Hello, Darkness (20 page)

He wanted to embrace him and assure him that everything would be all right. But he couldn’t promise that because he didn’t know it to be true. He wanted to tell him that he believed him implicitly, but, unfortunately, he didn’t. Gavin had betrayed his trust too many times.

He wanted to tell him he loved him, but he didn’t say that either. He was afraid that Gavin would rebuke him for it being too little too late.

Paris had been pacing the hallway for more than an hour, waiting. Nevertheless, she reacted with a start when Dean emerged through the double doors of the CIB, where he, Gavin, and an attorney had met with Curtis and Rondeau in an interrogation room.

He looked surprised to see her. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I couldn’t leave until I knew that Gavin was all right.”

“So you know?”

“I was with Curtis listening to the tapes when…” She stopped, unsure of what she should say.

“When my son became a suspect?”

“As far as we know, no crime has been committed and Janey is with a friend.”

“Sure. That’s why Curtis is putting Gavin through the wringer.”

She pushed him toward a bench and made him sit down. It was an ugly, sad-looking piece, a cheap metal frame supporting a blue vinyl cushion with the stuffing poking up through numerous cracks. Probably it had been mindlessly picked at by the restless hands of witnesses, suspects, and victims who had occupied this same bench while despairing over their fate or that of someone they loved. They wouldn’t have been in this place unless their lives had been upended, perhaps permanently.

“How is Gavin handling it?” she asked softly.

“He’s subdued. Not giving off any attitude, thank God. I think it’s finally sunk in that he’s in deep shit.”

“Only because he exchanged sexually explicit emails with Janey. So did a lot of others.”

“Yeah, but Gavin has demonstrated a real creative flare,” he said with a bitter laugh. “Did they show you any of the stuff he’d written?”

“No. But even if I’d read it, it wouldn’t have changed my opinion of him. He was a terrific little boy, and he’ll be a fine young man.”

“Two days ago I thought breaking curfew was a major offense. Now…this. Jesus.” Sighing, he propped his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands.

Paris placed her hand on his shoulder. It was instinctive. He needed to be touched, and she needed to touch him. “Have you called Pat?”

“No. Why upset her if it turns out to be nothing except some dirty emails?”

“Which I’m sure is exactly what it’ll turn out to be.”

“I hope. Twice he talked us through his actions that night. The accounts didn’t vary.”

“Then he’s probably telling the truth.”

“Or his lie has been well rehearsed.”

Staring straight ahead, toward the open staircase across the hall, he tapped his clasped fingers against his lips. “I talk to liars every day, Paris. Most people lie to one degree or another. Some don’t even realize they’re lying. They’ve said or believed something for so long that it becomes their truth. It’s my job to filter out their bullshit until I get to the real truth.”

When he paused, Paris remained silent, giving him an opportunity to organize his thoughts. The warmth of his skin radiated up through his shirt and into her palm where it still rested on his shoulder.

“Gavin admits to driving home drunk,” he said. “He admits to stopping along the way to barf in someone’s yard and to disobeying me by leaving the house in the first place.

“He owns up to liking Janey, or at least liking what they did together. He says he talked to her that night and tried to persuade her to go somewhere with him. She shot him down cold.

“He got mad, said things, some of which I can’t believe came out of my son’s mouth. He confesses to being furious when he left her, but he insists that he did. He says he joined a group of guys and remained with them, drinking tequila, until he left for home. He didn’t see Janey again.”

Turning his head, he locked gazes with her. “I believe him, Paris.”

“Good.”

“Am I being naive? Is that wishful thinking?”

“No. I think you believe him because he’s telling the truth.” She gave his shoulder a light squeeze of reassurance. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Have dinner with us tonight. Gavin and me.”

Not expecting that, she quickly removed her hand from his shoulder and looked away. “I work at night, remember?”

“There’s plenty of time to have dinner before you go to the station. We’ll start early.”

She shook her head. “I have something to do this afternoon that can’t be postponed. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Because of what happened last night?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Vexed by his perception, she said, “Okay, yes.”

“Because you know that if we’re together it’s going to happen again.”

“No it won’t.”

“It will, Paris. You know it will. Furthermore, you want it to just as much as I do.”

“I—”

“Dean?”

Upon hearing his name, they sprang apart. A woman had just alighted from one of the elevators and was coming toward them. There was only one word to describe her: stunning.

