Sinister Winds (Storm Series Book 2), page 17
He glanced at her abdomen. “I trust everything is okay in that department?”
“Yes, my baby is fine,” Abby said, limiting her answer.
Rivers’ face remained stoic. “It says here you made an outside call while you were in the hospital.”
“I had to let a friend know I was safe,” she said, meeting his stare.
He opened the folder and glanced at the contents. “Your friend… that would be Kevin Bishop, whose house you have been staying in since you arrived in Virginia, correct?”
“It was his father’s house,” Abby said, pulling at her shirt once more.
“Kevin was your neighbor in New Orleans, was he not?”
Abby nodded.
“Please answer using words,” Rivers told her.
“That’s right,” Abby said firmly.
“Are you and Mr. Bishop romantically involved?” Rivers asked, closing the folder.
She giggled.
“Your words, Mrs. Buckley, and I assure you there is nothing funny about your current situation.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…well…have you ever met Kevin?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” Rivers said.
“Oh, I assure you the pleasure will be all his. Mr. Rivers, Kevin is gay.”
“I see.” A blush crept up the man’s face as his eyes darted to the mirror. Abby wondered if it was because she’d embarrassed him or if whoever was listening had not bothered to mention that to him before he came into the room. “So, you did not murder your husband so the two of you could be together?” Rivers asked, regaining his composure.
“My husband drowned in the flood,” she said pointedly.
“Please answer my question.”
“No.”
“No, you’re not answering?”
“No, I did not murder my husband, and no, Kevin and I are not lovers,” Abby informed him.
“Not yet?”
“Not in this lifetime,” Abby said, leaving little room for further questions on the subject.
“You said your husband drowned.”
“He did.”
“Yet, somehow you managed to get out. How convenient.” His eyes were fixed on hers, gauging her reaction.
“Would you have preferred I drown with him?” Abby asked. His gaze traveled the length of her arms as if searching for something. She steadied herself, fighting the urge to shield herself against his stare. The bruises were gone, but she knew that was the evidence he was looking for.
“Your husband beat you over and over from your own admission. You’re saying a man could do that to you, and you did not wish to cause him harm?”
“Mr. Rivers, my husband drowned,” she repeated. Better to stick to the truth and admit nothing.
“Your husband had a record and was known for his violent outbursts. It’s understandable for a woman to get angry. Especially a woman who has a child to protect,” Rivers said, eyeing her stomach.
Jacob had a record? She’d known him all her life and had never heard…Mr. Jefferies would have told her if Jacob had a record. Abby realized Rivers was playing her. She worked to keep her voice steady. “My husband is dead. What happened between us died with him.”
Rivers uncrossed his legs and leaned in closer. “Mrs. Buckley, would you happen to know anything about the bullet holes found in your husband’s office?”
She’d forgotten the gun during her escape, but it wasn’t her gun; it was Merrick’s. Surely her fingerprints would have been washed away during the flood. She shrugged. “You said it yourself, Mr. Rivers, my husband had quite the temper. I’m sure if they were thorough, they also found a bullet hole in the bedroom. Just another day at Buckley Manor.”
His lips spread with a hint of a smile. “Yet you had no reason to kill the man?”
She met his stare. “Mr. Rivers, did you find a bullet hole in my husband?”
He shook his head. “We did not.”
“Did you find any sign of trauma that would lead you to believe I killed my husband?”
“The autopsy reports state that Jacob Buckley drowned,” he said in answer to her question.
Not able to stop herself, Abby continued. “Were you in New Orleans during the hurricane?”
The barest hint of a smile played on the man’s lips. “I was not.”
“Did you at least watch it on the news?” Abby asked.
“Of course I did,” Rivers replied.
“Then you know there were many unfortunate deaths in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. My husband just happened to be one of them. I’m tired of all these questions. Tired of being made to feel guilty that I survived,” Abby said wearily.
Rivers opened the folder and produced a picture, holding it out for her to see. “Do you recognize this trunk?”
A chill slid through her and she fought the urge to rub her arms. “Yes, I do.”
“There were marks on the floor to suggest that someone pushed the trunk over the opening to perhaps prevent someone from following. There are bullet holes in the ceiling to suggest that someone was not pleased about that,” he said, keeping the photo in her field of vision.
“Detective Rivers, look at me. I’m five-foot-three, pregnant, and was severely dehydrated at the time of the hurricane. How in heaven’s name do you think I could have moved that trunk on my own?” She paused, hoping he had an answer because she’d asked herself that same question many times.
“Do you know what was in that trunk?” Detective Rivers asked, lowering the photo and changing his tactic.
Her head jerked up. What on earth did the contents of the trunk have to do with the fact that she’d used it to kill her husband? She shook her head.
“Remember, we are supposed to use our words, Mrs. Buckley,” he said in a condescending tone.
“No.”
“Allow me to repeat the question. Do you know what was in that trunk?” he said, speaking to her as if she were a child and placing emphasis on each word.
