Faceless (17 page)

Slowly and cautiously, Dylan immerged from the building, bending slightly in order to protect his head from a piece of wood that had hung from the entranceway. He placed himself between Bethany and her mother, as if suddenly his sole purpose was to protect the girl, and not the other way around.

He was not at all what Marty expected.

Extremely thin and tall, although not nearly as tall as Marty, he had an abundance of dark, wavy black hair and piercing blue eyes. His jaw was strong, his complexion soft, with patches of peach fuzz above his top lip, causing his baby face to emerge into a more mature look. There was nothing about him that appeared to Marty to perceive him as a teenage Lothario. In fact, he sort of reminded Marty of himself at that age.

Dylan
stood there for a second before he broke his silence.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitley, I didn’t want Bethany to get into any trouble. She just wanted to help.”

As Dylan spoke, he turned to face Bethany, who was a few inches shorter than him. He took her hand in his, his fingers interlocking with Jean’s daughters’.

At that moment, Marty turned to see Jean’s expression. She was mortified and he feared what would happen next if he didn’t intervene.

He wasn’t fast enough. In a catlike move, the veteran detective got close enough to grab the boy’s wrist and pull it behind him, thrusting her knee into his back. In one quick motion, she pushed him up against the wall of the shack, taking out her handcuffs out and snapping them closed around the boy’s wrists.

Bethany
screamed in protest. Dylan remained silent and an expression of surrender and daze appeared on his face.

“Mom, you promised! Stop it, you’re hurting him!” her daughter cried out as she reached out for Dylan, trying to get between her mother and her friend. Jean pushed her daughter’s arm away.

“Dylan Silver,” she looked at the boy, pure hatred in her eyes. “You are under arrest for the murder of Jamie Camp and attempted murder of Kimberly Weston. You have the right to an attorney…”

Marty knew she was overreacting. He looked over at Bethany. She was pleading with her mother to stop, but Jean was deaf to her pleas.

“Whoa, Jean, hang on.” Marty walked over to her. “Jean, listen to me!”

He grabbed her arm and was able to break her focus and concentration on the boy. He knew she was acting on pure adrenaline, and if she had a moment to step back, she would realize how much of an effect this was having on her daughter. She wasn’t thinking and he understood why, but he knew for her sake, and her daughter’s, he needed to intervene.

As if she was coming out of a trance, she suddenly let go of her grip on Dylan’s wrists that were now securely cuffed behind his back.

Marty turned to Dylan and gently walked him over to the side of the building, motioning for him to sit on the ground. Bethany was staring at her mother with an intensity that made him afraid for his partner. Bethany’s expression changed and the look in her eyes softened as she turned away from her mother and sat next to the boy seated on the floor.

“Don’t move,” Marty told them, as he walked back to Jean. She stood motionless, just staring at her daughter as if she didn’t recognize her. In all fairness, Marty thought, her daughter’s expression was a mirror image of her mother’s. This girl no longer was recognizing her mother.

“Jean,” Marty put his arm on her shoulder. He could feel the tension in her muscles.

“She’s just a baby, Marty, she’s only fourteen years old.” She turned and looked over Marty’s shoulder, where she was able to view her daughter. Her eyes burned as she tried to hold back her tears.

“She may look sixteen because she’s tall and she’s so damn smart and savvy, but she’s only a baby!” The back of her hand quickly wiped away the tears from below her eyes.

Then it hit him, the real reason that Jean was so emotional. Jean was upset and angry because Dylan and Bethany had spent the night together.

He turned back to look at the two teenagers. It appeared that Bethany was trying to console the boy. Jean was going to be walking a thin tightrope. It was obvious that the girl cared about Dylan, and her mother could destroy the bond she had with her daughter if she wasn’t careful how she handled the situation.

“Look Jean, there’s not enough evidence to arrest this kid for murder. You’re jumping the gun here.” He looked directly in her eyes. “Let’s hear what he has to say. Your daughter is a pretty perceptive kid. I don’t think a pretty face would hoodwink her. Give her a chance to explain.”

She didn’t get a chance to answer him. Her cell phone rang and she glanced down at the caller ID. She walked away from Marty to answer her husband’s call. She knew he was frantic and needed to let him know that Bethany was safe.

***

I was still shaking when I disconnected the call from Glenn. He was insisting on coming to the lake and picking up Bethany, but I wanted to try and handle the situation myself. I wanted to believe that he would stay away, but I also knew if the situation were reversed, there would be nothing he could say or do to keep me from seeing for myself that our daughter was unharmed.

I was consciously aware that my relationship with my daughter was on the verge of imploding, and if I didn’t calm myself down, I was going to risk causing irreversible damage.

