Brent Sinatra: All of Me (24 page)

“I obtained this information, this amazing information, from
a source who will remain anonymous.”

Brent threw the covers off of his naked body and hurried out
of bed.

“As soon as I obtained it,” Jock continued, “I immediately
turned the recording over to the District Attorney’s office for this county.”

Brent froze in place.

“A recording?” Makayla asked, frozen too.
 
“Somebody recorded it?
 
Oh, my God.”
 
She got out of bed too.
 
“Oh, my
God, Brent.”

“Is the recording clear, Jock?”
 
The reporter shoved the microphone back into
Jock’s face.

“It is very clear.
 
The
young man can be clearly heard confessing, without coercion I might add, to the
murder of Lt. Governor Stravinsky.”

Brent froze.
 
Because
he knew what that meant.
 
This scandal
wasn’t only affecting him now, but Makayla and Eddie Rivers as well, because
they went along with it too.
 
And
Marcus.
 
Brent knew that his son was in
severe legal jeopardy now.

 
“And even more amazing
than that,” the reporter continued, “the alleged perp, after confessing, was not
detained by Chief of Police Brent Sinatra and placed into juvenile detention,
but was allowed to stay at Chief Sinatra’s parents’ hotel, the Jericho Inn, the
very hotel Jock and I are standing in front of tonight.
 
And most amazing of all,” the reporter
continued, “the boy that is thought to be the Lieutenant Governor’s son, who
will not be named because of his age, may actually be the biological son of
Chief Brent Sinatra himself.
 
Which begs
the question, folks.
 
How many ways can
we say cover up?”

 
“How could they know
all of that?” Makayla asked, still unable to wrap her brain around the news.

“I don’t know,” Brent responded.
 
“But I’ll be damned if they’re going to get
away with this.”

“Only you, Denise, Eddie Rivers and I were in your office
when he confessed. And it certainly wasn’t you and I.
 
And why would Eddie tell the media?”

“If it’s Denise,” Brent said, quickly putting on his shirt,
“that only makes my theory more plausible.
 
She want her son charged because she knows I’ll protect him.”

“The fact that you wouldn’t accept his confession already
proved that,” Makayla said.

“Right,” Brent said, and then he looked at her.
 
Her eyes seemed as naked as the rest of her
body.

“Put on some clothes,” he said to her.
 
“I want you with me.
 
We’ve got to put a lid on this before it
explodes.”

Makayla didn’t have to be asked twice.
 
She dressed quickly.

Ira Stockton led the way.
 
He was a man on a mission and couldn’t wait to accomplish his goal.
 
The media was out in force, the election was
a few months away, he was going to be a hero when all was said and done.
 
He led the way.
 
Until they got to the door of the second
floor hotel room at the Jericho Inn.
 
An
officer stood on guard.
 
Ira showed him
his paperwork, which necessitated that the guard step aside.
 
And the two uniformed officers behind Ira
took over.
 
They didn’t knock, they
didn’t announce themselves.
 
Ira didn’t
bother to ask for a key because he knew they the staff wouldn’t comply.
 
He, instead, ordered the officers to do
it.
 
And they did.
 
They took their version of a battering ram
and knocked the door open.

Denise ran from the bedroom to the living room and Marcus,
already in the living room, stood up from the sofa.

“We have a warrant,” Ira said as he hurried in, waving around
a sheet of paper.
 
“We have a warrant!”

“A warrant for what?” Denise asked hysterically.

“The arrest of Marcus Stravinsky, Jr. for the murder of
Marcus Stravinsky, Sr.
 
He’s coming with
us.
 
Get him,” Ira ordered the officers,
and they grabbed Marcus.

“Mama!” Marcus cried, terrified.

But Denise ran to her son, and attempted to pull him away
from the police.
 
“Leave my child alone!”
she cried.
 
“What are you doing?
 
Leave my child alone!”

Marcus, too, started resisting, but one officer held Denise
back, while the other officer placed Marcus in handcuffs.
 
And they began to leave.

But Denise would not give up.
 
She ran to the door to block their exit.
 
“You aren’t going anywhere with my child,” she cried.
 
“That’s Brent Sinatra’s son!
 
That’s Big Daddy Sinatra’s grandson!
 
You people are in so much trouble!
 
You’re going to have hell to pay if you don’t
leave my child alone!”

