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Stacy called downstairs and asked Charlie to escort Monica DeVito to an interrogation room near the back of the building.
When Stacy arrived, Charlie was there. Monica was seated inside the room, her small frame looking diminutive in the square room as the walls appeared to close in on her.
“Has she said anything?” Stacy asked, removing some papers from a file folder.
Charlie rested an arm over the one-way mirror and leaned into it. “Not much, other than asking for you.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“Do you need me to stick around for anything else?”
Stacy looked at him for a long moment and considered his request. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
She waited as Charlie went out into the hallway outside of the interrogation room foyer. Stacy closed her eyes for a moment. Thoughts trundled through her brain as she began piecing together everything that had happened over the last few hours. Colton DeVito appeared to have killed Brooke Crawford in some type of violent confrontation and was now on the loose. The fact that he came to Cleveland and didn't contact his parents was odd. Most people that commit violent crimes reach out to friends and family early after the committed act, especially if they were running away from law enforcement. But Stacy's experience reminded her that there were no absolutes in investigations.
As Stacy reached for the door handle, the door behind her flung open. Austin burst into the room, slightly out of breath. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Stacy eyed him for a moment and looked back down at the handle.
“It’s not a good idea to question her without a witness,” Austin said, chiding her gently.
“Charlie is my witness.”
“Bullshit. Harris was already getting on the elevator when I saw him.”
Stacy stood back and looked up at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster seemed to grow wider and deeper with each passing day.
“I need to question her, Austin.”
“Nobody disputes that,” he said, stepping toward her. “But don’t do this alone. I’m your partner. Keep me in the loop and let me help.”
Stacy looked back at him. Earnestness creased his face. “I know that. I do.”
“Good,” he nodded satisfactorily. “Now go get her, tiger.”
Stacy walked into the room and closed the door behind her. A slight smirk and a flash of excitement beamed from Monica’s face.
“Oh, Stacy. Thank you.” The childish and mischievous tone in her voice from their earlier conversation had returned.
This interrogation room had no windows, and the two straight chairs had no arms. Dull wood paneling lined the walls, and the harsh fluorescent lights cast a bluish-green hue over everything. A large one-way mirror adorned the wall near the front door, which Austin would stand behind to watch the interview. This was not the Starbucks at Tower City. The line of questioning was now more severe, and Stacy wanted Monica to know it and feel it.
Stacy didn’t make eye contact with Monica and sat down across from her. She set a small recorder on the table and opened the file folder.
“Monica, I need to advise you that this interview is being recorded and monitored. No charges have been filed against you, and you are free to leave at any time. Understood?”
Monica nodded her head several times in quick compliance. “Yes. Yes, I understand. Now, tell me about my Colton.”
“We’ll get to that.” Stacy pulled out a picture of Colton from a file folder. She had obtained it from the American Electric Power website, where they listed names with headshots of those assigned to help rebuild Houston’s electrical grid after the hurricane.
Colton was olive-skinnedwith dark eyes. His hair was shaved close to the scalp. He appeared to be slim, slightly muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. His dark eyes stared straight ahead through the picture. Stacy could understand how one look from Colton could make a girl weak at the knees.
Stacy turned the picture around and pushed it toward her. “First, I need to know if this Colton.”
Monica looked down and smiled as if seeing her son for the first time. The block of white teeth shone through her thick lips. “That’s my baby,” she said. “Although that is an older picture.”
Stacy arched an eyebrow. “Any idea how old?”
Monica squinted and looked at it again. “A year or two, I’d say. Colton hated having his picture taken, but he had to have one for work, so I took this one using his cell phone.” Stacy knew Austin would make a note of that detail.
“So,” Monica said, anxiously rubbing her hands together. “Where is Colton? Did you find him?”
Stacy closed the file folder and gave her a stern look. “We haven’t. But I just came from a meeting. We are working on it.”
Monica cocked her head. “A meeting? Are there other people helping?”
“Yes.”
Stacy wanted to remain calm and collected through the interview. Her technique with the initial questioning of witnesses was to engage in a conversation and make them feel like she was just trying to understand their perspectives and situations. This allowed Stacy to watch their body language and facial expressions. People that feel relaxed are often more open and less guarded with information. If they thought Stacy was trying to catch them in a lie, they became closed off and defensive.
When Stacy didn’t answer, Monica asked another question. “Has there been a team assigned to find him?”
Stacy had forgotten that Monica knew some things about police investigations. “Yes, there has been a team assigned to find Colton.” Her throat suddenly felt thick. Stacy rearranged her face into something she hoped was calm and casual and slowly looked up at the woman.
“Colton is the suspect in a murder investigation.”
Suddenly, Monica’s countenance changed. The color drained from her face, and her eyes and mouth were frozen wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. Although she was staring straight at Stacy, she appeared not to see her at all. Her molten-brown eyes desperately searched Stacy’s face, waiting.
Stacy let the statement hang in the room for a moment. She wanted to see what Monica would say next.
“My son,” she mumbled, “is no killer. He would never hurt someone.”
Stacy leaned forward and gave her a flick of pity. “But he did, Monica. And we think he killed someone he knew. Someone you know.”
