Running Away With You (Running #3) (51 page)

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.”

“No, I was not,” I answer. 
Shit.
  I didn’t even know Auggie had left the room.  But then again, I was in bed by then.

“And what about Mr. Cooke?  He came to visit you that day too?  Is that not correct?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Shortly after your altercation with Mr. McGuire.  Would that be so?”

“Yes.”

“He isn’t seen coming back to the hotel until much later that night.  Would you be able to tell me where he was during that time?”

I know Adam took Evan to see the trainer to get his hand checked out after punching the elevator wall, but I don’t want to tell them.  I’m afraid to tell them Evan got violent.  I will protect him at all costs.

“No idea,” I lie.  “I didn’t see him again until we returned to New Jersey.”  At least that part is true.

“Fair enough,” Hodan expresses.  “We’re almost done here, Miss Fletcher.”  He flips through his notes and settles on something that interests him.  He reads it over, and then addresses me once again.  “When is the last time you saw Mr. Jorgensen?”

“When he left my room,” I answer truthfully.

“And do you know where he went when he left your room?” he asks.

“No.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to him on the night of the 28
^th
?”

“No.”

“We have witnesses from the Hyatt where Mr. Jorgenson was staying who claim he was at the bar drinking with someone; a young man.  The only description I have is that the man was in his late twenties, tall, and physically fit.  Do you have any idea who they could be describing?”

“No idea,” I tell him.  Shit.  It could be Adam, Derek, or Auggie.  But then again, it could be any one of a million other people too.

Detective Muller looks over at the detectives, and they nod to her.  She clicks a few times and closes the laptop.  “Okay.  We’re done here.” 

The three get up and leave the room.  Before Hodan steps out the door, he turns back and says, “Thank you.  You’ve been very helpful.”  And out they go, leaving me stripped bare and feeling more violated than David ever did.

I turn to Gavin. “So now what?”

“We wait.  I have a few phone calls to make.  I may be able to find out more about their case.”  He puts his pad away, grabs his briefcase, and walks out the door, leaving me alone once again.  I put my head down on the table, cradled by my arms, and replay every word I said, wondering if I said anything to hurt myself.  Or to hurt one of my friends. 

An older woman comes in and asks if I would like any coffee or a light meal.  Apparently my interrogation went from breakfast right through lunch.  “Maybe a bottle of water if it’s not too much trouble,” I tell her.  I have no appetite.

I sit there alone for hours with nothing to distract me.  I feel like I might lose my mind.  Four walls, a table, and four chairs.  Nothing else.  Not even a scrap of paper to doodle on.  I occasionally get up and look out the window, but it’s up high in the wall and quite narrow.  There’s not much to see other than billowy clouds as they lazily drift past. 

This can’t be good.  If they were going to release me, surely they would have done it by now.  But on the other hand, if they wanted to transfer me into the custody of the Indianapolis P.D., they would have done that by now too. 

In my mind, I have devised a scenario to explain my limbo.  They have no direct evidence that I’ve done anything wrong.  They are trying to find something to use against me, but they have nothing.  They won’t release me until they’ve exhausted every opportunity.

I know I haven’t done anything wrong, so I take some solace in that.  Being stupid, foolish, and naïve isn’t a crime, so far as I know.

It feels like I’ve been in this room for an eternity.  The sky is now illuminated with shades of red and orange and I can see the sun settling lower on the horizon.  I try to estimate how many hours I’ve been here.  I was picked up around nine.  It’s now somewhere near five.  Is it possible I’ve been here for eight hours?  What must be going through Evan’s mind right now?  Hopefully Gavin has spoken with him.

Speaking of Gavin, where is he?  Why hasn’t he come back to check on me?  I feel so alone and isolated.  I can see now how people can get fooled into confessing to a crime they didn’t commit.  If someone told me that by signing a simple confession, I could go home, I would be tempted. 

As it begins to get dark outside, they bring me a sandwich and another bottle of water.  I guess this is my meal.  It’s a cross between hospital food and something you might find in a vending machine.  I take an experimental bite, and that’s all I can manage.

Finally Gavin comes back to join me, his expression grim.  I’m not optimistic.