SAY YOU LOVE ME (Eva Rae Thomas Mystery Book 4) Page 6

  “This calls for some champagne,” George said and looked around him to spot a waiter.

  The ground floor of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel had spectacular views over the Atlantic Ocean from all sides. There was a bar and lots of small sitting areas where you could enjoy a drink and maybe a snack. George’s hands were still shaking. They had been like that since he woke up this same morning on the eighth floor, but most of all when he had to hold the pen and sign the contract, selling the company he and Liam had spent the past fifteen years building.

  Now it was done. And they were billionaires.

  He never had to work a day in his life again. He could buy a house in Aruba and stay there, drinking, partying, and hooking up with beautiful, well-shaped women who would only want him for his money. He could buy anything he wanted in this world, anything. The thought was beyond intoxicating.

  George had given up everything for this company and lost a lot along the way. After seven years, his wife had taken the kids and left, unable to take it anymore. His long work hours, often never coming home even to sleep, the partying when something succeeded, the gloomy mood when it didn’t … Fact was, George was never home; even when he was, he was never really there. He was still at the office, still working on new ways to solve this problem or that. Never participating in the daily routines of his family, never enough.

  It had broken his heart when she left. But by then, it was too late. He couldn’t fix it, even though he tried with promises they both knew he couldn’t keep. It was a shock for him the day she packed her bags and took the kids to her mother’s. He had somehow believed he could make it up to her in time, once it was all over, on the day when they finally made it, and he would be a billionaire. Then, everything would be good, and he would have all the time in the world for her and the children.

  But she couldn’t wait that long.

  “Life is more than money, George,” were her last words to him when she left.

  George sighed deeply and felt a pinch in his stomach. If only Emily could have been there now to see him triumph, to celebrate with him.

  “Waiter, six bottles of your most expensive champagne!”

  Three waiters rushed to them with glasses and bottles. They handed George one of the bottles, and he got to open it. When the cork hit the ceiling, they all yelled with excitement.

  “Twenty-four billion dollars!”

  The champagne was poured, and they clinked glasses while yelling with excitement and laughter. When the six bottles were empty, they bought six more, and then six more. They paid the waiters to keep people out of the bar area downstairs of the hotel and partied all night, cranking up the music and drowning themselves in the delicious and dangerously alluring bubbles.

  At first, when they saw Liam sitting in the soft chair in the corner, his head slumped, white foam dripping onto his suit, they naturally thought he was just sleeping, that he’d drunk too much like they all had. After all, Liam had always had a harder time holding his liquor than the rest of them. But when someone touched him and he fell forward, his body thudding onto the tiles, lifeless, they knew something was awfully wrong. Especially George, who felt his heart rate go up so rapidly it soon made him dizzy. He reached over to grab for something to hold onto, a chair or a table but missed it by an inch. Soon, he too tumbled to the tiles, his heart beating so fast it felt like it would never stop.

  Until it did.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THEN:

  “What we’re trying to do next is to establish what part you played in the abuse,” Rivers said after clearing his throat. Someone had brought water into the interrogation room, and Marlene had drunk greedily like she was trying to wash this nightmare away.

  “Abuse? What are you talking about abuse? What are you basing this on? Because our son said those things to his teacher? Because he said his dad would beat him? So what if she said that; he never did. Bruce never touched him. I don’t even know why you’d think that just because of what he told some teacher. He might have been joking or maybe looking for attention. Kids do that.”

  “We’ll be the judge of that. You’re here to answer our questions, and we ask that you do just that.”

  This can’t be happening. This can’t be true. What am I going to do? How am I going to convince them that this isn’t true?

  Marlene’s eyes met Rivers’. She’d have to be careful in choosing her words; anything could be used against her right now. She’d have to make sure that what she said couldn’t be misinterpreted. Apparently, she was under accusation as well. It was all so ridiculous that she felt like laughing. Except it wasn’t funny. Nothing about this was remotely amusing. How dare they accuse her and her husband of this? Where did they come off?

  “Did you see the bruises? Did you notice the signs? Did you close your eyes, or did you participate?” Waltman said.

  “Participate?” Marlene spat. “What are you saying with this? Now, wait a minute; I’m a good mother. I’ll have you know …”

  “Most mothers would say that,” Waltman said, interrupting her.

  Marlene tightened her lips. It really didn’t matter what she said, did it? They had already determined that she was guilty.

  “But I am,” she said with a snort. “I am a good mother. And Bruce is a good father who would never lay a hand on our son. Ask anyone who knows us. They’ll testify that we are the most devoted parents in the neighborhood. No one does more for their kid than us.”

  “Okay, so if you’re such a good mother, then you must have noticed the bruises,” Rivers said, fiddling with the papers next to him. He pulled a sheet out, then looked up at her above his glasses, lifting both eyebrows.

  “What bruises?” Marlene asked, confused.

