By the time I arrived at the station, the interrogations were underway, Detective Ramirez grilling one suspect, Detective Chastain questioning the other. I observed Ramirez’s strategy in a room across the hall that contained the digital recording equipment, a camera inside the interrogation room feeding the equipment both high-definition video and audio. Detectives Donahue and Franklin watched Chastain’s interrogation of the second suspect play live from an adjacent room.
From Ramirez’s approach, it quickly became clear that she and Chastain had chosen the textbook tactic of pitting one suspect against the other. It was a big gamble and could go one of two ways: either the perps took the bait and turned on each other, or they lawyered up.
“The deal’s off the table when the clock strikes ten, Cinderella,” Ramirez said, sweeping the case file from the table, which contained photographs of the missing women and, most likely, two dozen or more blank pages. Leading the suspect to believe we had a lot more information than we actually did was another textbook strategy. “Enjoy your Coke, Mr. Grady. There’s no room service at Fort Leavenworth,” she added and intentionally slammed the door.
I met her in the hall.
“I hope Lucy’s having some luck,” she said, whacking her thigh with the folder.
I shrugged. “Donahue and Franklin are monitoring the interrogation. I wanted to see you in action. Nice job in there. He looks as if he’s ready to crap his pants.”
She grinned and popped the lid on an Orange Crush soda. “Hang tight a minute while I snag an officer to keep an eye on my detainee, then we can join the guys.”
Lucy Chastain was young, petite, and extraordinarily attractive. Regina Ramirez stood five-feet-ten-inches tall in stocking feet and tipped the scales at two hundred forty pounds. She waxed a stubborn mustache, but only for special occasions, and her hair stylist had long ago accepted the fact that only death could part Regina with her Farrah-Fawcett hairstyle.
While Regina always chose the art of intimidation, Lucy relied on a damsel-in-distress approach. Both were equally effective, Lucy’s tactic no more so than at that moment; the four of us exchanged high-fives as we watched the accused confess.
Lucy opened the door, presenting a wide grin and the confession—the holy grail of procedural documents. “I could use a few unfriendly faces in there. He shut down completely when I pressed him for the details.”
Three of us followed Chastain back into the room. Franklin led, which was just fine by me—I had cameras to avoid. Ramirez stayed behind; her detainee was in for a long night. I leaned against the wall—out of camera range—and allowed Franklin to run the show.
“Hello, Mr. Moore, I’m Detective Franklin. Mind if I call you Billy?”
Moore shrugged, but I saw his jaw flinch and heard the chain linking the handcuffs jingle as he scratched his nose.
“This is how this works, Billy. You give us all the information we’re going to need so we can locate the women, and we’ll see that the judge takes that into consideration.”
“Fuck that, man. That wasn’t the deal.” He tapped his index finger repeatedly against the tabletop, the cuffs clanking against the edge. “She told me I’d do no more than five years if I confessed,” he said, jerking his head toward Chastain. “She didn’t say shit about anything else.”
Detective Franklin leaned on the table, resting the brunt of his weight on his hands, before wrenching his head sideways and giving Chastain a look that could kill. I’d been on the receiving end of that predatory stare and didn’t envy her. Apparently, Lucy had offered the suspect the plea deal before Franklin and Donahue arrived in the observation room.
“Oh, she did?” Franklin asked, still glaring at Lucy.
“That’s right,” Billy said, squaring his jaw. “And I want that shit in writing!”
“Just so I understand the situation, Detective Chastain didn’t have you sign a plea agreement before you signed the confession?”
I watched the color drain from Billy’s face as Franklin’s words sank in.
“She fuckin’ said it, man! All I had to do was confess, and I wouldn’t be lookin’ at twenty years.”
Franklin clucked his tongue and leaned across the table. “Well, see, Billy, a verbal agreement doesn’t amount to diddly-squat when it comes to the law. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. If you’ll tell us where those women are and who else was involved, besides your scumbag buddy in the next room, Detective Chastain will get you those forms and you’ll be looking at no more than ten years behind bars.”
Lucy made a run for the door.
“Screw that! I’m not telling you shit. I rat those guys out, I’m as good as dead.”
Franklin shrugged smugly. “You think about it, Billy. For your sake, I hope you reach the right conclusion before your buddy does or the deal’s off.”