But Ira didn’t care.
 
The law was on his side.
 
They
hurried Marcus out of the room, down the steep stairs, across the lobby, and
out into the waiting patrol car.
 
Ira was
right.
 
The press was out in force as
cameras flashed and questions were hurled and the officers perp-walked young
Marcus to a waiting patrol car.

Charles drove up in his Jaguar, with Jenay on the passenger
seat.
 
They hurried over as soon as they
heard the press report, just in case something like this could happen.
 
“Call Brent,” he ordered Jenay as he jumped
out of the car and ran just as an officer was sitting Marcus in the backseat of
the patrol car, while holding back Denise.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Charles yelled at
the officer as he hurried toward the patrol car.

“They arrested my son, Big Daddy,” Denise cried.
 
“They have my child!”

But the policeman closed the door and hurriedly got into the
front passenger seat.
 
“Open the door,”
Charles yelled as he pulled onto the now-locked patrol car door.
 
“Open this damn door!”

Ira, coming out of the hotel, hurried to his own car.
 
“Stay out of this, Big Daddy,” he advised as
he made his way.

“I’m not staying out of shit!” Big Daddy yelled back.
 
“Open this door!”
 
He pulled and pulled and the cameras clicked
and clicked.
 
“Open this
got
damn door!”

But the second officer was already behind the wheel of the
car, the first officer had already gotten in too, and the patrol car, just as
Charles and Denise were banging on the window, sped off with sirens blaring.

Charles turned to Ira, to kick his ass, but he was already in
his car and driving off too.

Reporters were yelling questions and flashing cameras, but
Charles, with Denise following them, got into the Jaguar, and sped off too.

“Call Brent,” Charles ordered again.

“I already did,” Jenay responded.

Brent and Makayla arrived at the station just after Charles,
Jenay, and Denise arrived.
 
Brent’s usual
parking spot was next to the flag pole, but he parked illegally across the
lines this time, and he and Makayla jumped out and ran inside.

Charles, Jenay, and Denise were waiting at the reception desk
as soon as Brent and Makayla walked in.

Denise was the first to jump up.
 
“They arrested him,” she cried as she ran to
Brent.
 
“Your own men arrested him and
won’t let us see him!”

Brent looked at the desk sergeant.
 
“He’s being processed in, sir,” the sergeant
said.

“Get an officer on that door,” he ordered the sergeant.
 
“No press in this building.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everybody wait here,” Brent said to his family, and hurried
up the stairs.
 
Although the actual jail
was located on the ground floor, the much smaller Juvenile Detention Division
was located on the top floor, and Brent headed in that direction.

After he left, Denise looked sneeringly at Makayla.
 
She looked her up and down.
 
“Why are you here?” she asked her.

“Because she belongs with us,” Charles said.
 
“Which is more than I will ever say for your
sorry ass!”

Denise, embarrassed, looked at Jenay, her former friend, as
if she would ask Makayla to leave.
 
“Worry about your son,” Jenay suggested.
 
“Not Brent’s woman.”

“Something you’ll never be again,” Charles made clear.
 
“I’ll disown him if he even thinks about
having anything more to do with you.”
 
Charles was fuming now, and Jenay didn’t stop him.
 
She felt the same way.

“Kept that child away from him all these years,” Charles
continued.
 
“That boy would have never
been in a predicament like this if you would have told us about him.
 
This would have never happened!”

Denise had tears in her eyes, but she would not back
down.
 
“It’s not my fault,” she
said.
 
“None of this is my fault.”

But even she seemed doubtful about that.

Upstairs, Brent was just about to pull open the door that led
to the top floor when Ira Stockton opened the door and walked into the
stairwell.

“Go home, Brent,” he said as the door closed shut behind
him.
 
“That boy confessed and he has been
arrested, something that should have been done before I had to get
involved.
 
Your girlfriend failed her
very first test miserably.
 
She lied to
me because you asked her to.
 
She will be
fired, thanks to you.”

Brent stared at him as if he was looking at a contaminant.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Ira continued with a smile.
 
“We got the boy exactly where his murdering
ass belongs, and I’m a hero on every newscast from here to Van Buren for doing
the right thing.
 
This arrest is going to
be the icing on the cake of my reelection.
 
You just ensured that I can’t be defeated.”