I walked back to where the three were huddled. As I got closer, I could hear my daughter begging Marty to remove Dylan’s handcuffs. I was afraid to look at Bethany, afraid that I would just blow up, so I consciously made an effort to train my eyes on Dylan.

It was the first good look I had gotten of him. I began taking a visual inventory of him. Bethany was talking to him, but he wasn’t replying, just looking down at the ground, his hands bound behind his back. He looked up when he realized I had approached.

His eyes were so blue that I actually felt a chill looking at them. They stood out even more in contrast to his hair, which was so black it gave off a purple hue, like feathers of a raven. I could see why the girls were so drawn to him. Although he was still just a young boy, he emitted the sexuality of a grown man. He was probably at least six feet tall, but because he was seated, his present posture made him appear shorter. His back was rounded and his shoulders turned in, as if he felt ashamed.

I wanted so bad to just take my boot and slam it into his square, hairless jaw.

I looked over at Marty.

“You know we may not have enough evidence yet to charge him for the murder of Jamie, but I sure as hell can arrest him on the charge of statutory rape.

“Mom!” my daughter yelled out in protest.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare try to make excuses for this bastard! You are fourteen years old. He took advantage of you.” I grabbed a hold of the kid’s arm and lifted him up from the ground.

“Mom, we didn’t… he… we didn’t have sex. Dylan didn’t touch me! Let him go!”

Bethany
grabbed his other arm and Dylan became the object of a tug of war. I finally turned to look at her. Was she telling me the truth? Or, was she just trying to save this kid’s ass?

“You mean to tell me you two spent the entire night out here, and he didn’t touch you?” I peered into the opening of the shack and saw a small mattress on lying on the dirt floor. “Do you think I was born yesterday?” I kept looking at her; I thought my eyes were going to burn a hole through her forehead. Each second that we stood there felt like an eternity to me.

Dylan
started to talk but my daughter cut him off.

“Dylan didn’t do anything wrong. You promised me you wouldn’t do this. You promised! You’re a f***ing liar. I hate you!” She screamed her words, startling me.

I didn’t think. I just reacted.

I slapped her so hard her head snapped back. I was mortified at what I had just done. I stood there, motionless, wanting to say I was sorry, but the words weren’t coming out.

Her hand flew up to her cheek and I could see nothing but pure hatred in her eyes. My attention was averted when I heard a vehicle pull up. My daughter suddenly turned away and ran toward the car, crying.

“Daddy!” she hollered out, as if she was in physical pain. She ran into her father’s arms as soon as he exited the car.

I could see the confusion on his face as he was tried to comprehend what the hell he had just walked into.

Glenn
took a good look at his daughter; my handprint had left a vivid red mark on her face. He turned to look at me. Disappointment was written all over his face. I could tell that he just joined the list of people—myself included—who were questioning my ability to handle the situation.

He took a few seconds to console her and convinced her to get into his car.

“What the hell is going on, Jean?” he turned to look at the boy on sitting on the ground.

“I’m sorry Mr. Whitley, I didn’t want Bethany to get into any trouble. I just needed someone to talk to, and she’s been a good friend. I wouldn’t hurt her… never.” He voice wavered as he spoke.

Glenn
just looked at him. For the first time since I have been married to this man, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

I was afraid that I was starting to believe Dylan, too. The kid sounded so damn sincere, yet sociopaths were usually smooth talkers. I was so conflicted with wanting to believe that my daughter was still innocent and hadn’t been molested, and knowing what my gut was telling me. I wanted desperately to believe that the kid was telling me the truth, even though I was convinced that this piece of crap was responsible for the death of one child and the critical condition of the other one. I just had to prove it.

“I’m going to take Bethany home, Jean,” Glenn said as he turned and walked away. “You do what you have to do. We’ll talk about this when you get home, whenever you manage to get home.”

It was a dig. It was finally surfacing. I had been getting the feeling that something had been bothering him for days now, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. He was apparently bothered by the significant time I had being spending at work, and he finally was voicing his displeasure. The man who had been my biggest supporter, the most understanding husband in the world, was starting to make noises like a cave man.

I didn’t know what to say. I watched him drive off and I just stood there staring into an empty vacuum, until Marty broke my concentration.

“Jean, let’s go. Why don’t we take Dylan back to the station and talk to him there? We’re not going to accomplish anything here.”

The voice of reason had spoken. I just nodded and walked away, letting him place Dylan in the back of the unmarked car.

I couldn’t look at him. I just stared straight ahead, watching the roads curve before me as Marty drove. I knew that I had to get my emotions under control if I was going to interview this suspect effectively. I closed my eyes and all I could see was the look on my daughter’s face after I slapped her. All I could hear was the sound of my hand connecting with the flesh of her cheek and what happened just before that: my sweet little girl yelling an obscenity at me.