The Heart Has Reasons (38 page)

“This
morning,
you
weren’t all ‘beat-the-fuck-up’.  The suspect assaulted
you much worse than he did your companions.  Why was that?”

The
sullen face turned even uglier.  “’Cause I was the only one who stood up
to him like a man.  Rest of ‘em just laid down like bitches.”

“I
would imagine it was difficult to stand up to him once you had one broken limb,
and yet he kept beating you until you had two additional.”

Apparently
sensing the direction the conversation was taking, Waddell scowled.  “What
you sayin’, yo?”

“Only
that it seems as though the suspect concentrated the majority of his anger on
you.  What did you do to the woman that sent him into such a rage?”

Waddell’s
jaw clenched.  “I done tole you, we was tryin’ to rescue her.”

“How
did you know she was in the vehicle.”

“She
was callin’ fo’ help.”

“I
thought you said she was gagged.”

“What
I means is, she was makin’ noise.  Kinda like moanin’.”

“So,
without knowing who or what was in the vehicle, you heard a sound like
‘moaning’, and took it upon yourselves to break into the vehicle.  It
didn’t occur to you that a couple might have been inside having sex?”

Waddell
appeared distinctly uncomfortable.  “Naw.  Didn’t sound like that
kinda moanin’.”

“Why
didn’t you simply report your suspicions to the police?”

“Weren’t
no police around.”

“I
see.  And not one of you had a cell phone?”  Waddell simply glared
belligerently.  “Mr. Waddell, you’re only twenty-two, and yet you already
have a long and violent criminal history that includes arrests for sexual
assault and a conviction for rape.”

“Yo,
what you tryin’ to say?”

“Only
that it must have made your day to find a woman tied up, gagged, and totally
helpless.”

Waddell’s
face grew tight with anger.  “Whatever that fuckin’ bitch sayin’, she be
lyin’.”

“So
the suspect didn’t beat you half to death because you attempted to sexually
assault her?”

“I
got beat down ‘cause I was tryin’ to help that bitch.  And, yo, what that motherfucker
say ‘bout why he had her all tied up?”

“Actually,
he claims there was no woman in his vehicle.  He says he caught you and
your companions breaking into it, three of you pulled weapons, and he defended
himself.  Incidentally, one of the armed men fits your description. 
Carrying a firearm would be a violation of the terms of your parole.”

Waddell’s
chin went up defiantly.  “I ain’t had no fuckin’ gatt.”

They
hadn’t yet recovered the weapons, but Waddell didn’t know that.  “So we
won’t find your fingerprints on either of them?”

Waddell’s
eyes slid away.  “Naw, man.  If’n he say she weren’t there, what she
say?”

“Not
only does she deny being in the vehicle, she denies ever having met the
suspect.”

“If
that bitch ain’t been in his fuckin’ vehicle then, yo, how the fuck she gonna
say I put my hands on her?”

Jarvis
grinned at him.  “The woman didn’t tell us that, Malik. 
You
did.”

He
interviewed the two other men in turn.  All three of their stories meshed
and were credible, up to a point.   Parnes and Gant also initially
claimed to have heard the woman calling for help although, when reminded she
was gagged, they also adjusted their stories.  Both men denied that
any
of them had touched Santos.

Jarvis
inquired about the two men who had not sought medical treatment, hoping against
the odds that they might be somewhat more credible as witnesses. 
Unsurprisingly, all three men professed ignorance as to the other two men’s
names and whereabouts.  After they signed their statements, Jarvis reluctantly
released them for transport back to San Bernardino.

When
he and Sengupta returned to their office, she prompted, “Well?”

“They
saw Santos tied up in the back of the vehicle, just as they claim.  But
since their testimonies aren’t going to account for squat in court, we need
Santos to ID O’Malley.”  He stared at his steepled fingers.  “If
O’Malley was headed to Chatsworth, why did he exit the expressway in San
Bernardino?  Why did he stop in that alley?”

He
pondered the matter for several minutes.  “Detective Fahey said Santos was
treated at the ER for asthma, and she stated her abductor was quick to provide
her with her asthma medication whenever she needed it.  Maybe she ran
out.”

A
smile momentarily relieved the severity of Sengupta’s face.  “Forcing
O’Malley to make an unanticipated stop to buy another.”

Jarvis
nodded.  “Exactly what I’m thinking.  I wonder if there’s a pharmacy
proximate to where the altercation took place.”

“I’ll
find out.”

“Do
that.  Who knows, with a little luck, the pharmacy may have a video of
O’Malley buying the inhaler.  In the meantime though, I’d like to perform
a little experiment.  I’m curious to see how O’Malley and Santos react to
each other.”

* * * * *

In the interrogation room, Chase slouched
back in his chair, trying futilely to ignore the insistent pounding in his
skull.  Kavanaugh had finally left, after admonishing him once again not
to answer any further questions without him present to run interference.

He
straightened as Agent Sengupta opened the door.  “Come with me, O’Malley.”

Despite
already knowing the answer, he asked, “Am I being released?”

She
gave him a vicious little smile.  “I’m afraid you’ll be enjoying our
hospitality for a while yet.”  He followed her down the corridor until she
stopped before a door labeled INTERVIEW ROOM THREE.  Moving the slider to
the OCCUPIED position, she pushed the door open and stepped aside, a silent
injunction for him to enter.

The
first thing that caught his eye was the four-foot-by-six-foot, two-way mirror
built into the opposite wall.

The
second was Larissa, slumped over the room’s only table, her head resting on her
folded arms.  The sight of her brought him to an abrupt halt.

Sengupta
stepped back into the hallway and closed the door.  As the lock clicked
into place, Larissa wearily looked up and blinked at him.  It wrenched his
guts to see the ghastly patchwork of sullen reddish-purple bruises that had
blossomed on her beautiful face.  Two tiny sutures held the split in her lower
lip closed, and the injured eye now swollen shut looked painful as hell.