  Then, she remembered. There had been bruises in the fall, but it wasn’t what they thought it was. She felt a sudden relief. Was that what this was all about? Now, she understood. This was all just a misunderstanding.

  “You mean the ones on his back? Yes, I remember those. He got them when he was climbing the tree in the backyard. We have a big magnolia tree that he’s always climbing around in, and yes, he fell from it in the fall and had a very bad bruise on his back. He’s had a couple of falls like that, and yes it gives him bruises from time to time. Besides, he bruises easily. I know it sounds like a dumb excuse, but he really does.”

  Rivers placed the sheet in front of her. It was a very close-up photo of a deep purple bruise.

  “Like these?” he asked, then placed another photo in front of her and pushed it closer. “Or these?”

  Marlene stared at the photos, her heart pounding in her chest. “Where did you get these? Listen, I know what this looks like, but I’m telling you, it’s just from playing in the backyard. This one was the one on his back, the one I told you about. He fell from the tree; I specifically remember that happening.”

  “Did you see him fall?” Waltman asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you see him fall from the tree?” he repeated.

  Marlene felt the blood drain from her face. “I … I … no. I was in the kitchen when it happened. He was outside playing.”

  “And where was his dad at the time?” Rivers asked. “When it happened?”

  “I … I … I don’t know, probably doing yard work.”

  Rivers gave her a serious look, then wrote something on his notepad. Marlene felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  “What are you scribbling there? Please don’t assume that just because he was out there at the same time, that … oh, no, please, that’s rich.”

  Waltman pointed at the second photo, ignoring Marlene’s protests. “And this one, how did he get that on his thigh?”

  Marlene sighed. “That’s from his bike; I’m pretty sure. Yes. I remember now; he fell on his bike.”

  “And did you see him fall?”

  Marlene looked at him, her lips quivering. She was searching for words, for anything she could say to make them change their minds, but there real
ly weren’t any. She could hardly lie to them. But telling them the truth would only make matters worse. She knew what it looked like. She knew what they were thinking, and every time she spoke, she seemed to make matters worse.

  “Please, answer the question,” Rivers said. “Did you see your son fall on his bike?”

  She shook her head in desperation. “No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t see him fall from the tree or on the bike since I’m not outside with him usually when he’s playing. I have to cook and clean and … there’s also the laundry …”

  “But your husband was there, am I correct?” Waltman asked. “He was with Jack when he got that bruise as well.”

  “I … I … yes, he usually looks after Jack when he plays outside. He gets some yard work done, or they build stuff together sometimes while I take care of the house.”

  “And how often would you think that Jack comes in with bruises after being left alone with his father?” Rivers asked.

  Marlene’s eyes grew wide. How could she possibly answer such a question?

  “I … I don’t know,” she said. “They’re boys; they get wild.”

  “So often, is that your answer?” Rivers said.

  “I … I guess.”

  Marlene felt her shoulders slump as she watched Rivers scribble more on his notepad. Her stomach was in knots, and she felt like crying, but she knew it wouldn’t do her any good. She was stuck here, and there was nothing she could say or do to make them understand that they had the wrong parents. They weren’t that kind of parents, and her husband most certainly wasn’t that kind of a man.

  Right?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’ve decided to help you out. Well, not you, but Adam. I think you might have been right when you said that he would never hurt anyone.”

  I stared at David, who was lying on the couch back at my grandmother’s house. His eyes were red-rimmed; he had been crying. He sat up straight.

  “But I’m not doing it for your sake,” I repeated, making sure he got that part down. “Just so we make that clear.”

  David swallowed, then nodded, his nervous eyes looking up at me. He spoke in nearly a whisper.

  “Thank you.”

  “And just so you know, I’m risking a lot by doing this. I could get in a lot of trouble for what I did today, just so you know.”

  I bit my lip, trying hard to swallow my anger and not show it. Just looking at him made me want to scream.

  Did he even know how much damage he had caused; how much he had hurt me by what he had done? Did he even realize that?

  “Okay,” he said. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  I shook my head. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to call me that.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I keep doing it. I’m so sorry.”

  I swallowed the knot forming in my throat. “Okay, then.”

  I was about to walk away when he stopped me.

  “How are you?”

  I turned on my heel and stared at him, clenching both my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

  “You don’t get to ask me how I feel; do you understand? You left me when I was a child and took my sister from me. You don’t get to pretend to be a father; do you read me?” I hissed, my blood boiling.

  “But I am your father,” he said.

  I felt like I was standing in front of one of my children, talking back to me or misbehaving terribly. It was the same kind of anger that welled up in me.

  And then some.

  “No, you’re not. You never will be. You left, remember? You left me. You didn’t even try to contact me.”

  “Is that what your mom has told you?” he asked.

  I was fighting my tears now. I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing me cry, and I pushed them back with all the strength I could muster.

