by Jessie Cooke
“I gotta go, Syl. Someone is at the door.”
“Okay, babe. Keep in touch, alright?”
“Yeah, I will.”
“I love you, Wesley.”
“Love you too, Syl.” He ended the call and set the phone down just as there was another relentless pounding on the door. Shit. “Who is it?”
“Open the fuck up!” The voice was female. It sounded slightly familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Who is it?”
“The woman that’s going to knock this fucking door down if you don’t open it up! I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t know what happened to my sister.” Oh fuck. Sabrina Kent. How the hell did she find him? He heard what sounded like a kick and then, “Last chance, open this fucking door!” She had to be drawing the neighbors’ attention by now. One of them might call the cops. Doubtful, in this neighborhood, but he didn’t want to risk it. He went over and pulled open the door. The beautiful little blonde marched right past him and into the apartment. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking with his dick at a time like this, but fuck, she was hot. As soon as he closed the door, she started whaling on him with her fists. She only came up to his chest so that’s what she was using as a punching bag. She was small, but mighty. He felt every punch.
“What did you do to her? She was barely twenty-one years old! She was a good girl!” Tears rolled down her face as she hit him, and Wesley just stood there and let her get it out. Hell, if she’d pulled a knife at this point, he wouldn’t blame her. Luckily for him, she didn’t seem to have a knife and she eventually tired herself out. She suddenly slid down to the floor and crumpled into a sobbing heap. He wondered what her plan was if he really had been the killer.
Wheelie sat down next to her on the floor. He tried to touch her, but that was a mistake. It earned him a hard slap...and then another one. Again, he took it. He deserved it. He hadn’t killed her sister, but he hadn’t protected her either. When she seemed to settle down again, crying quietly into her hands he said, “I’m so sorry about Pamela.” She jerked her blonde head up and her hazel eyes spit fire out at his face.
“Why? That’s all I need to know. Why would you do that to her?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry she’s dead, but I didn’t hurt her.”
“Then who did?” she screamed. “She was with you! Who did you let hurt her?”
He shook his head again. “I wasn’t with her...I wasn’t there...” That lie was the last thing Sabrina wanted to hear. Her claws came out and she swiped at his face, drawing blood. She started to do it again and this time he caught her arm and held it mid-air. “Look, you can punch me, slap me, scratch me...if that all makes you feel better. I’ll let go of you and you can have at it, but hear me when I say this, I didn’t hurt your sister.”
She jerked her arm away and crumpled into a ball on the floor again. Cautiously, Wes put his hand on her back. She didn’t attack him again. She seemed too weak from her grief and his heart was breaking for her. She cried for a long time and when she looked back up at him, the mascara had drawn lines down both sides of her face and snot was coming out of her nose. “You’re a liar,” she whispered.
“I’m going to get you a tissue.”
She glared at him and wiped her face on her sleeve, snot and all. “I don’t want anything from you, except to know why you’re lying. If you didn’t kill her, then why lie? You know who my father is, don’t you? Do you think he got where he is by being stupid? He was a lawyer and a judge longer than you’ve been alive. He’s going to take that fucking club apart...that whole ranch, piece by piece until he finds out what happened to his little girl...and he’s going to do the same to you.”
“He can do that, and I hope it helps him find out who hurt Pamela...”
“Not hurt! Killed! You can’t even fucking say it! She was murdered! Her head was nearly cut off, you sick pig!”
He took a deep breath and said, “I hope he’s able to find out who murdered her. But…it wasn’t me.” Her fists were clenched, and he thought she was going to punch him again. Instead she fell back over onto the floor and said:
“He lost two daughters today.” Wes didn’t know what she meant, but he didn’t want to agitate her again, so he stayed silent. A few seconds passed and she said, “He’ll never forgive me, but that’s okay, I’ll never forgive myself.”
5
Wesley and Sabrina sat on the floor for the longest time. She cried, and he fought the nausea that assaulted him each time the sight and smell of Pamela’s body invaded his memory. He didn’t move or speak, though. He was waiting for her to take the lead. He didn’t know what she needed, or wanted, from him. He had no idea what she was going through. As horrible as it was for him, for her it had to be a thousand times worse.
“I have to go,” she said, suddenly. She reached out to hold onto the wall in order to get to her feet. Once she struggled upright, Wesley stood up next to her, still not knowing what to say. He opened his mouth and the sounds of sirens seemingly came out. But they were in the street. “I told my dad she left with you. That will be them. Don’t lie to them. If you didn’t do this then lying is only protecting whoever did.” She reached for the door and Wesley found his voice.
“Sabrina, I didn’t hurt your sister, and I’m going to do whatever I can to help.” He wasn’t exactly being honest. She was right, lying would only confuse the investigation. The ranch was tightly contained. Whoever killed her had free access to it, the clubhouse, and that room. The nausea hit him again as, for the first time, he realized the killer had to be one of his brothers. Jesus Christ. Sabrina didn’t respond to him verbally. Instead she just flashed him another glare and pulled open the door. The sounds of the sirens were growing closer and as he was watching her walk out the door, his phone joined in the symphony.
