CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Bad news,” my dad started, to my utter disappointment. I put him on speaker phone so Marco could hear. “Patty can’t get you and Marco in to speak to Dylan.”
My heart sank. I looked at my husband with a frown and he patted my knee. Maybe Marco was right. Maybe the best thing we could do now was to back off the case and not get into any more trouble. I could focus my attention instead on Reilly and the police department, talk to the captain, and force some legal recourse if I had to.
“But I do have good news,” he continued. “She can get you in alone, but you have to follow the new procedures. You have to go during visiting hours and your conversation will be monitored.”
“That’s fantastic news!” I cried out in joy. “I’ll go right now.”
“What about dinner tonight?” my dad reminded me. “Your mother is making something special for us.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “We’ll be over just before six. I’m hungry already. Thanks again, Dad. I’ll see you tonight.”
Marco drove past Bloomers and Down The Hatch, heading directly for the jail. “Maybe Arno doesn’t have us beat just yet,” he said. “I should never doubt you, Sunshine. I’ll be at work if you need me.”
…
Upon entering the jail, I was met by Matron Patty, who guided me through the security check, did a quick search of my purse, had me leave my cell phone in a locker, and took me straight to the visitors’ room. I sat in a plastic chair in a row of walled-off compartments and waited. Within minutes, Dylan was brought into the room on the opposite side of the glass wearing his orange prison garb, shackled ankles, and black rubber flip-flops.
His head was shaved down to the scalp, eyes framed with large dark circles. He had the long, narrow face of his mother, but thinner and pale. On his arms were dark blue bruises. He sat down and picked up the phone with one hand, his other tapping anxiously on the plastic countertop.
My first task was to gain his confidence. “Hi, Dylan. My name is Abby. I’m here to help you.”
He twisted in his chair and held the phone loosely to his ear, his hand shaking. “Then get me out of here.”
“I’m not a lawyer,” I said. “I’m a private investigator. I’m going to ask you a few question and I need you to answer honestly.”
In fact, both of his hands were shaking, and his words came out slowly. “I just need to get out of here. I’m not gonna make it. Are you police?”
“No.” I tried to explain myself. “I’m not with the police department. I used to work for a public defender and I know how the system works. Have you been assigned a public defender yet?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Can you get my mom?”
“Dylan, listen to me. You’re going to have to demand a lawyer. It’s your right to have representation. Whatever you do, just sit tight and keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”
“What about my mom?”
“Dylan, focus.”
“Can you please get my mom?”
“No, I can’t” I said, “but I can get a message to her.”
“Tell her that I need help,” he said quietly.
“I’m trying to help you right now.”
He studied me for a moment. His eyes were unfocused as he sized me up, stopping briefly at my chest which I immediately covered. He closed his eyes.
“Dylan.”
“Why do you want to help me?” he asked, slowly blinking at me.
“Because I don’t like to see young people railroaded by detectives who should know better. Did anyone read you your rights when you were arrested?”
He scratched his scalp. “I don’t remember. I was asleep. Next thing, they had me on the floor handcuffing me.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Morning.”
“How did they enter your house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they read you your rights?”
“They were yelling at me. That’s all I remember.”
“Did they bring you directly to the police station?”
“Yeah, they stuck me in a room and questioned me all day.”
“Do you know who they were?”
He nodded as his expression noticeably soured, snapping him out of his daze. His fist closed, and he struck his thigh like he was punishing himself.
“Was it Detective Arno?” I asked.
He continued to punch his thigh and his eyes welled up.
“Dylan, stop. What was he questioning you about?”
“He wasn’t questioning me. He was telling me to confess, threatening me, but I didn’t kill her.”
“Were you friends with Paige Rafferty?”
He nodded, his eyes now streaming with tears. “And he kept telling me to admit that I strangled her and robbed her. I swear to God I didn’t do it.”
“Were you at Mrs. Rafferty’s house on Monday?”
He began looking around the room as if someone was watching him. “I can’t go back to prison. I won’t make it one day in there.”
“Dylan, answer my question. Focus, please. Did you visit Mrs. Rafferty on Monday?”
“I don’t remember if it was Monday. Mrs. Rafferty didn’t have any work for me, but she had some fruit for my mom.”
“Were you at her front or back door?”
“Front door.”
“What did she give you?”
“A bag of fruit. I don’t know. I can’t tell you any more.” He leaned his head against the glass that divided us and repeated, “I can’t.”
“Why did you have Paige’s stolen items?”
“I can’t say anymore. You have to get my mom.”
“What about Paige’s cell phone. Do you remember seeing it?”
“Stop asking me questions,” Dylan cried. “I’ve said too much already.”
“This is the only way I can help. You need to focus and try to remember something or there’s nothing I can do. Think really hard, Dylan. Did the detective have you sign anything?”
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “He wanted me to sign something, but I didn’t. My mom told me never to sign anything.”
Matron Patty cleared her throat from behind me. “Abby, time to go.”
I gave her a nod and turned back to Dylan. “I have to leave now, but I’ll make sure to get that message to your mom.”
“Tell her I know who did it,” he said. His eyes were clear now and desperately locked onto mine as he continued quietly. “Tell her to check the cameras.”