She’d heard the question. She just didn’t understand the relevance. She suddenly wondered at the contents. Contents so bad even Kevin hadn’t told her what he’d seen, at least she didn’t think he had. She searched her mind, trying to recall if he’d ever said anything. If he had, she couldn’t recall him doing so. “No, the trunk was always locked.”
Rivers stared at her for several seconds. She wasn’t sure if he was searching his mind for his next question or hoping she’d reconsider her answer. “But you do recognize the trunk as belonging to you?”
“No,” Abby replied.
“Mrs. Buckley, you stated the opposite a few moments ago,” he reminded her.
“No, I said I recognized it. The trunk does not belong to me. It is my husband’s. Was,” she said, correcting herself.
“You’re going to tell me the trunk was in your house, and you never got curious enough to open it and see what was inside?” He showed her the photo once more, holding it in front of her face for several moments as if doing so would jar her memory.
She stared at the picture without answering.
“Mrs. Buckley, I asked if you ever opened the trunk to see what was inside.” Rivers’ voice was tight.
“You can keep me here all night and keep rephrasing the question any way you’d like, but I have never seen inside that trunk,” Abby said truthfully.
Rivers shoved the photo back in the folder and stood so abruptly that his chair scooted backward. He cocked his head, stared at her intently, then left the room without another word.
Abby shifted in her seat, wondering how long they had searched to find the perfect chairs which would elicit a fast confession. She cast a glance at the mirror, wondering what was going on in the other room. She thought once again about switching to the other chair and had just made up her mind to do so when the door opened.
Rivers came into the room, wielding two paper coffee cups, and offered her one.
Abby shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“You don’t care for coffee?” He seemed surprised.
“Mr. Rivers, you’ve never been around a pregnant woman, have you? I’ve been in this room for several hours, sitting on probably the world’s most uncomfortable chair. If I were to drink anything at this point, I would not be able to hold my bladder long enough to make it to the bathroom,” she said irritably.
To his credit, he actually looked concerned. “No one has allowed you a bathroom break?”
“Once. But that doesn’t matter. I’m pregnant, remember? I had to go within five minutes of returning to our little cubicle.” She stopped short of telling him she was ready to confess to murder just so she could empty her bladder, take a shower, and change into an orange jumpsuit, just so she could be rid of the blood and go lie on a cot in her cell.
The door clicked open and Detective Remmy stuck her head inside.
Rivers looked up to see who had entered. “Detective Remmy?”
His partner. Abby sighed as the blonde entered the room. This must be where they start the good cop, bad cop routine.
Detective Remmy smiled. “Ready for a bathroom break?”
Oh, thank goodness, she must have heard my comment through the two-way mirror. Hoisting herself out of the chair, Abby followed her down the hall, admiring the woman’s slim figure. It had been months since she’d seen her own waist. She started to say as much, but the woman hadn’t spoken to her other than asking if she had to go to the restroom, and she didn’t want to open the door to another barrage of questions. She’d seen enough television shows to know the woman was probably a plant, waiting for Abby to open up about her unfair detainment. No way she was going to fall for that. Unless Remmy started the conversation, she would keep her mouth shut; even then, she would choose her words wisely.
Once inside the bathroom stall, she locked the door and leaned against the wall, enjoying the brief reprieve. If her hunch about going to prison was right, it could be her last moment of privacy. While she wasn’t truly alone, there were no mirrors watching. She used the bathroom, enjoying the relief of having emptied her bladder. Unable to shake the memory of Edward’s blood, she took her time washing her hands.
“Feel better?” Detective Remmy asked.
Abby rubbed at the small of her back. “Parts of me do,” Abby said and headed for the door. The woman reached around her and opened the door. There were no further questions as they walked back to the room.
“Take the other seat if you please, Mrs. Buckley,” Rivers said when she entered the room alone.
Abby sighed as she sank onto the comfy cushion. Rivers sat in the hard chair and shifted several times. Not finding a position that suited him, he rose and proceeded to pace the room.
“Mrs. Buckley, were you aware of what your husband did for a living?” he asked, resuming the earlier line of questioning.
“Not entirely.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” he said.
“I had thought maybe he was into drugs or with the mob.”
“You thought this before you agreed to marry him?”
“Of course not.” Even though Abby was sure he’d been listening in while she was talking to Detective Remmy, she repeated what she had told the woman about what Kevin had found on the computer. Unable to stop herself, she told about the clippings they’d found in the album and her suspicions regarding her own abduction. She told him about Brian and her “adoptive” parents and everything else she knew while leaving out that Merrick had caught them snooping or that Kevin had hit him with the lamp.
Rivers sat in the chair once more and listened intently as she spoke. Every now and again, he shifted in his seat. “So you found all this out just before your husband’s death, and yet you insist you had nothing to do with the man’s death?”
How many more times would he insist on asking her that? Seriously, either arrest me or let me go, but stop with the damn questioning. Abby sighed. “Mr. Rivers, I assure you that while I might wish I had never met my husband and wished him dead many times since our wedding day, I did not kill him.”
Rivers stood. “That’s right, he drowned. But why was that, Mrs. Buckley? How was it you were able to get up into the attic, but your husband couldn’t?”