Franklin slipped up beside me. “Get in there and see how Ramirez is doing. I’m not about to let this asshole off easy.”
Ramirez was waiting out in the hall when I left the room. She cradled a second but unopened Orange Crush with one hand and held a wrestler’s grip on a thick strand of red licorice with the other.
“The little weasel lawyered up,” she advised me in between chews. “He’s a lot more afraid of the people he’s working for than he is jail time, or us. How’s it going in there?”
“Lucy cut a deal before she got all the information and Franklin’s not happy about it.”
“Let me guess. He was hoping I was having some luck, so he could renege.” She shook her head. “Damn alpha males. Maybe if he’d play nice, we could get those women home safe. Not everything has to be a pissing contest.”
“How did we catch these guys, anyway? Not another abduction, I hope.”
Ramirez’s exaggerated smile revealed a half-chewed glob of licorice. “An ex-girlfriend gave up Moore. She not only told us where we could find him but also implicated Cecil Grady in the abductions. You know what they say—hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I swear to God I think we’ve solved twenty-five percent of our cases courtesy of pissed-off exes.”
Donahue’s head appeared in the doorway. When he saw Ramirez, he stepped into the hall. After learning of her detainee’s refusal to talk, he offered to take a crack at him.
Ramirez popped the lid on the soda and chugged half the can. “Knock yourself out. Step lightly because, like I told Celeste, he’s requested legal representation and the suit’s on his way.”
Donahue grinned and surrendered both palms. “I just want to make sure he understands his options.”
Lucy rounded the corner with the appropriate documents and pulled Donahue aside before he could disappear inside the room that held Grady. Following a hushed conversation, he escorted her back inside the interrogation room Franklin occupied.
Ramirez raised both eyebrows. “I wonder what all that was about?”
“Lucy probably felt like she needed a bodyguard and not because of Billy Moore.” It was obvious Franklin intimidated her, and she wanted Donahue alongside her in the room. “Mind if I give your guy a try?” I asked, hitching a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m sure you could use a break.”
“Be my guest,” she said and tossed me the folder.
I waited outside the room and watched her return to the Detectives’ Bullpen. Before stepping inside, mostly out of habit, I glanced at the video monitor located above the door and connected to a CCTV camera inside the room.
Nostradamus materialized beside me, snippets of body parts at a time, raking tense fingers through his thick beard. “That contraption could present a problem,” he said, tipping his head to the camera.
My mind on getting the suspect to talk, I had forgotten about the questions that would inevitably arise surrounding my absent image. “What should I do?”
“Render them useless, of course.”
“You’re saying I should disconnect the cameras?”
“Do you have a more viable suggestion?”
I shook my head.
“Harness your telepathic ability, Celestine. Envision the contraptions useless and it shall be so.”
I scratched my head. “That’s it?” I said past a hollow laugh. “Come on, I’m going to need a little more guidance.”
“Consider the appropriate technique and simply focus your efforts on the outcome.”
“Right. All I have to do is think it and it happens. All of you keep telling me that, but it can’t possibly be that simple.”
“Why not? Why do you persistently doubt yourself? We are all exercising the utmost patience, Celestine. However, the time has come for you to utilize your capabilities without benefit from us.” Within a poof of iridescent mist, he evaporated.
In my mind, I disconnected the cable attached to the camera. Perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm because the cable twisted, snapping the air in a serpentine motion before coming to rest. I closed the door behind me, and Cecil Grady greeted me with homicidal eyes and a blatant disregard for authority.
The epoxied cement floor gleamed, and the soundproof solid core masonry blocked walls didn’t. There were two high-definition IP cameras in the room. I parked my chair directly across from his and out of the primary camera’s view. The other, mounted on the wall on one side of the room, I attempted to disable telekinetically. The cable started to sag, then melted. Which wasn’t the strategy I had in mind, but the end result was the same. Grady was so focused on saving his ass that he didn’t seem to notice.
Pulling a form from the folder, I tossed it on the table between us. “I’m Detective Crenshaw. I understand Detective Ramirez has read you your Miranda rights and that you have requested counsel. I wanted to make absolutely sure you understand that once your attorney arrives, no one in this department can do anything to help you.”
He lunged at me, baring most of his teeth. “Bitch, I said I want a lawyer.”