Her tailored suit emphasized her curvy figure rather than detracted from it. Excellent legs were shown off by a fashionably short skirt and high heels. Lip gloss and mascara were her only makeup, and no more than that was needed. She wore no jewelry other than discreet diamond studs in her ears, a slender gold chain at her throat, and a wristwatch. Her pale, shoulder-length hair was parted down the middle, the style loose, classic, and uncomplicated. A California girl in a power suit.

Dean shot to his feet. “Liz.”

She graced him with a dazzling smile. “Everything went so well in Chicago, I wrapped things up a day early. Made all my flight connections and thought I would surprise you with a late lunch. Ms. Lester told me I could find you here, and apparently I did pull off a surprise.”

She hugged him, kissed him on the mouth, then turned and gave Paris an open and friendly smile. “Hello.”

Dean made a terse introduction. “Liz Douglas, Paris Gibson.”

Paris didn’t remember coming to her feet, but she found herself standing face-to-face with Liz Douglas, whose handshake was firm, like a woman accustomed to conducting business primarily with men. “How do you do?” Paris said weakly.

“A pleasure to meet you. Are you a policewoman? Do you work with Dean?” She was trying to see past Paris’s tinted lenses and probably had assumed she was an undercover officer.

“No, I work in radio.”

“Really? Are you on the air?”

“Late night.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“No need to apologize,” Paris told her. “My program comes on when most people are already in bed.”

After a brief but awkward lapse in conversation, Dean said, “Paris and I knew each other in Houston. Years ago.”

“Ah,” Liz Douglas said, as though that was an explanation that clarified everything.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m late for an appointment.” Paris turned to Dean. “Everything will be fine. I know it will. Please tell Gavin hello for me. Ms. Douglas, nice to meet you.” She walked quickly away, toward the elevators.

Dean called her name, but she pretended not to hear and kept walking. As she disappeared around the corner, she heard Liz Douglas say, “I get the distinct impression I interrupted something. Is she in some sort of trouble?”

“Actually, I am,” he replied. “Gavin and I.”

“My God, what’s happened?”

By then an elevator had arrived. Paris stepped into it and was grateful to find herself the sole passenger. She leaned against the back wall as the doors slid closed. She didn’t hear any more of Dean’s conversation with Liz. But she didn’t need to. The familiarity with which they’d kissed said a lot.

He would no longer need her hand on his shoulder. He had Liz to console him now.

Gavin knew that if he lived to be a hundred, this would go down as the worst day of his life.

For this visit to the police station, he had dressed in his nicest clothes, and his dad hadn’t even had to tell him to. They were probably ruined now because for the past hour and a half he’d been leaking sweat from every pore. The BO would never come out.

On TV and in movies, suspects under interrogation made themselves look guilty with their body language. So he tried not to fidget in the uncomfortable chair, but sat up straight. He didn’t let his eyes dart about the room, but looked directly at Sergeant Curtis. When asked a question, he didn’t elaborate, but spoke truthfully and concisely, although the subject matter was embarrassing.

He took his dad’s advice—now was not the time to withhold information. Not that he was trying to cover up anything. They already knew about the emails, the Sex Club, all that. He didn’t know Janey Kemp’s whereabouts or what had happened to her. He was as clueless about her fate as they were.

Yes, he’d had sex with her. But so had every guy he’d met since coming to Austin, with the exception of his dad and the men in this room.

All but one. And more than Curtis’s persistent questions, it was that one who was making him sweat. He’d been introduced as John Rondeau.

The instant Rondeau walked into the room Gavin recognized him. After all, he’d seen him just last night with two busty babes, climbing from the backseat of a car. And it sure as hell hadn’t been a prayer group.

There was no mistaking that the young cop had recognized him, too. When he saw Gavin, his eyes had widened slightly but returned to normal in a nanosecond. Then he had clapped a warning stare on Gavin that made his scrotum shrink and snuffed any comment he might have made about having seen this guy before.

The others, including his dad, probably took Rondeau’s stare as stern disapproval of the emails he had swapped with Janey. But Gavin knew better. Gavin knew Rondeau was threatening him with severe consequences if he betrayed his extracurricular activities to his superiors.

Gavin felt even more afraid when Curtis asked his dad to leave the room. Lately, his old man had been a real hard-ass, constantly riding him about one thing or another. It had gotten to where Gavin dreaded the sight of him, knowing he was about to receive a lecture on something. But he was glad to have his dad on his side today. And no matter how bad the situation became, Gavin knew he wouldn’t abandon him.

He remembered once when they’d gone to the Gulf Coast for a long weekend. His dad had cautioned him about swimming out too far. “The waves are stronger and higher than they look from the beach. There’s also a strong undertow. Be careful.”

