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Stacy loathed press conferences but found them to have several advantages. The ability to reach all media outlets at the same time while controlling the message was important.
But this press conference was being held in response to a crisis or disaster. Brooke Crawford was dead, and the lead suspect, Colton DeVito, had basically vanished without a trace. Stacy wanted to use this press conference to keep Cleveland abreast of the events that occurred and their unit’s steps to resolve the situation. Putting George and Monica DeVito behind a podium would serve a dual role, both as a public service and public relations boon, and allow them to make an emotional plea for their son to resurface.
Stacy knew this press conference could serve as an opportunity to gain public trust. They would inform Cleveland citizens that a young woman was dead while a young man connected to her is missing. Both pieces of information would allow the public to trust that the police were doing everything to find the killer and the missing person. With most media outlets present, law enforcement would also have a chance to control the message.
They held the press conference on the second floor of the police headquarters. Outside of the press room, Stacy stood with George and Monica DeVito. Stacy studied George DeVito carefully. He remained mostly still and calm, his eyes darting back and forth between Stacy and his wife. The corners of his mouth turned upward when it appeared that he wanted to speak. Instead, silence filled the space between statements, or he waited until Monica said something or asked a question.
Stacy had spent the last several minutes explaining how the process would work. Even though she received assured nods of agreement from George, Monica looked away and appeared disinterested. George reassured Stacy that Monica understood and would cooperate.
“Okay,” Stacy said, clearing her throat. “Let’s go through this one more time.”
Stacy kept her gaze focused on George DeVito. He had the bronzed skin of an Italian with bristly eyebrows, defined cheekbones, and a hawkish nose. His gray hair was swooped over to the side, revealing a defined part. He focused his sea rover blue eyes on Stacy. He wore a blue polo dress shirt and tan slacks, and his posture was sloped at the shoulders.
“Tell us what we need to do again,” George said, his voice raspier than Stacy anticipated.
“Focus on the fact that Colton is missing and that he needs to come home,” Stacy said. “Don’t discuss Brooke or anything about why Colton might be gone. The purpose is to emphasize that Colton is loved and missed.” Stacy swallowed hard. She certainly didn’t see Colton DeVito as a good kid. “Stay on message. Be clear. Be concise. Don’t take any questions from reporters, no matter how many questions they ask.”
George nodded to indicate his understanding. He nudged Monica with his shoulder, but she continued to stare at the floor, pinching the fold of skin above her lip.
Monica kept looking at her feet.
“Monica, I need to know that you understand.”
“I understand,” she whispered.
George reached out a large, meaty hand and placed it on Stacy’s shoulder. “I want to thank you for the opportunity to do this and for what you’ve done to help find Colton.” Monica made a face as George spoke.
The comment struck Stacy as odd. Had Monica not told her husband about the conversation she and Stacy had inside of the interrogation room? If so, was George just being polite, given the circumstances?
It didn't matter. Stacy wanted to see if the couple could put on a united front when the cameras were running and people were listening. She wanted to observe the dynamics between them. If one or both of them were involved, the nervousness and pressure of speaking in front of the media would likely help Stacy see who might really be leading who.
Stacy peered through a crack in the door. The press roomfeatured floor-to-ceiling windows. A flat-screen monitor could project images from a laptop or other mobile device. A picture of Colton DeVitoframed the screen. Rows of rusted metal chairs were placed with little space between each seat. The room was packed, and reporters huddled over their laptops and phones, feverishly typing as Diana provided details of the case.
She wore her traditional black pantsuit with a white blouse. When speaking to the media, she always pulled her hair back in a ponytail. It was a sign to the press and the public that she would work hard to solve the case. Flanked to her left was Chief Barry Martin in his button-down police uniform, replete with medals and cords dotting his jacket. Everything about him was buffed and polished. The message was clear: Diana was in charge, but Chief Martin was in control.
Diana had recounted the timeline of events. The captain paused and then reminded reporters that no questions would be taken at this time. She cut a glance over to the door and nodded.
Stacy looked back at the DeVitos. “It’s time.”
