Authors: Wendy Potocki
“You're going in with me?”
“Couldn't keep me away.”
Una ran to Melissa when she entered. Clasping her arms over her shoulders, Viktor sat on one of the entry way couches. His torso heavily perched on top of the cane planted between his muscular legs, one or two students leaned nervously over the banister, trying to catch wind of what was going on.
”Sergeant,” Todd greeted, approaching the older police officer who stood with hat in hand, his shoulder pressing against the far wall.
“Todd?” Brent Larabee responded. Reconstituting into a self-supportive posture, his eyes narrowed. His eyebrows quizzically poised, his partner, Foster Lake, rose from a seated position, his thumb tucking into his belt.
“Ladies,” Todd said, “I’d like a word alone with the Sergeant, if you don't mind.”
“I don't think that would be a good idea, Todd,” Larabee countered. “We can go over this … later,” he insisted, firm in the implication that any other time and place would better than this. Foster caught Larabee's eyes, letting him know he was there if needed.
Todd didn't take the hint. Tugging the Sergeant by his arm, the rough handling elicited a slow burn from Sergeant Brent Larabee. Remaining silent about the hostility it provoked, Todd was a good kid. Possessing a lot of potential, the problem was reduced to police officers being human, and sometimes getting personally involved in things they shouldn’t. Glancing at Melissa, he wasn’t going to waste too much time wondering why.
Lake was not about to be left out. Quietly positioning himself to the side, he listened in, lending his presence. While he was closer in age with Larabee, he was friendlier with Todd—at least in private. Although the two fraternized outside of work, Larabee was still his partner, and when on duty, his loyalty was with him.
“Sir, all I want to know is what this is about? It looks almost as if you were waiting for Ms. Solange. If you were, I’d like to know why.”
Brent let out a deep breath, giving himself a second or two to calm down. He didn't want to blow up in front of all these people. It wouldn't do the department any good for them to witness fractious behavior, but most of all, it wouldn't get the case closer to being solved. If nothing else, Sergeant Larabee was all about getting it done.
“Son, you’d better not use that tone with me again. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, sir.” Holding back the tide of other responses, he hoped the dam he’d erected didn't burst. If it did, he'd be looking for a new career.
“Good. I got a call about an hour ago from a Mr. Cappella. He said his daughter was missing. He’d received a text message from her early this morning. It said that she was headed home, but she never made it. His daughter was attending this school so I drove here to ask Ms. Velofsky if what Mr. Cappella said was true. I found out that it was, and that his daughter had left this note,” he said, holding the paper encased in plastic in his hand. “Unfortunately, it’s already been handled more times than a stripper at a frat party. And it’s printed out, so anyone could have left it.”
“What does it say?” Todd asked, staring at the parcel of folded paper that went back in Larabee's pocket.
“That Mr. Cappella's daughter was quitting and heading home. Hence the call from the distressed father.”
“I see,” he stated, exhaling deeply, “but what does this have to do with Melissa?”
“Not that I owe you an explanation, but I’ll give you one to show how foolish you’re being. Ms. Solange was the roommate of the missing girl, and the last one to have seen her so I want to ask
your little friend
a few questions, if that's okay with you, that is.”
Fuck! Brent was just doing his damned job. He’d been completely wrong to interfere, but he still didn't like it. Glancing over his shoulder, fear was written all over Melissa’s face.
“I apologize. And she is just a friend.”
“Really?” Larabee asked with a trace of sleaziness oozing like a sexual lubricant. “You buy bouquets for friends because if you do, I sure haven’t received one. How about you, Foster?”
“Hey, knock it off! And I’m not telling you that again!” he demanded, shaking a finger at the senior officer. Lake stepped in between, putting a hand on his chest. Backing him away, Todd persisted. “Look, we don't agree about women—we’ve already gotten that much established. And I owned up to being wrong. You might want to try to do the same.”
“I understand, son” Larabee commiserated, putting his hand on Todd's shoulder. Not hyperbole, he really did understand. He'd been young and in love once upon a time. Since then he'd become jaded, but there was no reason that the blossoming romance between the two lovebirds wouldn't work out. No reason at all.
Todd meekly moved to the right, hesitating a moment.
“Maybe I could sit in and ...”
“No,” Larabee responded. Not about to let a moon-eyed rookie be a part of the interview, it’s where he was drawing the line. “Melissa Solange?” Larabee asked, approaching with a sticky smile.
“Yes,” she shyly responded, clasping Una's hands as if they were preventing her from tumbling over a cliff.
“I'm Sergaent Larabee, and this is my partner, Detective Lake. I don't know if you've heard, but your roommate has gone missing.”
“Brandi?” she yelped, looking up at Una and then at Todd pleadingly. “I don't understand. She left a note.”
“Yes, but she never made it home. Her dad’s worried sick.”
“Oh, my God!” she gasped, tightening her hold on Una's arm. “No, I didn't know,” she said to Larabee. “I didn't!” she repeated more fervently looking to Una and Todd.
“Nobody's saying you did, but we think you might be able to help us.”
“How?”
“By answering a few questions?”
“You don't have to, darling,” Una assured.
Todd relaxed. Glad that Una had said that for him, he was in enough trouble for stopping an active investigation.
“No, it's alright. I don't mind. Really,” she responded, shadowing Larabee and Lake into
Tracey’s office.
Looking around at the chairs, she wasn’t sure of where to sit.
“You can pick any spot you want,” Larabee commented. Putting on a friendly act, the deceptive gentility was used to get her to relax. She was the key to finding out what happened. Not in the mood to play around, he needed to find the missing girl. He didn't want another Barbara Moore. Not on his watch.
