Running Away With You (Running #3)

by Suzanne Sweeney

“Did Mr. Jorgenson ever force you, hold you down, or cause you any physical harm?” Hodan asks.

  “Ever?” I ask him to clarify.

  “Yes, Miss Fletcher, ever. On that day or any other day, did he ever physically cause you bodily harm?” he asks, frustrated with my answers.

  I shake my head. As much as I’d like to be able to tell them he did, I can’t lie. “No,” I grudgingly admit.

  “What did Mr. Jorgenson like to do with his free time?” Hayes inquires.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I honestly tell him.

  Hodan jumps in. “You know, was he into sports, movies, NASCAR? Anything like that?”

  “David wasn’t really the athletic type. We used to get together with our friends and play poker a lot, I guess. Sometimes a little blackjack. Nothing serious.” The two men nod and scribble more notes.

  “I’d like to go back to the video footage from the hotel,” Hayes redirects. “There are two men who are seen coming to your room fairly late in the evening. Would that be Mr. Lattimer and Mr. Deegan?”

  “How do you know about them?” I ask, stunned.

  “Just answer the question, please. Is that Mr. Lattimer and Mr. Deegan entering your room?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “Auggie and Derek are good friends of mine. They thought I might be ... they were afraid I ... ” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without suggesting there was a problem.

  “They were afraid for you?” Hodan asks.

  Gavin steps in. “Hearsay. My client cannot tell you what the men were thinking at the time.”

  Hodan crafts his question in a different way. “Well, perhaps you can tell me this. Would you be able to account for Mr. Lattimer’s whereabouts from the time he entered your hotel room until the time you left for the airport?”

  I think back. He left for a few hours. Auggie and I had to wait up for him. Shit. What do I say? “I’m not sure,” I tell him. “Evan and I were fighting and I was very upset at the time.”

  I look over to Gavin for help. He gives me nothing. No indication whatsoever.

  “Would you be surprised to learn that we have images of Mr. Lattimer leaving the hotel at ten o’clock and not returning until after midnight?” Hodan asks.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I tell him.

  “Where do you think he went?”

  Again I look to Gavin for help. “Try again,” he tells him.

  Hodan rephrases. “Okay. Do you know where he went?”

  “No, I do not,” I answer honestly.

  “And Mr. Deegan. Do you happen to know where he went between the hours of two and three a.m.?” he asks. Since I’m not very good at hiding my emotions, the shock must be evident on my face. “I’m guessing you weren’t aware that he left the room at all.”

  “No, I was not,” I answer. Shit. I didn’t even know Auggie had left the room. But then again, I was in bed by then.

  “And what about Mr. Cooke? He came to visit you that day too? Is that not correct?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Shortly after your altercation with Mr. McGuire. Would that be so?”

  “Yes.”

  “He isn’t seen coming back to the hotel until much later that night. Would you be able to tell me where he was during that time?”

  I know Adam took Evan to see the trainer to get his hand checked out after punching the elevator wall, but I don’t want to tell them. I’m afraid to tell them Evan got violent. I will protect him at all costs.

  “No idea,” I lie. “I didn’t see him again until we returned to New Jersey.” At least that part is true.

  “Fair enough,” Hodan expresses. “We’re almost done here, Miss Fletcher.” He flips through his notes and settles on something that interests him. He reads it over, and then addresses me once again. “When is the last time you saw Mr. Jorgensen?”

  “When he left my room,” I answer truthfully.

  “And do you know where he went when he left your room?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened to him on the night of the 28th?”

  “No.”

  “We have witnesses from the Hyatt where Mr. Jorgenson was staying who claim he was at the bar drinking with someone; a young man. The only description I have is that the man was in his late twenties, tall, and physically fit. Do you have any idea who they could be describing?”

  “No idea,” I tell him. Shit. It could be Adam, Derek, or Auggie. But then again, it could be any one of a million other people too.