But he’d wanted to impress his dad with what a good swimmer and body surfer he was. Next thing he knew, he couldn’t touch bottom and the waves just wouldn’t let up. He panicked and floundered. He went under, knowing he was doomed to a death by drowning.

Then a strong arm closed around his chest and hauled him to the surface. “It’s okay, son, I’ve got you.”

He sputtered and struggled, still trying to find a footing.

“Relax against me, Gavin. I won’t let you go. I promise.”

His dad towed him all the way back to shore. He didn’t bawl him out when they got there either. He didn’t say, “Stupid kid, didn’t I tell you? When are you going to listen and learn?”

He’d just looked real worried while he thumped him on the back until he’d coughed up all the seawater he’d swallowed. Then he had wrapped him in a beach towel and hugged him tight against his side for a long time. Not saying anything. Just staring out across the water, holding him close.

When the weekend was over and his mom had asked if everything had gone okay, his dad had winked at him while telling her that everything had been fine. “We had a great time.” He never did tell her that Gavin would’ve been a goner if he hadn’t saved him.

Gavin trusted him to be there to grab him if he sank today, too. His dad was like that. A good person to have around during a crisis.

That’s why it had stressed him when the detective asked his dad to wait outside while they talked to Gavin alone. “I’ll leave, but only if the lawyer stays,” his dad had stipulated.

Curtis had agreed. Before he left, his dad had looked at him and said, “I’ll be right outside, son,” and Gavin was confident that he would be.

After he left, Curtis had looked at him so hard, he’d begun to squirm in his seat despite his determination not to. He was beginning to wonder if the detective had gone mute by the time he said, “I know it’s hard to talk about certain things in front of your dad. Girls and sex. Stuff like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now that your father isn’t here, I’d like to ask you some questions of a more personal nature.”

More personal than they’d already been? You gotta be kidding me.
That’s what he’d thought, but he’d said, “Okay.”

But the questions were basically the same ones his dad had asked him before they left the house. He responded to Curtis just as candidly. He told him about the times he and Janey had had sex.

“You didn’t engage in any sexual activity with her that last night you saw her?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you see her having sex with anyone else?”

What, did they think he’d watch? Did they really think he was that sick?
“I wouldn’t have gone up to her and started talking if she’d been with another guy.”

“Did you touch her?”

“No, sir. I tried to take her hand once, but she pulled it back. She told me I was needy, and that my neediness had gotten to be a real pain.”

“That’s when you called her a bitch and so forth?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was she wearing?”

Wearing? He couldn’t remember. When he called up an image of her, he saw only her face, the sultry eyes, the smile that was both inviting and cruel. “I don’t remember.”

Curtis looked over at Rondeau. “Can you think of anything else?”

“Where’d you get the picture of her?”

Gavin dreaded looking directly at him, but he did. “She gave it to me.”

“When?”

“That night. She said, ‘Get over it, Gavin.’ Then she gave me the picture. A ‘souvenir,’ she called it. When I got to missing her, I could use it, you know, to get off.”

“Did she tell you who took the picture?”

“Some guy she’s been seeing.”

“Did she say his name?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“No.”

Curtis waited to see if Rondeau had anything else he wanted to ask, but when he sat back, satisfied, Curtis stood up. “That’s it for now, Gavin. Unless you can think of anything else.”

“No, sir.”

“If you do, notify me or tell your father immediately.”

“I will, sir. I hope she’s found soon.”

“So do we. Thank you for your cooperation.”

As promised, his dad was waiting outside the CIB, but Gavin was surprised to see that Liz was with him. Immediately she rushed toward him. She asked if he was all right and smothered him in a hug.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” he mumbled and moved away before anyone could stop him.

No one was at the urinals. He slipped into one of the stalls and checked for feet beneath the partitions. When he was sure he was alone, he bent over the toilet and vomited. He hadn’t had much to eat today, just some cereal for breakfast, so mostly he spewed bile and then had the dry heaves until the blood vessels in his neck seemed on the verge of bursting. The spasms were so violent, they made his torso sore.

Fear had caused him to vomit once before. When he was fourteen, he had sneaked his mother’s car out. She was on a date with the man she’d ultimately married. Since she had abandoned him to go to dinner with that loser, Gavin had felt it served her right if he drove her car illegally.

He’d gone only as far as the nearest McDonald’s, where he’d scarfed down a Big Mac. On his way home, only a block from his house, a neighbor’s new golden retriever darted right into the path of his car. The puppy had been the talk of the neighborhood. He was cute and friendly, and when Gavin had gone down to meet him a few days earlier, he had licked his face enthusiastically.