Wes left the door open and went to get his phone. No sense in giving the police any reason to be hostile right off the bat. He wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or relieved when he saw it was Dax calling. He picked it up and Dax said, “They’re on their way. Her sister had your name, and apparently she tracked down your address. These won’t be easy people to hide from, Wheelie, so we’re not going to try. You tell them what I told you and don’t deviate from the story, at all. Got it?”
Wheelie nodded even though Dax couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I got it. Did they search the ranch?”
“They’re still searching it, and they’re suspicious as hell about how clean the room is, where the blood isn’t. But, that’ll only keep them focused on us, not you.”
The sirens were right outside now. “I hear them headed your way,” Dax said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be alright. Hey, Dax, have you found Buzz?”
The pause was a pregnant one, but all Dax said was, “No, and he hasn’t checked in.”
“You think...”
“Wheelie, focus on answering the police questions, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” He ended the call just as he heard the knock on the open door. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, took a deep breath, and went out to face his accusers...at least that’s what he felt like. “Can I help you?” he asked the two men at the door. They were dressed in suits and ties and two uniformed officers stood behind them.
“Wesley Anderson?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Sampson and this is Detective Martin. We need to ask you some questions.”
“About?”
“Can we come in?”
“Sure.” Wesley stepped back and let the two men in the door. Sampson was short, maybe only five-seven or eight, and Martin was over six foot tall. They looked a little like the Odd Couple. Sampson was balding and had a protruding belly and Martin looked like he spent every spare moment in the gym. They stood in the small living room and the uniformed officers stepped inside and stood by the door. “Have a seat,” Wes told them, sitting down in the recliner. “Now, what is this about?”
&n
bsp; “Did you know Pamela Kent?” Wes felt himself grimace. This was going to be fucking hard. He was a terrible liar. His mother used to tell him that his face always gave him away.
“I met her last night. I heard about...” He swallowed the lump in his throat and then cleared it. “What do you need from me?”
“Where did you meet Miss Kent?”
“At a party, at a big house out in the country. I guess it was her parents’ house.”
“Yeah, District Attorney Kent.”
That name was meant to intimidate. Wesley was glad he’d already had that information. “She introduced herself to me on the patio,” he said.
“What were you doing on the patio?”
“Getting some air and having a smoke.”
“And she just came up and introduced herself.”
“Yeah. It was a party. Kind of what people do.”
“Were you wearing your colors?”
Wes tried to keep a straight face. “You mean my kutte?”
“Yeah, whatever.” The man’s body language said, A gang is a gang.
“Yes, I was wearing my kutte.”
“And still, she just walked right up to you?”
Annoyed, he said, “Yeah, right up to me like I was a human being.”
The other detective looked like he was biting back a smile. “So, after she introduced herself, then what?”
“She sat down, we shared a smoke and talked for a minute.”
“About?”
“Honestly, I don’t remember it all. She said something about not telling her sister Bri that she was there.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said they treated her like she was a kid...her sister and parents.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know, we made small talk and she kissed me.”
“She kissed you?”
Annoyed again Wes said, “Yes, right on the mouth.” The detective rolled his eyes.
“And then what?”
“Her sister came out onto the patio and she started yelling. She told me to get away from her sister and then they started yelling at each other.”
“What did you do?” The second detective spoke for the first time.
“I left, like she told me to.”
“You left the party?”
“Yeah, well, I got my friend and then I left.”
“Your friend? Would that be Buzz?”
“Yeah. We went to the party together. His girlfriend is a friend of Sabrina Kent’s.”
“So you left together?” Wesley nodded. He could feel sweat gathering on his forehead and wondered if that made him look guilty...and then suddenly he remembered the gun he left on his dresser. Fuck, that certainly does. “You left with Buzz...and no one else?”
“Yes.” Shit. Do they know? Did someone see her leave with us? Am I only making it worse by lying?
“Where did you go?”
“Home. Here.”
The detectives looked at each other like they knew differently...or maybe that was just his guilty conscience. “Did Mr....Buzz...come back here with you?”
“No. I assume he went home too.”
“You didn’t talk to him again last night?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to anyone last night?”
“Nope.”
“What did you do once you got home?”
“I went to bed.”
“How old are you, Mr. Anderson?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You came back here alone and went to bed at…What time was it?”
Fuck. He had no idea what time it was when they left the party. They got there around ten, stayed maybe an hour... “Around midnight, I guess.”
“Hmm, early for a young man.”
“It was Sunday night and it had been a long weekend. I was tired.”
“You’d been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“Drove yourself home on your Harley?”
Wes rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t drunk.”
“Too late to get you for that now, anyways,” detective number two said with a chuckle.