“Say that again?” I asked in shock.
“Abby?” Matron Patty called.
I held up my index finger behind me, asking for another minute. “Tell me who did it.” I demanded.
The police guard came into view and stood behind Dylan. He instructed him to hang up the phone.
“Wait a minute,” I called through the glass. “Tell me who murdered Paige.”
Dylan looked over my shoulder and his eyes widened.
“Wait, Dylan. What cameras?”
Dylan looked away quickly. He hung up the phone, stood up, and was shuffled out of the room. My thoughts spinning, I turned to ask Patty for more time, but my eyes were instead met by the blazing hot gaze of Detective Richard Dutch Arno.
“You’re in a whole mess of trouble now,” he said.
“She followed all of the rules, Detective Sergeant,” Patty intervened, trying to ease the situation. “She’s well within her rights.”
“Interrogating my suspect in the middle of an ongoing investigation?”
“I wasn’t interrogating anyone,” I insisted. “He hasn’t been charged, has he?”
“Stop interfering with my case or I swear to God –”
“Start doing your job properly and I won’t have to.”
“I will have you and your husband thrown in jail. And your good buddy, Sean Reilly? I’ll make it so that he won’t even be able to work security in this town. No more warnings. You leave this case alone or I make your life a living hell.”
“No deal.”
He breathed in deeply, like a bellows about to stoke a fire, and grumbled, “Then the next time you see me will be in court. You can expect a subpoena from the DA’s office.”
I stood firm as I fired back my response. “You just better hope that you find the real killer before I do, or the next time I see you will be behind bars.”
“Get her out of here!” he commanded.
Patty escorted me swiftly from the room to collect my belongings. I was fuming inside. Then I noticed Patty holding her hand over her mouth and thought at first that she was in shock over what I’d said. Then I noticed she was hiding a smile.
“I’ve never seen anyone talk to him like that,” she said. “Well done.” But her expression turned serious as she continued. “I need to warn you, though, Abby, Arno’s deadly serious. You should probably be prepared for a battle.”
“I’ll talk to Greg Morgan,” I said.
“Maybe you should also talk to your father,” she added. “He will have some insight. I think you should know exactly who you’re going up against.”
…
I relayed my altercation with Marco over the phone as I walked back to Bloomers. After he had calmed me down, we discussed Dylan’s interrogation with Dutch, his current state, and odd behavior. We also concluded the mystery of the discarded bag of apples, but something still wasn’t sitting right. “And before I left, Dylan said something really strange.”
“What was that?” Marco asked.
“He wanted his mother to check the cameras. What do you think he means by that?”
“I’m not sure. Did you ask him?”
“He was taken away before I had time.” I pulled my car into a spot around the corner from my shop and parked. I sat in the car and rolled my aching shoulders. “I believe him, Marco. I think he knows who killed Paige. He’s scared for his life and I’m pretty sure it’s because of Arno.”
“Why don’t you give Darlene a call and relay the message,” Marco suggested, “see what she has to say.”
I gave Marco a kiss over the phone and then pulled up a list of recently dialed numbers. After tapping the number for Darlene’s office and turning on the speaker, I rolled up the windows and exited my car. The temperature outside was warming up and I was starting to roast in my faded denim and light yellow button-down shirt. I untucked the shirt and noticed that my pants were loose. I was so shocked that I almost didn’t reply back when Darlene’s secretary answered my call.
“I’m sorry, yes, Abby Knight Salvare calling for Darlene Cutler, please.” I was put on hold as I made my way around the corner, stopping just before I got to Bloomers. The sign above the door still read, Abby Knight, proprietor. I really needed to get that sign changed to my married name, but at that moment it wasn’t important. I stared at myself in the flower shop’s large bay window.
“I’m sorry,” came the receptionist’s voice, “but Dr. Cutler is busy at the moment. May I take a message?”
“Do you know when she will be free?” I asked, still staring at myself, turning to catch a profile view. “I just need a minute.”
“She’s booked all day,” the woman answered. “I can tell her that you called.”
“Would you give her a message, please? It’s from her son.”
“Go ahead.”
“He asked her to check the cameras. I’m trying to understand what he meant by that and I would really appreciate a call back as soon as possible.”
“I will give her the message.”
I entered Bloomers with a renewed confidence in myself. Not only had I stood up to one of the biggest bullies I had ever encountered, but also, all of those bland salads and rigorous exercise routines were actually paying off. I was losing weight, and quickly. I felt fantastic, and then I wondered, just for a brief moment, how much better I would feel if I actually did do Pilates with Jillian. I even considered calling her to resurrect our pinky swear, but before I could, my phone rang. It was Darlene Cutler.
“We need to talk,” she said briskly, as if walking and talking. “I think Dylan is in way over his head and I may need your help.”
“What can I do?”
“Meet me at my house tonight at nine,” she said. “I’ll explain everything then.”
After I hung up with Darlene I realized that I was standing in the middle of Bloomers. Lottie was propped up against the checkout counter, Grace was standing in the doorway between the shop and the tea parlor, and Rosa’s face was poking out through the workroom curtain. Bloomers was empty and there were only a few customers having tea in the parlor.
“Okay,” I started. “Let me fill you in.”