“I’m sorry. The last few months have been a little hectic, taking care of a baby and everything,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to be here.
"I understand. I have two daughters myself." The ghost of a smile crossed his lips then faded just as fast. "I can't tell you much, but you seemed like a smart guy, and I was hoping you’d figure out a lot on your own and ask questions."
I nodded. I had to be cautious. I wanted to know what Detective Tan knew, but I still didn't understand why this guy wanted to help me. If my biological father was rich, it wasn't a stretch to think he had an in with the police department. It wasn't unheard of at Hollander and Cameron. It was an unspoken truth that some judges, prosecutors, and detectives were more cooperative than others depending on the client. Why would that be different anywhere else? I eyed Detective Tan and waited for him to speak.
“Do you have any idea why your mother would use an alias? Did she have any enemies that you knew of?”
“No. Not that I know of.” I shook my head. “Is this an open investigation? I was under the impression that Crystal’s death was ruled an accident.”
"According to my bosses, it is. But it isn't for me. Too many things don't add up. I thought you'd be interested in getting to the bottom of this, but if you're not, I'm sorry I bothered you." He leaned back in his chair. He seemed calm and unaffected, but there was an air of impatience and annoyance that he was trying to mask. My instinct told me that Detective Tan was on the up-and-up.
I took a deep breath and pulled the tattered envelope out of my bag containing the file he sent me. I told him about the airbag and the lipstick, what Dev discovered and what his friends from the coroner’s office and the NYPD thought.
"You said that an NYPD detective called the department?" he asked. I nodded. "I never got that call, and I was the lead detective on your mother's case."
I didn’t bother to correct him about Crystal.
"I'm not gonna waste too much more of your time, but I know we only got half the story on your mother's accident. I believe the truth is being covered up by someone rich and powerful, and I also believe there are high-ranking members of my department involved. I don't know if you can tell by looking at me, but I'm not part of the good old boys club, though my family has been in Missouri for four generations and the USA for much longer." He huffed out a mirthless chuckle. "I just want the truth. If I were you, I'd want to know. That's all I can say and keep my job, but if there's anything I can do to help you, I will. You have my number."
I nodded.
The talkwith Detective Tan was enlightening though it didn't give me any new information. Two words stuck out to me and turned my stomach: rich and powerful. Who would want to cover up Crystal's accident? Why did she have an alias? Were these people dangerous? Was I poking a sleeping bear trying to pick at a scab that had been crusting over for six months? If our biological father was out there somewhere looking for CJ, he'd had six months to find him. What were the odds he'd grow a conscience in three weeks and become overwhelmed with the urge to raise a two-year-old?
I satat the end of a long gravel road I hadn't seen since I was ten years old. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and my heart started to race. Something that felt like fear began to creep into my chest and spread like an icy chill to my arms and legs. I had to remind myself that I wasn't ten years old anymore. I was more than six feet tall and over two hundred pounds of solid muscle. I had a family who loved me, and none of them were at the end of this road. The only thing I needed from these people was answers. I would get them and get the fuck out of here as fast as I could.
"Hey, who's there?" A pale elderly round-faced man hobbled out of the dilapidated house, supporting himself on a cane.
I stepped out of the car and walked towards him. As I got closer, recognition dawned.
"Holy shit. Little Lincoln. You grew up, didn't you? What the hell do you want, boy? Come to see your old uncle Arnie?"
"Who's my father?" I cut to the chase. I didn't want to be here any longer than I had to. Laying eyes on the man who terrorized me for four months who now looked so pathetic and frail made me wonder why I'd ever been afraid of him in the first place.
“Gonna get right to it, huh?” he said in a series of coughs. “Why don’t you come in for a beer?”
“No, tell me who he is so I can get the fuck out of here,” I shouted.
"What the hell makes you think I know who your daddy is? Your mother was a whore. Always was. Your daddy could've been anybody who—" His sentence was cut off by me, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt pushing him towards his house until I pinned him to the wall, still clutching the fabric of his shirt and my nose an inch from his. I dragged his body up the wall until we were eye to eye.
"Shut the fuck up about Crystal. I know you know who my father is because he was paying you five thousand dollars a month in cash to keep quiet. After I ran away, he kept paying for three months. So don't bullshit me. Tell me who he is, and if you lie to me again, I'll snap your fucking neck. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not a scrawny little kid you can kick around anymore. Now talk."
“It wasn’t your daddy that was paying me,” he whimpered then gulped.
I could feel his feet dangling as I held him up against the side of the house. He looked like a scared animal cornered just before a predator strikes the fatal blow.
"It was his wife. We could take one look at you and know who your daddy was. So I went to his big fancy house to tell him about you, but he wasn't there. His wife offered to pay me a thousand bucks a week to keep you a secret, and I took it. Taking care of kids ain't cheap. I thought when you got kids from the government, they was supposed to give you money. We didn't get a damn cent for you."
“That’s a foster kid, you piece of shit. Who is my father?”
"I guess them folks that you were so worked up to get back to didn't teach you any manners?" he spluttered. His face spread in a grin of yellowing teeth and gaps where teeth had once been. I dragged him up an inch higher on the wall and tightened my grip.
"Deacon Welles. Deacon Welles," he rasped. "He and your mama went to high school together. The family reckons she got herself knocked up thinking she could trap him, and when her little scheme backfired, she ran off."
“Welles.” The wheels were turning in my head. Something was familiar about the name. “Why do I know that name? Who is he?”
"You ain't from around here. The Welleses is the richest folks in the county, hell in three counties. Their name is on damn near every building. Your mama always thought she was better than us. She probably saw him as her ticket to the good life." He chuckled. "I'll bet she's sorry now. Where is she? Still locked up?"
I tilted my head and furrowed my brow in confusion. What the fuck? Did he not know about Crystal?
