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“I think it’s about Mrs. Brooks, sir.”
I was still confused but intrigued at the same time. “Okay, you can send them in.”
I made my way to my Provasi brown leather chair behind my solid mahogany desk perfectly placed in the middle of my study and waited for them to enter. “Good morning, Mr. Brooks, my name is Detective Parker, and this is Detective Brown. We are so sorry for your loss.”
I was immediately apprehensive. Detective Parker seemed untrustworthy, he was tall and thin with beady eyes. His teeth were stained from probably drinking too much coffee and his skin was leathery, much like that of a smoker. His wrinkled black suit hung off his wiry frame and looked like something he bought from Goodwill.
Detective Brown in contrast was younger, also tall, and thin. He had welcoming grey eyes and seemed to take better care of himself. His black suit was not wrinkled and although he was obviously wearing something bought from Marshals, it complimented his muscular physique. My first impression was that he had a wife at home who made sure his clothes were washed and ironed before he left for work each morning. I signaled both men to take a seat in the accompanying Provasi designer desk chairs on the opposite side of my desk.
I have a keen sense when it came to reading people; my father taught me this at a very early age. He showed me how to interpret body language, and I could tell Detective Parker was hiding something.
“Mr. Brooks, we have been assigned to investigate the death of your wife.”
I was shocked. “What are you talking about? I was told it was an accident. Is there new evidence to suggest otherwise?”
“Well, we found a few things at the scene that suggest someone else may have been with your wife at the time of the crash.”
I perked up, I was suddenly very curious. “Did someone tamper with her car? Is there some evidence of foul play?” I was clutching at straws, anything to explain her death. “What did you find?” My mind was racing. Was someone else at the scene? Why didn’t they help her? I read the autopsy report: she’d lain in a ditch for thirty minutes before a passerby saw smoke from the crash and stopped to investigate. “Was it the person who found her?” I was so confused. Now I found myself wondering about all the different things they could have found.
“No. Someone else was at the scene. We found a cufflink in the shrubberies bordering the embankment.” Detective Parker pulled out a small clear bag. It was sealed and had Victoria’s name and random numbers scribbled onto two blue lines.
“The cufflink was very distinct and also had initials.”
“How is the cufflink relevant to the accident?”
“Mr. Brooks, the cufflink had the initials CB. Are you missing a cufflink, sir?” That’s when Detective Parker handed me the clear bag with my cufflink in it.
I felt a jolt of lightning down my spine and immediately stood up. “I think it is time for you both to leave. I called Brandon back in. “Please get Peter Gamble on the phone and show these detectives out.” I could tell they were watching my every move, deciphering my reaction to what they disclosed. I knew better than to plead my innocence to these two goons. I needed a lawyer.
After escorting the detectives out, Brandon got my best friend, Peter Gamble, on the phone. Peter and I grew up together. He is the senior partner at Gamble and Gamble.
“I am not sure what the hell is going on, Peter, but they are trying to pin Victoria’s accident on me. I thought this was already closed?!” I was now pacing back and forth in my office with a glass of whiskey in hand.
“Just calm down, Chris, let me do some digging. It sounds like they just wanted to get a reaction out of you.”
“They got a reaction for sure. Kicked them right out the fucking front door.”
I could hear Peter violently tapping his pen on the desk. “I will call you tomorrow. Give me a few hours to do some digging.” Peter paused. “How is Natasha?” Peter was my daughter's godfather. He was at every birthday, every recital, and every holiday event.
“She’s sad, and we’re still going to counseling once a week.”
“Hang in there, Chris.” Peter cleared his throat. “Only time will heal those wounds. You know that.”
“Thanks, brother.” When I hung up, I felt comforted, Peter was the best in the business in Dallas, and he knew someone in just about every precinct. He would get to the bottom of this.
My head was still reeling from the visit from the goon squad, and I was now late picking up Natasha from ballet practice. I was exhausted from the constant nightmares that kept me up all hours of the night. I was headed to the kitchen when I ran into Brandon and a young lady. My guard was up after my encounter with the detectives. I snapped at her out of frustration and felt guilty as I walked off. She had attractive features, with long, flowing blonde hair that complemented her hazel eyes. Her body was evenly proportioned, and I couldn’t help but check out her ass after I walked away. I was intrigued by her beautiful pear-shaped face and perfectly plump pink lips but quickly pushed the thought aside, I had more important things to worry about.
As I walked out the front door, I couldn’t help but think about what had happened with the detectives earlier. How did my cufflink get in the bushes by the crash? Could it have fallen out of Victoria’s car? So many questions and no answers that made sense. I jumped in the Tesla, trying my best to recall every detail of the conversation. Something wasn’t adding up. How did my cufflink get in Victoria’s car?
The sharp pain in my head signaled I had enough. As I drove to get Natasha from ballet practice, I turned the music on to help clear my thoughts. The sultry sound of Junior Mance filled the inside of my Tesla. As I tuned the world out, I let the sound of the guitar and drums seep into my soul.
* * *
The ride home was peaceful.Natasha fell asleep as soon as she hit the back seat. Her snoring comforted me and also made me feel guilty. Two months ago, she would have been bouncing off the windows and recounting every minute of her day to me, asking me questions about the world and how things work. These days she just sleeps. I know it’s because she doesn’t sleep well at night. She is constantly reminded of her mother when she enters the kitchen. I see her stop dead in her tracks frequently looking at an apron, a spoon, or just something in the refrigerator. The master bedroom is simply a shrine to Victoria, it hurts my heart to walk into the room but I just can’t bring myself to have the staff box up Victoria’s clothes.
The art room is probably the worst, every inch of the room has Victoria written all over it. Natasha is still consumed by grief. The only thing I can do is start fresh so my daughter can heal. As we pulled up to the house, Natasha lifted her head from a seemingly restful slumber. I got out of the car and opened the passenger side door and scooped her tiny body out the back seat after unbuckling her from her car seat.
I walked into the front door; Natasha wrapped around my side. The first person I saw was the interior designer, Sam somebody. I walked past her and managed a gruff hello and took my baby upstairs to her room. I left Natasha in her room in search of my cufflink, last seen in the master bedroom closet. As I stood staring at the single cufflink in the jewelry box, panic gripped me. I touched the cufflink hoping it would bring back a memory and to my surprise it did.