When
shocked recognition widened the uninjured eye, he flicked his own to the
mirror, a silent warning that they were under observation.  She gave a
barely perceptible nod to indicate that she understood.

Tears
blurred his sight, making the room swim.  He’d done this to her as surely
as if he’d taken his own fists to her, and he knew with an absolute certainty
that the memory of her battered face would haunt him for the rest of his
life.  It was a goddamned  shame that Sparrow had died so
quickly.  It would have been immensely satisfying to have given the
murdering cocksucker a foretaste of Hell before actually sending him there.

Trying
to act normally lest he alert the agents on the other side of the glass to the
undercurrents between them, he extended his hand across the table and cleared
his throat of the obstruction lodged there.  “Chase O’Malley.”

After
a moment’s hesitation, she took it, her small hand trembling in his. 
“Larissa Santos.”

Reversing
the chair across from her, he straddled it backwards and rested his forearms
across its back.  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Her
hand went self-consciously to her swollen eye as she lowered her gaze to the
table.  “That’s all right.”

Jesus,
she looked about to drop.  The sutures and the lack of wheezing indicated
she’d received medical treatment.  Longing to wrap his arms around her and
soothe her battered body and spirits, it took every ounce of willpower he
possessed not to do so.  Goddamn it.  Why the fuck was she still
here?  Well, the answer to that was clear.  The bastards were trying
to wear her down.

Silence,
thick and uncomfortable, settled over them like a damp blanket.  Her gaze
constantly flicked to his face, then away again.  Other than when she’d
viewed him in the line-up, this was the first clear look she had of his face,
and so she was understandably curious about him.

She
was also clearly nervous.  Fidgeting restlessly, her hands were in
constant, jerky motion, vainly trying to smooth the wrinkles from her tee
shirt, brushing wayward strands of hair back from her face, touching her
sutured lip and swollen eye.

There
were a hundred things he wanted to say to her, foremost of which was to
apologize once again but — painfully conscious of those observing on the other
side of the two-way mirror — he remained silent.

She
drummed her fingers on the metal table, broken nails clicking loudly in the
silence.  When he gave her a subtle warning look, she crossed her arms
over her chest and sat there rigidly.

The
oppressive silence began grating on his nerves.  The passage of time
stretched almost beyond his endurance as the minutes crept by like hours until
she suddenly demanded, “What time it is?”

He
glanced at his watch.  “Ten ‘til nine.”

“This
is freaking ridiculous.” Her chair scraped back loudly as, with a sudden air of
decision, she abruptly lurched to her feet.  As she limped past him on her
way to the door she turned her face so as not to be seen from the observation
window, and whispered, “I wish I’d shot you.”

If
she’d thrust a blade into his chest and twisted it, it couldn’t have hurt any
worse.

Finding
the door locked, she pounded on it with the heel of her fist, the blows
resounding about the room.  She continued until it opened.  Agent
Jarvis’ stepped aside to let her pass, then grinned at Chase as if he had him
in the crosshairs of a gun sight.

Then
the black man closed the door and — over the sound of his life swirling down
the toilet — Chase heard the lock click back into place.

* * * * *

Larissa followed Agent Sengupta down the
hallway, while Agent Jarvis brought up the rear, making the hair on the back of
her neck prickle.  The man projected an aura of intelligence, strength,
and competence that was downright frightening.

Overlying
all the emotions coursing through her was a seething anger.  Having her
kidnapper —
Chase O’Malley
, she reminded herself — placed unexpectedly
into the same room with her had thrown her into a state of acute emotional
turmoil.  And while she’d been so flustered to see him, he’d had the
audacity to be cool, composed, and collected, as if suddenly seeing her again
affected him not at all.  It was precisely this that had angered
her.  She already regretted what she’d said about wishing she’d shot him
but, since it was his fault they were in the mess, he could go screw
himself. 

Sengupta
led her back to the office she and Jarvis shared.  After inviting her to
take the seat across from him, Jarvis perched on the edge of his desk so that
he loomed above her.  She briefly considered getting back to her feet so
they were more or less at eye level with one another, but her entire body ached
and it felt as if she were being sucked down into a bottomless pit of exhaustion. 
Closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, fantasies of hot showers and
comfortable beds ran through her mind.  She wanted to lie down somewhere —
anywhere — and sleep for about a week.

Jarvis
was watching her closely, his eyes as sharp as razors and so dark that the
pupils were not discernable.  “Ms. Santos, I want to apologize for the
unfortunate mix-up.  Agent Sengupta did not intend to put the suspect into
the same room as you.” 

Bull. 
Shit.  The agents had put them together deliberately, to see how they’d
react to one another.  But since she could play the lying game as well,
she pasted on a puzzled expression as she gazed up at him. 
“Suspect?  Don’t you mean agent?”

Jarvis
raised his brows.  “The man’s not an agent.  I’m sure you must
remember him from the line-up.”

“I
remember him, but police often use other police to fill out a line-up, and the
man has law-enforcement written all over him.”

“We
are not the police, and I assure you he is not a member of law
enforcement.  But you already know that.  Ms. Santos, how long did
you go without your asthma medicine before your abductor stopped in San
Bernardino to buy more?”

Alarm
shocked through her and she blinked several times.  How could the agents
possibly know that?  Not even the thugs knew why they’d stopped
there.  “I had my own inhaler.”

“But
it ran out.”

She
shook her head.  “No, it didn’t.”

His
dark eyes were merciless as he silently appraised her.  “With absolutely
no hesitation, three of the young men who saw you tied up in the back of
O’Malley’s vehicle picked your photo out of a photo array.”