  Detective Muller looks over at the detectives, and they nod to her. She clicks a few times and closes the laptop. “Okay. We’re done here.”

  The three get up and leave the room. Before Hodan steps out the door, he turns back and says, “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” And out they go, leaving me stripped bare and feeling more violated than David ever did.

  I turn to Gavin. “So now what?”

  “We wait. I have a few phone calls to make. I may be able to find out more about their case.” He puts his pad away, grabs his briefcase, and walks out the door, leaving me alone once again. I put my head down on the table, cradled by my arms, and replay every word I said, wondering if I said anything to hurt myself. Or to hurt one of my friends.

  An older woman comes in and asks if I would like any coffee or a light meal. Apparently my interrogation went from breakfast right through lunch. “Maybe a bottle of water if it’s not too much trouble,” I tell her. I have no appetite.

  I sit there alone for hours with nothing to distract me. I feel like I might lose my mind. Four walls, a table, and four chairs. Nothing else. Not even a scrap of paper to doodle on. I occasionally get up and look out the window, but it’s up high in the wall and quite narrow. There’s not much to see other than billowy clouds as they lazily drift past.

  This can’t be good. If they were going to release me, surely they would have done it by now. But on the other hand, if they wanted to transfer me into the custody of the Indianapolis P.D., they would have done that by now too.

  In my mind, I have devised a scenario to explain my limbo. They have no direct evidence that I’ve done anything wrong. They are trying to find something to use against me, but they have nothing. They won’t release me until they’ve exhausted every opportunity.

  I know I haven’t done anything wrong, so I take some solace in that. Being stupid, foolish, and naïve isn’t a crime, so far as I know.

  It feels like I’ve been in this room for an eternity. The sky is now illuminated with shades of red and orange and I can see the sun settling lower on the horizon. I try to estimate how many hours I’ve been here. I was picked up around nine. It’s now somewhere near five. Is it possible I’ve been here for eight hours? What must be going through Evan’s mind right now? Hopefully Gavin has spoken with him.

  Speaking of Gavin, where is he? Why hasn’t he come back to check on me? I feel so alone and isolated. I can see now how people can get fooled into confessing to a crime they didn’t commit. If someone told me that by signing a simple confession, I could go home, I would be tempted.

  As it begins to get dark outside, they bring me a sandwich and another bottle of water. I guess this is my meal. It’s a cross between hospital food and something you might find in a vending machine. I take an experimental bite, and that’s all I can manage.

  Finally Gavin comes back to join me, his expression grim. I’m not optimistic.

  He sits down across from me and takes my hands in his. “Okay, they’re going to keep you overnight while they bring in Adam, Derek, and August for questioning. It’s just a formality to see if their stories correlate to yours. Evan asked me to get them their own counsel. I have a colleague of mine on his way down.”

  His words slowly sink in. I’ve answered all their questions. I’ve fully cooperated. But they won’t release me. “Overnight?” I repeat.

  “Yes. You’re going to be taken to a cell with a cot. Try to get some sleep.”
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  “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here overnight. They can’t keep me here. Tomorrow is Evan’s first playoff game. Gavin, please. Do whatever you can to get me out of here. I’m begging you, please.” I’m hyperventilating. It’s hard to breathe. This can’t be happening.

  “Juliette, calm down. Take a deep breath. There’s nothing either one of us can do right now. Is there anyone you want me to call?” he asks.

  “Does Evan ... know? How is he?” I ask, anxious to know, but afraid of the answer.

  “He’s here, but they won’t let him see you. I’m afraid you’re not allowed any visitors right now. I’m going to try to convince him to go home, too, and get some rest. It’s been a long and difficult day for the both of you.”

  “How long can they keep me here?” I ask, fearful of the answer.

  “Seventy-two hours,” he states plainly. My mind isn’t clear right now. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is slowing down my mind. “That’s ... wait ... are you telling me they can keep me for ... three days?”