Melissa opted for one of the two wooden chairs. Spinning it around, she faced the two police officers. Slipping off her jacket, she folded it across her lap, placing the bouquet on top. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through the faux fur trimming of her hood.
“Nervous?” Larabee began, noticing the telltale fidgeting.
“No,” she replied. Her eyes meeting his, they kept going. The trail ended at her unpainted nails that were in the process of stroking the synthetic material. “Oh, sorry,” she apologized.
“No need to be,” he said tugging up his pant leg, and sitting down on the chair that he pulled next to hers.
She could smell his breath. A mixture of coffee and breath mints, it was getting her queasy. His eyes hooded by wrinkles and a sagging upper lid, the pouches underneath completed the picture. Recognizing the signs, this man drank too much. Whether it was in the past, or still continuing, he liked alcohol a little too much for her taste. Her attitude towards him changed in a heartbeat.
Sitting back, her arms crossed over her chest. Concentrating on the kindly, sandy-haired man standing in the background, he was someone she could trust. His face marked by the cross-hatching of honesty and maturity, in the scheme of things, it wasn't a bad combination at all.
“As I said, your roommate didn't arrive home and her father is very worried, as I'm sure you can appreciate.”
“Oh, course! I'm sure my father would flip out if he couldn't find me, but ...”
“But what?”
“But how do you know she's not just ... “
“Just what? Cooling down?” he asked, gauging her reaction.
“What?”
“I think you know what I mean, You two had a humdinger of a fight. And it was right on the night before she disappeared.”
He knew! She closed her eyes, hanging her head. Why hadn't she seen that coming? It hadn't even occurred to her that it would play into what happened. How could it? Brandi had gone home. The note said so. Rubbing her forehead, her brain was racing to process the information as Una slipped into the room. Larabee shot her a look, using a snap of his fingers to alert his partner of what was happening. Lake went up to Una, heated whispers exchanged.
“I'm not leaving!” Una insisted. Challenging Larabee with a withering glare, he called off his partner. Making her way behind the desk, he let her stay put.
“It wasn't really a fight,” Missy finally replied.
“Really? What was it?”
“Just a disagreement.”
“You usually go storming out of a room and threatening to kill people that you disagree with?”
Una's disapproving clucks were heard, but Melissa kept her eyes forward.
“I had been left out in the woods, remember? I was kind of not myself.”
“That's understandable. I'd be mad, too. So you confronted her about it, and then left about ... what time was it when you left?”
“I guess it was about 7:00.”
“And where did you go?”
She paused, trying to think of what to say. She couldn't tell them about going to the studio. If Una knew, she'd get in trouble.
“To the cafeteria. To get something to eat. Una said to.”
Una nodded to Larabee, confirming her statement.
“That's funny, because none of your friends remember seeing you.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. She was tired of this guy trying to trap her in a lie. Not about to get caught, she was used to it. Lying was the only way she'd survived in the household she had been unlucky enough to be born into.
“That's because I wanted to go unnoticed. I was tired, and I’d just had a fight ...” she said catching herself “...a
disagreement
with my friend. I wanted time alone.”
“How much time?”
“What does that mean?” she replied, her eyes shifting around the room, like a pigeon looking for a place to roost.
“I mean, how long were you gone? You did come back, didn’t you?”
“Of course, I came back!” she lied. Covering her tracks, it reminded her of old times where she would lie about nothing. A practice started so she could keep a little piece of herself separate from what was going on, she never wanted her mother to know anything. It felt good to betray her like her mother constantly did her.
“Then what time did you get back? It's a simple enough question.”
About to blurt out an answer, she thought the time she gave wouldn't matter, but it would. At the last moment she remembered that Brandi's father called his daughter at 10:00 each night.
“11:30.”
“That’s mighty late. What’d you do all that time?”
“Stayed in the cafeteria. It’s left open all night for us to use the vending machines and tables. I didn’t want to go back until she was asleep, so I waited until I thought she’d be
asleep.”
“You sure about this? Because that's when Mr. Cappella said he called, and he swears Brandi said you weren't there.”
Her heart started to pound. He was bluffing. He had to be. Brandi was in bed by 11:00 PM each night. It's why she’d wait until 11:30 to return to the room, but maybe something had happened? Maybe they had called later? No, even if they had missed the appointed time, they would never have woken her up to say hello. Never. She decided to call the man that had anted up the pot.
“I'm sure,” she answered. Confident, she swung her leg in victory.
Scratching his chin, while there were plenty of witnesses to her exit, there were none to her reappearance. Playing a hunch, it failed to shake her story.
“And what happened when you returned? Cause I can tell you right now that she didn't mention leaving school to her father ... or mother. Don't you think that's strange?”
It was, but she couldn't say that. It wouldn't work to her advantage if she agreed.
“No, not at all. She thought they would try to talk her out of it. At least that's what she told me.”
“So you two talked about it?”
“Yes, when I got back. It turned out that she was still up … packing.”
“She was?”
“Yes.”
“At 11:30 at night?”
“Well, she was almost done. She just had a few things left and ... I was .... I was surprised.”
“And what did you say?”
“I asked her what she was doing. She said she was leaving school.”
“And?”
“And I thought it had something to do with our ... disagreement. I mean, I had said some pretty horrible things. So I asked her if she was leaving because of the fight. She said she wasn't—that it was a lot of other things.”
“Like?”
“Like the fact that it was her family's decision to involve her in dance. That was the career that they chose for her. She wanted to do other things. Then there was something else ... I don't know if I should say. It was supposed to be a secret,” she said, biting her lip and blinking her eyes. Praying that Larabee would insist she tell him.