“Mr. Anderson, could we see the clothes you were wearing last night?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Why?”
“Why? Because we’re investigating a homicide. You might have been one of the last people to see Pamela Kent alive. Is there some reason you don’t want to show us your clothes?”
“I just can’t understand what you’d need then for. I’d like to talk to my attorney before I agree to anything like that.” The detectives shared another look.
“Well, that’s your choice. Maybe we should finish this at the station.”
Fuck. “We’re not finished?”
“We’re fingerprinting anyone with access to the room in your clubhouse where Miss Kent was killed. You had access to that room, didn’t you?”
“Which room was it?”
The detective smiled, like he knew Wes already knew the answer. “First one on the right at the top of the stairs.”
“Yeah. I’ve been in that room.”
“Mr. Anderson, what are those rooms used for?”
Wes shrugged. “Sleeping, mostly.”
“Not for sex?”
“I guess they can be used for that too...like any bedroom.”
“You ever take a girl up there?”
“Not usually. I have my own apartment.”
“Hmm, okay.” The detective stood up and the other followed suit. Wheelie sat still in the recliner. “We should get going.”
Wheelie stood up. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, sir. We just want to get your fingerprints so that we can start eliminating people.”
“So, I can meet you at the station?”
“We can give you a ride there and back.”
“I’d rather meet you.”
They looked at each other and then Martin said, “That’s fine. Say, half an hour?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
Wesley waited for them to leave and then he went and got his gun. Before he left the apartment, he called Dax and arranged for one of the guys to pick up his gun on the way. There were tunnels on the ranch that even Wesley couldn’t find if he wanted to. At least it would be one less thing they could use against him.
“Hey, Dax,” he said, before hanging up. “They want my clothes from last night.”
“Take a t-shirt and jeans. Dig a pair out of the clothes hamper. We got rid of everything you were wearing except your kutte. Hopefully if there’s any DNA on that, it’s just her saliva.”
6
“Place and hold your fingers on the screen until this light here turns green.” Wesley had been arrested before, more than once. He’d been fingerprinted the old way, with the messy ink, and he’d been fingerprinted with the Live Scan, which was a lot easier, but not any less nerve-wracking.
The officer held onto each one of his fingers, rolling and pressing them into the screen, until all ten digits were printed. He checked the screen one last time and then said, “Down the hall, second door on the left.” Wes could only assume that’s where the detectives were waiting. Dax had said to hold off on calling Darwin. They didn’t want him to look guilty before the police were talking about arresting him. Doing this alone was a little more nerve-wracking than it would be with Darwin there, but he knew Dax was right. So far, no matter what they thought they knew, they didn’t have a murder weapon and if Dax was right, they wouldn’t be able to put him in that room. And Dax was always right.
He went down the short hall and knocked on the second door. “Yep!” Wheelie opened it a crack and said:
“Wes Anderson.”
“Yep, come on in.” He pushed open the door and saw the two detectives that had been at his apartment. He breathed a little easier that Bartholomew Kent wasn’t there too. He was the one that Wesley dreaded facing the most. The man was a master of intimidation and although Wheelie had never met him face to face, he’d
seen him on television and heard all the stories from the guys at the club who had to go up against him in one capacity or another. And then there was the small fact that this was his daughter, his baby girl.
Wheelie closed the door and pulled out one of the folding chairs and sat down. He looked up at the mirrored glass across from him and wondered who was back there. Willing himself not to sweat, he tucked his shaky hands into his lap, underneath the table. “I brought the clothes in. I left them with the desk sergeant. He said he’d take care of them.”
“Good, thank you. We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Anderson.”
“You’re welcome. I’m just not really sure what else I can tell you.”
“Well, for starters, did you have sex with Miss Kent before she died?”
“What? No.” Shit. We used a condom. What if it leaked? Fuck!
“The medical examiner said she had sex just prior to the murder.”
“Okay. I wasn’t there though, remember?”
“So you say. Dax Marshall has surveillance tape on that ranch, doesn’t he? Everyone that comes in and out is on tape, right?”
“Yes.” Wheelie didn’t doubt that with everything else Dax thought of, he’d thought of that too. They’d switched out tapes before. Gunner had a friend that was some kind of computer genius and he worked for Dax sometimes on call. He could make people disappear right out of a frame if they needed him to.
“We’ve requested a warrant for those tapes.”
“Okay.”
“Will we see you driving in with Miss Kent on your bike?”
Wheelie rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, but how many times are you going to make me repeat this? I wasn’t there.” The door on the opposite side of the room flew open and slammed into the wall behind it. Wheelie’s body jerked at the sound. A man in what looked like a very expensive, tailored blue suit had stepped inside. He had blond hair and green eyes. Even if Wheelie didn’t recognize him from television, he recognized Sabrina Kent’s face, or at least where she got hers from.
He leaned over the table in between the detectives and said, “How many times? I’ll tell you how many times, you worthless thug...!”