  “Because it’s not true,” he continued. “I wrote to you. In the beginning, I wrote every month, but when I didn’t hear anything back, it became less and less until it was only on your birthdays. But I take it she never gave them to you. I figured as much.”

  I stared at him, my blood still boiling, but now feeling slightly calmer. A deep confusion was beginning to take over. Had my mother really hidden those letters from me? It did sound like something she would do, but still.

  “That doesn’t change anything,” I said. “You still came here fifteen years ago and didn’t even try to find me.”

  David shook his head with a sniffle. “When I came back to the States, I looked for you and found you up in Washington. I followed your career closely and told myself I’d contact you, but I was scared. I knew your mother had poisoned you against me, just like I did to Sydney because I didn’t want her to want to go back. I changed her name and gave her an entirely new life in London, thinking she’d forget about her mother and sister, but she never did. I’m not proud of it, but once she started to talk about going back after she had grown up and moved out and begun her career, I refused to tell her where to find you and your mother. It’s not my proudest moment, but I was scared. I was scared of losing her, and then I did just that. I know now that it was a mistake.”

  This was all a little too much for me. I was fighting to breathe. I felt dizzy and had to lean against the back of the couch so I wouldn’t fall.

  “Are you okay?” he asked and got up.

  I lifted my hand to stop him. “Don’t come near me; you hear? Don’t you dare touch me. I don’t need anything from you. I’ve done fine without you in my life so far. I am not going to change that, no matter what excuses you might come up with. It’s too late, David. That ship has sailed.”

  And with that, I turned around and stormed out of the living room. I ran out to the porch and stood for a few seconds, catching my breath when about ten police cruisers from the sheriff’s office rushed past, sirens blaring.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  E.T. stared at the three dead bodies in the sitting area of the bar. The area was crawling with uniforms and serious faces, and he was secretly filming it with his phone without anyone noticing.

  For his fans. His devoted fans.

  The ones that were still alive when the paramedics came had been sent away in ambulances, while the ones that were dead were still on the tiles. A crime scene photographer took pictures and video of the scene and the bodies while a detective took the witnesses’ statements.

  Three dead wasn’t half bad, but he still hoped more would join them. Hopefully, they’d die in the ambulance or maybe at the hospital. If E.T. were ever to make it to the heights of Eva Rae Thomas’s former targets, or any of the really big ones in history, then he needed the numbers to be significant.

  Ted Bundy killed thirty women … that he confessed to. It might even be more, they say. But the most prolific modern serial killer, Harold Shipman, killed two hundred and eighteen that they know of. They assume the number goes as high as two hundred and fifty.

  E.T. could only hope he’d get anywhere near those numbers. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. He wanted to be the biggest. He wanted to be the best. And this was only the beginning.

  E.T. slipped out of the room and found a bathroom. He closed the door behind him, then looked at his face in the mirror. He was sweating heavily with excitement. The saggy skin underneath his chin dangled when he splashed water on his face and reminded him that his time here on Earth was limited.

  He then pulled out his pocketknife and opened the blade. He opened the camera on his phone, then rolled up the sleeve on his other arm and started to carve. Blood dripped from his skin into the sink as the letters were shaped and a word emerged.

  JOY

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “What’s going on?”

  Sydney had come down from the room we shared upstairs where she had been reading most of the evening. I was still out on the porch when she came out into the damp, hot night. I was staring in the direction where all the fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars had gone. I could see their lights in the
distance, illuminating the palm trees with red and blue colors.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but with this many police cars, it can’t be good.”

  “It looks like it’s up by the beach by all the big condominiums and hotels. Do you want to go check it out?” she asked.

  She didn’t have to say that twice. We got into my minivan and drove up the long road toward the beach, where the trees with their Spanish moss dangling from the branches covered the roads, making it feel like we were driving in a tunnel. During the daytime, I found it charming, but I had to admit that at night, when it was dark, it became a little spooky, especially when we were going toward the blinking lights.

  “It looks like it’s at the Ritz-Carlton,” Sydney said and pointed as we neared the big hotel’s entrance.

  I continued up toward the huge building, then stopped when we reached the police barrier. I parked, and we both got out, joining the crowd of people who were standing there, watching.

  “What’s going on?” I asked the valet parking guy. His name tag said, Phil. He looked pale and shaken up.

  “Ten guys were celebrating some big deal they had made in the bar downstairs when suddenly they got sick, and several of them died, right there on the spot. They say they’re still in there, on the floor.

  “Oh, my,” Sydney said.

  “A lot of them were taken away in ambulances,” he said. “I saw one of them. He was completely lifeless. He just lay there on the stretcher while they rushed him into the back of the ambulance.”

  “Do they know what happened?” I asked.

  Phil shook his head while biting his nails. “Who knows? Food poisoning, maybe?”

  I looked at the entrance where I spotted Detective McMillen coming out, flanked by a uniformed police officer. They chatted seriously before McMillen walked away.