Something inside her snapped, and suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. She was tired of being in a room without windows. Tired of her bladder, which was once again feeling full, and tired of the cat and mouse games, which at this point might or might not get her sent to prison. “Because I couldn’t pull the damn trigger!” she screamed. “I had the gun pointed at him. I wanted to shoot him for all he’d put me through, but I couldn’t follow through with it. My husband actually smiled while admitting to killing everyone I have ever loved. He’d just confessed to selling our child and told me there was not a damn thing I could do about it, and yet I couldn’t put a friggin bullet in his skull!”
The door clicked open, interrupting her confession as Detective Remmy entered and handed her a handful of tissues. Abby wiped the tears from her eyes, not knowing when they had begun.
“I think we’ve heard enough, Mrs. Buckley. The autopsy said your husband drowned. Why don’t we just leave it at that,” she said softly. “Go to the bathroom and compose yourself.”
Abby blinked her confusion. “You believe me? Does that mean I can go?”
The woman glanced at the mirror. “There are still a couple of things we need to clarify, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”
Chapter Nineteen
Abby opened the door to the interrogation room, saw Belinda Winters standing in the center of the room, and froze. For a moment, she found herself wondering if they’d brought Belinda in to testify to what she had told her on the plane, a thought that was quickly dispelled when Belinda pulled the edge of her suit coat back to reveal a badge.
Belinda smiled. “Hello, Abigail. How are you holding up?”
Abby narrowed her eyes at the woman. “You’re a cop?”
“FBI,” Belinda clarified.
“All those questions?” Abby searched her mind for anything she might have said.
“Were answered the same as they were today,” she replied.
“So, you lied to me,” Abby said. “All that concern and showing me how to get to my gate. Is your name really even Belinda?”
“Yes, that is my name, although here, they call me Agent Winters. Sit; we’ll both be more comfortable,” she said, pointing to the chairs.
Abby turned to see a third chair had been brought into the room. She sat and waited for Belinda to join her. “Do you really believe me or is this just another of your tricks to try and get me to change my story?”
“It’s not a trick.” Belinda glanced toward the mirror. “We believe that your husband drowned.”
“But?”
Belinda held her stare for a solid minute then lowered her eyes to scan the outlines of Abby’s unseen bruises. Bruises that had still been somewhat visible when they’d last met. When done, Belinda pushed off the chair and stood facing the mirror. “Mrs. Buckley, you have been through a great deal. Your husband’s death must be very upsetting.” Belinda turned to her. “Your husband’s death was a tragic accident. There is no need to ever relive it.”
Abby was stunned. “You mean?”
“I mean your husband was an evil man. Between what we found in the trunk and on the attic computer, there is not a jury in the country that would convict you. Hell, they’d name a street after you if they thought for a moment that you’d helped rid the world of such an awful man. Now, don’t you think it would be best to save the taxpayers’ money and let the man drown?”
“He did drown,” Abby reminded her.
Belinda lowered her voice to a whisper. “Yes, but we both know the water had a bit of help taking him.”
Abby stared at her wide-eyed, admitting nothing.
Belinda kept her voice low. “You did what you had to do to survive, Abigail. I would have done the same if in your shoes.” Belinda moved about the room and spoke in a normal tone. “The autopsy states the cause of death as drowning. Other than the damage from being underwater for an extended period of time, there is no evidence of foul play on your part. I think it is safe to assume the scratches we found on the attic floor were made by your husband, who, on occasion, moved the trunk over the opening to keep you from bothering him.”
The relief washed over Abby like a wave as a new onset of tears trickled down her face. “Then why put me through all of this if you were going to let me go?”
“We had to make sure you were not a willing accomplice.”
Abby laughed through her tears. “You mean you thought there was a chance that I enjoyed serving as my husband’s punching bag?”
Belinda shrugged. “You’d be surprised what people get off on.”
“I am not one of those people.” Abby sniffed and thought of all the things Jacob had done to her, how he’d controlled the narrative of her life up until this very moment, and what he’d done to those she cared for. “So, after everything he did, Jacob gets off scot-free?”
“You mean besides being dead?” Belinda reminded her. “The investigation is far from over. We believe Jacob to have been the mastermind of the operation, but there are others out there who have either taken his place or are in a war to see who ends up on top. Thanks to you, we have two of the top tiers.”
“Jacob told me he sold our child,” Abby said. “He said it wouldn’t matter if he were dead or not, that they would find me and take my child away. I thought maybe he was just trying to scare me, but now I know it to be true.”
“That’s why Nathan Riggs was at the house,” Belinda said.
“Yes, but it’s not just him,” Abby said. “Jacob told me our baby would never be mine. He said I can’t protect her.”
“Let’s stick with Nathan for a moment. He followed you to Virginia. Did he say how?”
Abby searched her mind, trying to figure out a way to answer without incriminating Kevin. She pictured Edward’s body and burst into tears, knowing she was responsible for his death. “It’s all my fault! Nathan wouldn’t have been there if not for me. Edward is dead, and it’s all my fault.”