Monica had unfolded her fingers, and they were jumping rhythmically on the table, as if in a spasm. “No. This must be a mistake. Colton wouldn’t kill anyone. He doesn’t know people enough to kill them, not here.” Monica was slurring her words together and trying to make sense of the situation.
“Brooke Crawford.”
Monica stopped trembling.
“We found Brooke Crawford shot dead in her house this morning. The entire back of her head completely blown off.”
The statement roiled Monica. The color in her face changed to an ashen gray. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Stacy reached forward and held Monica’s hands. “We found out that Colton had come over to her house last night and that he’d been texting her for the last several days. He wanted to get back together with her and wanted to have sex with her.”
Monica pulled back. “No, he and Brooke were over. They were not together anymore.”
Stacy placed her face a mere inch away from Monica’s face. Stacy locked eyes with her.
“See, Monica,” she said softly, “the problem we have here is that you weren’t honest with me about all of the information and about the type of relationship that Brooke and Colton had. There was a lot of anger and resentment between them. This was not a happy union. Neither of them had moved on. Is he the father of baby Luke?”
Stacy slowly leaned back. Monica closed her mouth, then looked down at the table before glancing back up to catch her eye.
“Colton has not contacted me.”
Stacy cocked her head to the side. “Sure about that? We’re getting a search warrant for Colton’s cell phone records, and we’ll know pretty soon if he’s tried to call you.”
Monica bolted up from her chair. Sweat began to gather on her forehead as she paced the room. Stacy had her frightened. When people became afraid during an interview, their brains would speed up, process, and think of a way to rationalize or lie away details. Then, they would get less accurate. Monica spun on a heel and glared at Stacy.
“I came to you as a friend, Stacy,” her Italian dialect had thickened her words. “And what I’m hearing is that a girl is dead, and I am somehow helping my son get away with it? Colton dated Brooke, and she hurt him. Hurt him bad. Did you see the baby?”
Monica was unraveling, but Stacy remained calm.
“That baby,” Monica said, wagging a finger, “is why their relationship ended. She cheated on him with some guy, some guy she met at a bar.”
“Jesse Williams.”
“Yes, that’s his name. A one-night stand. He gets her pregnant. Brooke tried to convince Colton that he was the father. He did tell me that. His father and I were prepared to help raise the child until Brooke finally admitted that maybe this Jesse could have been the father. It crushed Colton. Nearly destroyed him.”
Stacy stood up and leaned her back against the wall. “Is that why he moved to Houston? To get away from her and the painful memories?”
“I. Don’t. Know. I told you, Stacy, he doesn’t talk to us anymore. He was so hurt by Brooke. Then the next thing I know, we come home one day, and he’s left us a note saying he has moved away from Cleveland and will talk to us later.”
Stacy bit on her lower lip and released it. She studied Monica carefully for a moment. There was still something Monica wasn’t telling her about Colton.
Monica exhaled and stopped pacing. “I’d like to go home now.”
The door to the interrogation room opened. Grim-faced, Austin flicked a look at both women and then jerked his head to the side, indicating Stacy was needed outside.
Monica huffed and stomped out of the room, nearly running into Austin on her way out. Stacy clicked off the tape recorder and collected the file folder.
“Monica, one more thing,” Stacy said, following her outside. “We’d like to have a press conference. Get Colton’s name in front of the public. And I would like you and your husband to be there. If Colton is scared or in hiding, a public appeal from his parents might convince him to come forward.”
Monica stopped her fervent march up the hallway so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. She must have felt Stacy staring at her because she refused to turn around. “My husband and I want our son to come back, and he didn’t do these terrible things. We will do whatever we need to do.”
That was the answer Stacy wanted to hear. “Good. I will be in touch.”
Monica took in a deep breath and then exhaled, rolling her shoulder and collecting herself. She then disappeared down the corridor, her furtive pace echoing with the clacking of her boots against the floor.
“That went well,” Stacy said. Austin looked down the hallway. Stacy could hear the exterior door slam shut. Monica DeVito was gone.
Stacy walked into the hallway outside the interrogation room to find Gavin standing there, arms folded. Because Stacy wasn’t reacting fast enough, he approached her.
“There’s a problem.”
Stacy sighed. “Something with Deerfield?”
Gavin stiffened. “No, not that. Something else.”
Austin closed the interrogation room door behind him and stood next to Stacy. “It’s not good, Stacy.”
Gavin’s eyes narrowed, and the blue hue of them sharpened. “I called some of my contacts in the Harris County District Attorney’s office earlier. It turns out they are quite familiar with our missing suspect Colton DeVito.”
Stacy and Austin exchanged glances. “Go on.”
“Apparently, Colton was arrested as an accomplice to murder.”
Stacy noticed Gavin watching her as she pondered the matter. She could feel the heat building behind her eyes.
“He was accused of luring a kid his age to his death. Colton also spent some time in jail but was later acquitted of all charges.”
“Oh, God,” Austin quipped. “What an upstanding guy. Be friends with someone and then drag them along to be killed. Jesus, who is this kid?”
"It gets better," Gavin added, with a tone of dejection in his voice. "The name of the kid was Jesse Williams.”