I shrugged off the disrespect. I’d been called worse, but I’d long grown tired of guilty repeat offenders and their total disregard for innocent victims. I’d already dipped inside his head and knew he was guilty of this particular crime and so many others for which he’d never been held accountable. I thought about Marcy Harris and the other mothers, at their wit’s end as they endured sleepless nights, wondering if their daughters were alive or dead. I was willing to set aside my principles, the fundamental honesty I’d cut my teeth on, if that meant Cecil Grady didn’t get to walk away from this one. “Oh, that’s too bad, Mr. Grady. I’ve read your rap sheet. Convicted of a felony before you turned eighteen . . . your mother must have been so proud.”
He flared his nostrils, and a charging bull came to mind. “Leave my mother out of this or I swear—”
“You’re really in no position to make threats, Mr. Grady.” I clucked my tongue and rattled off the remainder of his more serious convictions. “Yeah, the judge isn’t going to go easy on you this time around, regardless of the unfortunate obstacles life has thrown your way. You can count on that. And, with your friend, Billy, in there this close,” I said, pinching my fingers, “to spilling his guts, there won’t be any leniency offers coming your way. But,” I said, gathering the folder, “we all make our own decisions in life. Let’s hope you’ve made the right one for once. I’ll show your attorney in when he arrives.”
Grady leaned back in his chair and laughed. “If you’ve read my rap sheet, cop, you know I’m wise to your fuckin’ mind games. My lawyer will convince the jury that whatever Billy says is conjecture, his word against mine. And I’m. Not. Talkin’.”
I glimpsed into his memories and plucked one I now knew would work in my favor. “That’s too bad.” I leaned across the table and whispered, “But should you choose not to honor your mother’s last wish, I suppose that’s your call.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, raw emotion evident in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where’s my fuckin’ lawyer?”
I ignored the question. “Oh, I think you know. I mean, how could you possibly forget something as important as a promise to your mother? You know, the one in which you swore you’d never ever commit another crime following your last arrest.”
He put all of his weight behind the table between us, but the bolts securing it to the floor didn’t budge. “Shut your goddamn mouth about my mother!”
I disregarded his demand. I needed—wanted—him to suffer the emotional hell he’d caused so many women, particularly his own mother. “But you sure didn’t keep that promise, did you, Cecil? Come on, it wasn’t even that long ago,” I said, slapping the table with both palms. “Wasn’t it, what, just three months ago that your poor sick mother managed to walk several blocks to the bus station on a very hot summer day, where she caught the first of three separate buses, just so she could visit you in prison. I can’t help but think that long exhausting walk, combined with the emotional despair she must have felt, accelerated her fatal heart condition.”
“How did you know about that?” he asked between clenched teeth, fists balled and resembling small boulders.
“It’s not important. The important thing is, if you ever really cared about your sweet, sweet mother, that you turn your life around. Today. She sees you, you know, and wonders whatever happened to that chubby little freckled-face boy who once picked her dandelions.”
He dropped his head. His shoulders shook harder as the minutes passed, while his tears plopped one after the other onto the Formica tabletop. “How do you know that?” he whimpered, without raising his head and I knew I’d reached the tiny shred of humanity he had left.
With Grady’s confession—the names of the kingpins and the location of the women—recorded and handwritten, I stepped outside the room and texted Franklin to let him know, afterward nearly colliding with a haggard-appearing man outfitted in a wrinkled suit and a coffee-stained tie.
“Where’s my client?” he barked.
I flipped through the folder and handed him the Miranda waiver Grady had signed. “There must have been some confusion. I’m sorry you wasted your time.”
I slipped back inside, anxious to collect Grady and steer him toward booking. I hadn’t had the opportunity to repair the damaged cable and thought it best to distance myself as quickly as possible.
Ramirez met me in the hall once I’d deposited Grady. “You got him to talk?”
“I did,” I said, waving the confession overhead.
“How?” she asked, catching up and strolling alongside.
“Let’s just say he had a change of heart.”
Ramirez fist-bumped my shoulder. From behind, I heard Franklin celebrate my victory. Soon after, he charged past, dragging Moore by his collar.
"Donahue caught up just as the sergeant placed Moore in the holding cell with Grady. “The captain’s going to meet us at the stash house, along with every available uniform and SWAT. Let’s get this party started,” he said, rubbing his palms together.”