  “Unless they book you. Then they can keep you until the trial. Unless, of course, you’re granted bail. In that case ... ” He stops talking. Thank God. “I’m sorry. We’re going to get you home in time to have breakfast with your fiancé.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by the entrance of another officer. “Ready?” he asks.

  I look at Gavin for assurance. “Juliette, you’re strong. You’ll be fine. I’ll see you early in the morning. Trust me.”

  The young officer escorts me down the hallway to the back of the precinct, toward a jail cell. An actual jail cell. There’s a cot, a blanket, and a pillow. That’s it. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. How did I end up here?

  The same older woman who brought me water earlier visits me again, this time carrying an armful of magazines. “Here, dear. I thought you might like to have something to read. They’re old, but, well, it’s all I could find lying around the precinct. Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll be here with you all night.” She passes them to me through the cell bars, and then retreats to a desk in the far corner of the room.

  I try to be brave. I want to be able to say I didn’t fall to pieces. I do my best to keep the tears to a minimum. Sleep might very well be my only escape from reality. I lie down and close my eyes, but my overactive mind keeps me wide awake and restless. The bed is lumpy. The blanket is uncomfortable. And the pillow is gross. I can’t stand the thought of it touching me. God only knows who else has laid their head on it.

  My mind reels with thoughts of all my men: Evan, Adam, Auggie, and Derek. Could one of them be detained like me, in a matching cell for men? Did any of them say anything that might make me look guilty? Did I say anything to implicate any of them? Will any of them ever speak to me again?

  After the longest night of my life, the sun begins to rise. The kind guard, whose name I’ve found out is Aileen, escorts me to the bathroom to freshen up. I take a look at myself in the mirror and I’m horrified by what I see. I’d forgotten that I was arrested right after a run on the beach. I’m a mess, and I know I must smell like yesterday’s trash. As if things weren’t humiliating enough.

  So I wash up as best I can, put my hair up into a messy bun, and resign myself to accepting the fate I’ve been given. Acceptance.

  Aileen has a breakfast tray waiting for me when I come out: coffee, banana, cereal, and milk. There’s a clock on the wall behind her desk and I see the time is early, barely seven. Gavin promised me I’d be able to have breakfast with Evan. He lied. What other false promises has he made?

  I still have no appetite, but if they bring me in for more questioning, there’s no doubt I’ll need to have a clear mind, so I do my best to at least finish the banana and coffee. I can use the caffeine to keep me alert.

  Aileen’s phone buzzes, and I hear a one-sided conversation I’m fairly certain is about me. She hangs up the phone and approaches my cell, unlocking it, and smiling. “Okay, Juliette,” she says, “are you ready to go home?”

  “Do you mean ... I can leave?” I ask, afraid she might change her answer.

  “Yes. The Indianapolis P.D. called, and they have no further questions for you at this time. You’re free to go,” she tells me as she walks me through the station. We go to the room where my personal belongings are locked in a closet. After checking and signing for them, I ask, “Should I call someone to pick me up?” I have no idea what to expect.

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. Your boyfriend has been here all night. He’s waiting for you right outside those doors.” She hands me a few more papers to sign, and then warns me, “I think you should prepare yourself. The press found out. They’re waiting outside for you. There are at least twenty of them out there. Photographers. News crews. You name it, they’re all there.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I didn’t want any of this to come out until after Evan’s season ended.

  “Take a deep breath,” she tells me. Aileen places her hand on the doorknob, then turns to me one last time. “Ready?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Keeping a Low Profile

  The door opens, and the first face I see is Evan’s, rushing toward me. He wraps me up in his strong arms and holds me tight for the longest time. I bury my face in his chest and just hold on. I hear sounds that I cannot distinguish, so I raise my head enough to take a look around. The moment I do, I regret my decision. The front of the lobby is a wall of glass, and standing on the sidewalk with lenses pointed directly at us are members of the press, capturing this incredibly private moment. Their muffled voices and offensive rapping on the glass successfully garner our attention.