George rolled his shoulders and smacked his lips, leading Monica with a hand in the crevice of her elbow. Monica’s face and hair were greasy, and the green-sleeved top she wore looked tired and wrinkled. Her brown slacks were also wrinkled. They would be a contrast in styles in front of the cameras.
Stacy followed behind the DeVitos. George took his time helping Monica onto the dais. A patrolman from the public affairs division rearranged the microphones on the podium and ensured that the smaller recording devices were close to the speakers.
Stacy moved over to the side wall and pressed herself against it. The air in the room was tepid and close. Gavin Knox slid into the room, his tan sports coat flapping against his hip.
“I got the signed search warrants. I gave them to Austin.”
Stacy felt some relief but turned her attention back to the dais. She hadn’t seen Austin or talked to him about the debriefing of the DeVitos, but she assumed he was happy to have the search warrants to begin looking into Colton DeVito’s bank and cell phone records.
George grabbed the podium. He smacked his lips again and cleared his throat. “My name is George DeVito. Colton is my son.” George leaned over the podium and pointed to the picture on the wall. “That’s him.”
A slight murmur passed through the media, but they returned to typing, and the cameramen from the television stations angled their lenses on George.
“We miss Colton terribly. We just want him to come home. Son, it doesn’t matter where you are or who you’re with. We just need to hear from you. We’ll come and get you. No questions asked.”
Stacy watched his eyes moisten with tears. George paused and took a moment to collect himself. He wiped an eye with the back of his hand.
Good, George. Stay on message. Keep the focus on Colton and not what he might have done.
“Our son is a good kid. He’s the type of son that loved to come over to our house on the weekends and just spend time with us. Colton always had a smile and a kind word to share with everyone. We miss that. Very much. We just want Colton to come back to us and to let us know that he’s safe.”
Perfect, George. Convincing.
In an unexpected move, George retreated from the podium and stood to the side. Monica approached the microphones.
If Monica was to speak, they were to speak together.
Stacy held her breath. Gavin sensed her nervousness and leaned closer. “Is she going to be able to do this?”
Stacy pushed a finger over her closed lips.
“I’m Monica DeVito. I’m Colton’s mother. Colton, honey, please come home. I miss you. We love you and need you. It’s been so long since we’ve heard from you.” She looked back at George, her face a twisted mess of worry. “We think that something bad has happened, son, and we need to hear from you.” Her face lowered, the color of her cheeks turning to an ashen gray.
Suddenly, she reared back. Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared.
Stacy leaned into Gavin. “Shit.”
“Colton,” Monica bellowed into the microphone. “I know you didn’t kill Brooke. I know it, honey. That’s not the son I know. We will keep doing what we’ve been doing for you. But please, please come home.”
Her voice was shrill. Reporters sensed the developing breakdown that was unfolding and began hurling questions toward the dais. From across the room, Diana bolted up from her seat, trailed from behind by Chief Martin. Diana shot Stacy a look. Her eyebrows pulled down together above wide open, glaring eyes.
George managed to pull Monica back from the microphones.
“Get off me!” she shouted, her voice cracking under the scream. “My son is not a murderer!” Spittle began shooting from her mouth. “Write that down. Get that on tape!”
Diana shielded herself between Monica and the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us, this press conference is over.”
Stacy had reached the dais and pushed George aside. She managed to get hold of Monica’s left arm and began pulling her toward the end of the dais.
“Leave me alone,” Monica cried out, flailing her arms and wobbling on her feet. “Stop it! Let me go!”
Stacy lost her grip, and Monica pushed her back. Stacy stumbled and slipped down the stairs, slamming a knee into the last step.
“I hate you,” Monica said, turning her venom on Stacy. Stacy managed to get up and climb the steps again. Monica leaned down. “I trusted you to find my son. You’re a liar. I hate you.”
As Stacy looked up, a wad of spit came hurling at her, landing right on the bridge of her nose.
Monica clomped down the stairs around Stacy. “Bitch,” she spat out before disappearing through the door, with George and the captain trailing behind her.