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“I’m Agent Stanley with the FBI. May I call you Vanessa?”
I can see he knows I’m lying about who I am and what I’m doing here and also that he is trying to establish rapport. We learned about this in training. I refuse to give anything away; I’m aware of what the church will do to me if I speak. I nod instead.
“The Sex Crimes Unit will be here soon,” he offers reassuringly, and suddenly I am glad for the blood pouring down the side of my face. “Can someone get a medic in here?” he calls out.
I run my hands along the length of my forearms. I’m shivering. My knees shake. I press them together as hard as I can, assuming it will help. It doesn’t.
He calls someone and asks if there’s a female agent on staff. Someone brings a blanket in. Even after I cover myself, no one looks me in the eye. I can see it in their sympathetic sideways glances; they don’t think I came here on my own accord. Even I wonder what the truth is in that regard.
“Adam Morford has been placed under arrest. Everything that happened in this hotel room and in the other, we have on camera,” he says, and I don’t know why he’s telling me this. I’ve seen enough on TV; I know about my Miranda rights, and I know to keep my mouth shut because anything I do or say will be used against me in a court of law.
“Is there anything you can tell us, Mrs. Bolton? Anything about how you and Adam Morford are connected?”
“I have a son.” I don’t know why I blurt this out when I do. Maybe it’s the thought of Matthew all alone while I rot in jail. Surely, Gina will keep him for a few hours, at least until this is all sorted out. But something tells me this isn’t the kind of thing where they’ll ask me a few questions and send me on my way. Surely, they’ll search our home, if they haven’t already, and they’ll find Sean, and what happens then?
“Where is your son now?”
“With a sitter.”
“And your husband? You’re married to Sean Bolton, correct?”
I nod.
“And where is he?”
I think this is the point where I’m supposed to ask for my lawyer. Trouble is, I don’t have a lawyer, and I don’t want to seem guilty by asking for something I don’t even have. Instead, I begin crying profusely.
“And Elliot?” I ask. “Is he under arrest?”
“What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Parker?”
I shrug, and it’s mostly genuine. I don’t know the answer to his question.
“You used the term mark. Can you explain what that means?”
I shake my head. Another man comes in and stands at Agent Stanley’s side. He whispers something in his ear. I think he means for me to hear because he isn’t all that quiet about what he says. They’ve raided my home. They’ve found my husband’s body.
I am taken to a hospital. Terms like shock and rape kit are thrown around, even though I tell them Elliot Parker didn’t rape me. They ask me if I’m aware of the term “sex trafficking.” They say they found information in my home alluding to the fact that my name is not Vanessa Bolton. It’s Bethany Felder.
I tell them I want to see my son.
“Do you know why Adam Morford would have wanted your husband dead?” the female agent asks.
This doesn’t make any sense.
“We’ve seen the tapes in your home. We know Mr. Morford forced you to have sex with him. We’ve reviewed the tapes. What we don’t understand is what happened before that. Can you shed some light? Was there a struggle between the two of them?”
“Ummm…” I pretend like I either can’t recall, or it’s just too painful to say.
“We’re just looking for a motive.”
I think of Sean’s strategic placement of the cameras in our home, and suddenly things become clear. The very thing my husband was using to keep tabs on me, the methods in which he enacted control, could be the thing that sets me free. I remember telling Adam to grab a bottle of wine the other night. I considered locking him in the basement and making a run for it, but in the end lacked the courage. If I’d sent him down there to discover Sean’s body, either he’d have to die, or I would. I know the comings and goings of the basement won’t be on that tape. Only what happened in the kitchen, living room, and of course my bedroom, which is how they know about the rape.
“Adam is a terrible person,” I confess, thinking of what went down in that hotel room. “If he was capable of killing Elliot Parker, then it makes sense he would want to kill my husband. But that’s the thing you need to know about him—he didn’t have to have a reason. He took what he wanted. No matter the cost.”
“He was very possessive of you, wasn’t he?”
It dawns on me when she says that…I find my angle. I don’t have to admit or confess anything. I only have to nod my head.