  Evan takes my face in his hands and looks down at me with great care and concern, “Juliette, thank God. Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Tell me what you need.”

  Without missing a beat, I answer him. “I need to go home. Please take me home, Evan.”

  Out of the blue, I hear Adam’s voice. I didn’t even realize he was here. “Let’s get the hell out of here, then. My car is right out front. You’ve both been through this drill before. Hold your chins up; you have nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t answer any questions and don’t let them get under your skin. This isn’t the time or the place to be making any public statements. We’ll deal with that later. Let’s get you home, Jette.”

  And with that said, Adam, Gavin, and Evan escort me out the front door right into the feeding frenzy. We hurry down the sidewalk toward the car, practically running. Evan walks behind me, and every so often I feel his fingers touch my back when I’m not walking fast enough.

  We are surrounded and followed by almost thirty people. We have photographers and fans filming us, blinding us with flashes of light, and shouting questions at us. The cameras click nonstop.

  Adam jumps into the driver’s seat and Gavin safely deposits Evan and me into the back. He has one final word of advice for us before we leave. “Keep your mouths shut and do exactly what Adam tells you.” He slams the door, and Adam slowly pulls out of the parking lot, his path hindered by the crowds. Even as we drive out of the lot, photographers run alongside the car, continuing to take our picture.

  Once we’re on the road, it becomes easier to breathe. “Um, Juliette, baby, can you let go of my hand, just a little? I might need it for tonight’s game.” I jerk my hand away, not even having realized I was holding his hand in a death grip.

  “Oh, baby – before I forget. Please call your mother. She’s a wreck. She’s been calling me every hour on the hour for an update. If she doesn’t hear from you soon, she’s going to get in her car and come down here herself to make sure you’re okay.”

  Immediately and without hesitation, I grab my phone and call my mother. Not surprisingly, she answers on the first ring. It takes a little convincing to assure her that I’m okay, and I have to promise to call her after I get some rest.

  When I hang up, I hear Adam o
n his Bluetooth talking to someone. “Yeah, we’ll be there in five. How’s it look right now?”

  I hear Marcus’ strong voice booming on the speakers. “Right now, there’s only two out there. You shouldn’t have any problems getting in.”

  “Two what?” I ask Evan.

  “Paparazzi,” he answers sourly.

  I have an argument with myself in my head. Part of me wants desperately to go home, close the blinds, and climb into my bed, shutting out the rest of the world. But I know that when we get there, photographers will be waiting like vultures.

  Another part of me wants to keep driving. We can check into some hotel far away under fake names and hide out until all this nonsense goes away. But I’m afraid our ordeal is only beginning and we have a long road ahead of us.

  As Adam approaches our home, I spot some SUVs, a van, and a few cars parked across the street. There are two photographers on the sidewalk, but not the large crowd I had feared.

  Once we’re safely in our own driveway, Evan quickly leaps from the car and rushes to my door. He protectively keeps me on the inside of his arm, close to the house and away from the street. It doesn’t take long for the paparazzi to wake up and start clicking. A few photographers jump out of their vans, clicking their cameras fiercely.

  Marcus swings the door open, ushering the three of us safely inside, away from prying eyes. Once we’re behind closed doors, I get my first good look at Evan. Damn, he looks almost as bad as I feel. I look up at him and smile. “You need a shower, Chief.”

  “Look who’s talking. Did you get the license plate number of the truck that ran you over?” he teases.

  “I do feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck,” I admit.

  Adam immediately takes control of the situation. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. The two of you are going to take a shower and get some sleep. Marcus and I are staying right here to run interference. Both of you need to leave your cell phones with us. We’ll handle things from here.” Evan and I look at each other and nod. “Mac, I’m getting you up at noon so you can be on the field by two. Your game’s not until five and I need you in top form. Can you do that for me?”