Brent’s anger became a raging fire, not just because of Ira’s
words, but because of the stunt he just pulled with Marcus, and he took his
fist and punched Ira so hard that Ira stumbled back and then fell down the
stairs.
 
Ira’s eyeglasses flew off his
face as he fell, and he landed on his ass.

Brent opened the door, walked out of the stairwell, and made
his way into the Juvenile Detention Division.
 
Eddie Rivers was waiting in the wing.

“Ira went behind my back too, Brent,” he said.
 
“I didn’t know anything about it either.”

“Where is he?”

“He was already processed and jailed by the time I got
here.
 
There was nothing I could do at
that point.”

Brent headed down the aisle that led to the jail cells.
 
When he saw his son sitting there, all alone,
and a jailer standing outside of the cell, his heart clenched.
 
But he didn’t delay.
 
“Open it,” he ordered.

But the jailer was concerned.
 
“On whose authority, sir?”

Brent couldn’t believe he was asked that question.
 
“Mine, you asshole!
 
On my authority!
 
Open it!”

The jailer quickly unlocked the cell and Marcus ran to Brent
and jumped into his arms.
 

But Brent walked him back to the small twin bed and sat
down.
 
He sat Marcus on his lap.
 
“I need answers, son,” he said.
 
“No more bullshit.
 
You talk to me and you tell me the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
 
You hear me?”

Marcus nodded.

“Do you hear me?” Brent asked again.

“Yes, sir,” Marcus said.

Brent exhaled.
 
Here goes
, he thought.
 
“Did you kill Mark Stravinsky?” he asked.

Marcus had tears in his eyes, but he shook his head.
 
“No, sir,” he said.

Brent’s heart squeezed with relief.
 
He knew it all along.
 
“Why did you confess to killing him?”

“Because they made me.”

“Who made you?”

“They said you would look out for me and I’ll never have to
be arrested.”

“Who said that?”

Marcus hesitated.

“Tell me, son,” Brent said.
 
“No more bullshit.
 
Remember?”

Marcus nodded, and then wiped away his tears.
 
“Mom and some man,” he said.

Brent’s heart dropped.
 
“Your mother, and a man, told you to confess
to the crime?”

“Yes, sir.
 
They said
you would protect me.
 
They said you were
my real father and you would protect me.
 
But when I saw what they did, I couldn’t . . . I didn’t handle it
right.”

“You handled it better than most boys your age ever could,”
Brent said.
 
“But what did you see,
Marcus?
 
What did they do?
 
Did they kill Stravinsky at that motel?”

He shook his head.
 
“No, sir.”

“Where did it happen?”

“In the car.
 
In a
limousine.
 
The man said he was going to
give all this money to Dad’s campaign, and we were in the car with the
man.
 
That’s when the man and Mom tied
him up.”

“They tied up Stravinsky?”

“Yes, sir.
 
They tied
him up and they put a handkerchief in his mouth.
 
Then the man asked Mom if she wanted to do
the honors.
 
Mom said yeah.
 
And that’s when I saw the knife.
 
And Mom started stabbing him.
 
She already had on gloves.
 
But it was still real messy.”

Brent’s heart fell through his shoe.
 
“You saw it, son?
 
You saw your mother do that?”

“They made me sit up front, with the driver.
 
So I didn’t see that part.
 
But I heard it.”

“My Lord.
 
What
happened after that?”

“Then they put him in this big suitcase and we got in this
car with Walter.”

“Who’s Walter?”

“This man. I don’t know him.”

“So you and your mother got in this car with Walter and the
body was in a suitcase in the trunk of the car?”

Marcus nodded.
 
“Yes,
sir.”

“Then what?”

Marcus scrunched up his face remembering it.
 
“And then Mom and I went inside the motel
room while Walter carried the suitcase in.
 
They took Dad out of the suitcase and put him on the motel room floor.”

Brent wanted to strangle Denise.
 
“Then what happened?”

“They sat me down, gave me the knife Mom did the honors with,
and Mom told me what I was supposed to do.
 
They put your name in my pocket, and then she and Walter left.
 
They called the manager later, and the
manager called the police.
 
They told me
to confess to the killing, but only after Mom came to get me.
 
Not before.
 
Then tonight, after you put us in that hotel room, she called a reporter
named Jock and told him I confessed.
 
She
told him she had recorded it.”