He had braked in time to prevent a tragedy, but he had come close enough to killing the puppy that as soon as he got home, he’d thrown up his ill-gotten meal. His mom never knew that he’d taken the car out, and the puppy had grown into a dog that still thrived. Beyond a guilty conscience, he hadn’t had to face any consequences.

He hadn’t been as fortunate this time.

He flushed the toilet twice before leaving the stall. At the sink he splashed double handfuls of cold water over his face, rinsed his mouth out several times, then bathed his face some more before turning off the faucet and straightening up.

Before he could even register that Rondeau was there, the cop had one hand on the back of his head and the other in an iron grip around his wrist and was pushing his hand up between his shoulder blades.

Chapter Nineteen

R
ondeau shoved Gavin’s face against the mirror. It struck with such impact, Gavin was surprised the glass didn’t crack. He wasn’t sure about his cheekbone. The pain brought unmanly tears to his eyes. His arm felt like it was being wrenched from his shoulder socket. Gasping, he said, “Let go of me, asshole.”

Rondeau hissed directly into his ear, “You and I have a secret, don’t we?”

“I know your secret, Officer Rondeau.” His lips were smushed against the mirror, but he could make himself understood. “While you’re off duty from the police department, you fuck high school girls.”

Rondeau rammed his hand up higher between Gavin’s shoulder blades, and in spite of Gavin’s determination not to show any fear, he cried out. “Now let me tell you your secret, Gavin,” he whispered.

“I don’t have a secret.”

“Sure you do. You’d had your fill of that little bitch’s games. You figured it was time she was taught a lesson. So you arranged to meet her. She got abusive and you got mad.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You were so enraged, so humiliated, you lost it, Gavin. In the state of mind you were in, I can’t hazard to think what you did to her.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you did, Gavin,” he said smoothly. “You had the perfect motive. She dumps you, then makes you a laughingstock. She ridiculed you on the message board, for everybody to read. A ‘dickless dud.’ Isn’t that how she referred to you? You couldn’t have that. You had to shut her up. Forever.”

Rondeau’s salesmanship made the scenario sound plausible. Gavin panicked at the thought of how many other policemen, including Sergeant Curtis, Rondeau could convince.

“Okay, she was making fun of me, and I was mad at her,” he said. “But the other is crap. I was with friends that night. They’ll vouch for me.”

“A bunch of rednecks and jocks stoned on tequila and grass?” Rondeau scoffed. “You think anything they testify to will hold up in court?”

“Court?”

“I hope you’ve got another alibi lined up, Gavin. Something stronger than the testimony of those losers you hang out with.”

“I don’t need an alibi because I didn’t do anything to Janey except talk to her.”

“You didn’t hit her on the head with a tire iron and roll her body into the lake?”

“Jesus! No!”

“You’re not shitting bricks every waking moment, wondering when her body will be discovered? I’ll bet I can find somebody who will testify to seeing you and Janey in a struggle.”

“They’d be lying. I didn’t do anything.”

Rondeau stepped even closer, mashing Gavin’s thighs against the sink. “Whether you did or not, I really don’t care, Gavin. They can let you go, or they can send you away for the rest of your life, it makes no difference to me. But if you rat me out, I’ll make sure you look guilty as shit. I’ll lead them to believe—”

“What the hell is going on?”

Gavin felt the rush of air immediately after hearing his dad’s booming exclamation from the doorway. He yanked Rondeau away from him and slammed him against the tile wall, then used his hand like a staple against Rondeau’s neck to hold him there. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice reverberated off every hard surface of the room. “Gavin, are you all right?”

His cheek was throbbing and his shoulder hurt like hell, but he wasn’t going to complain in front of Rondeau. “I’m okay.”

His dad looked him over, as though to reassure himself that he wasn’t seriously hurt, then turned back to Rondeau. “You’d better make this good.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Malloy. I’ve been reading that stuff your son wrote. It just…It’s disgusting, some of it. I’ve got a mom, a sister. Women shouldn’t be talked about like that. When I came in here to take a leak, I saw him and just blew my cool, I guess.”

Gavin wouldn’t have wanted to be in Rondeau’s shoes. His dad was practically breathing fire into his face and his hand hadn’t relaxed its pressure on his throat. Rondeau’s face was turning red, but he stood stock-still, as though afraid that if he moved, he could set off an eruption of wrath that he would be powerless to combat.