjack.  Nothing serious.”  The two men nod and scribble more notes.

“I’d like to go back to the video footage from the hotel,” Hayes redirects.  “There are two men who are seen coming to your room fairly late in the evening.  Would that be Mr. Lattimer and Mr. Deegan?”

“How do you know about them?” I ask, stunned.

“Just answer the question, please.  Is that Mr. Lattimer and Mr. Deegan entering your room?”

“Yes,” I admit.  “Auggie and Derek are good friends of mine.  They thought I might be ... they were afraid I ... ”  I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without suggesting there was a problem.

“They were afraid for you?” Hodan asks.

Gavin steps in.  “Hearsay.  My client cannot tell you what the men were thinking at the time.”

Hodan crafts his question in a different way.  “Well, perhaps you can tell me this.  Would you be able to account for Mr. Lattimer’s whereabouts from the time he entered your hotel room until the time you left for the airport?”

I think back.  He left for a few hours.  Auggie and I had to wait up for him.  Shit.  What do I say?  “I’m not sure,” I tell him.  “Evan and I were fighting and I was very upset at the time.”

I look over to Gavin for help.  He gives me nothing.  No indication whatsoever.

“Would you be surprised to learn that we have images of Mr. Lattimer leaving the hotel at ten o’clock and not returning until after midnight?” Hodan asks.

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him.

“Where do you think he went?”

Again I look to Gavin for help.  “Try again,” he tells him.

Hodan rephrases.  “Okay.  Do you know where he went?”

“No, I do not,” I answer honestly.

“And Mr. Deegan.  Do you happen to know where he went between the hours of two and three a.m.?” he asks.  Since I’m not very good at hiding my emotions, the shock must be evident on my face.  “I’m guessing you weren’t aware that he left the room at all.”