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“You think there was a rapist abusing women at the Hanson House and then set fire to it to cover his crimes?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
The chief scoffs. “Well, I’m sorry to say that’s the first I’ve heard of that theory.”
If there’s one thing I know, it’s when somebody’s lying. I’ve seen it all too many times before, with my sister’s boyfriend. He promised not to hit her again, promised he would change. The same lines on his forehead creased every time he said it, just like they are now in the chief’s.
“I don’t believe you.” Shakespeare shifts at my side, his grip on my hand tightening. “I think not only did you know someone was raping those women, but I think you helped cover it up.”
The chief is on his feet and in my face within seconds. Unfortunately for him, so is Shakespeare.
“Now, now, pig. Let’s not get excited. I would hate to have to medicate myself later.”
Medicate? What kind of medication does Shakespeare take?
“Listen, I didn’t invite you here to make accusations. I had nothing to do with the fire at the Hanson House, nor was I aware of any rapes that occurred.”
He’s lying. I know he is. This man knows what really happened that night, and without his help, my husband will never be able to move on. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I do something I never thought I would. I pull out a box of matches.
“Chief,” I say calmly. “We can do this the hard way or my way, but either way, you will tell me what you know.”
Visions of that night, when I found the mayor tied up in the cigar lounge with my husband looming threateningly over him with the flame, come to the forefront of my mind. I knew then I loved that man. The fact that he did what he had to do for justice. Maybe it wasn’t the proper or legal way, but it was the only way he knew. No one else had bothered pursuing the events at the Hanson House. So many children like Van were without parents—without closure. Someone has to fight for them—and that someone is us.
“You have two options.” I strike the match and hold the flame in front of his face, watching as fear saturates his gaze.
“You can tell me what I want to know, or my friend will hold you down while I set everything in your home ablaze.” In my peripheral, I see a big-ass grin emerge on Shakespeare’s face as he begins to bounce on the balls of his feet.
“As you can see, my friend would love for you to take option two, but I think you’re a smart man, Chief Benton. The truth is the only way to escape this without destruction.”
Like most people, Chief Benton underestimates me.
“I’ll call the police.”
I shrug.
“Only if you can reach your phone before my friend catches you.” I have no idea if Shakespeare is fast or deadly, but if my husband is the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever seen, Shakespeare is the runner-up. The simple fact that he carries a vial of poison around his neck is enough to convince me not to fuck with him.
“What’s it going to be, Chief? The truth or a call to the fire department?” It takes a minute for him to answer, but after a long stare-off with Shakespeare, he finally agrees, so I snuff out the flame.
“I heard of an alleged rape at the Hanson house,” he begins. I sit back on the sofa, motioning for him to continue as Shakespeare stands guard.
“We did investigate but found no evidence or anyone willing to make a statement.”
“They were scared! Did you not think about that? They were scared you would take their children.”
Van says they were always scared to have the life they loved ripped away from them.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Cain. I can’t arrest somebody if no one will come forward.”
This asshole.
“What about the arsonist? Did you have a suspect?”
He shifts uncomfortably.“We did.”
“And?”
“He was arrested by a neighboring department and jailed. Last I heard, he died in prison before he could be convicted.”
