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“I have to ask, where were you between the hours of ten and two this morning?”
“At home. Asleep.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Oh my god, you think I killed him, don’t you?”
“Do you own a gun, Ms. Turner?”
“No. Never. I hate guns. Please, believe me. I didn’t kill him.”
“You’re certain no one can account for your whereabouts?”
She shakes her head slowly as her shoulders slump in defeat. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“No. I don’t have enough evidence to do that. But, I am sorry, I’ll have to keep you on my list of suspects. Can you think of anyone who might have heard you leave your apartment? A neighbor, maybe?”
She shrugs. “I don’t really know any of my neighbors, but I can ask around. The landlord lives on the bottom floor near the front door. Maybe he can confirm that I didn’t leave?”
“I can talk to him. In the meantime, let’s get back to the others so you can see your daughter. I haven’t told her about Wayne. Wanted to tell you first, so you can decide what’s best for her. From what I know, she doesn’t remember him.”
“Thank you,” Angela says, taking my hand so I can assist her to her feet.
We walk back into the hallway and follow the voices to find the others. Once we enter the room, Desdemona offers us a choice of coffee or tea. I take a cup of strong, black coffee while Angela asks for hot tea with several lumps of sugar. After she’s taken a few fortifying sips, I nod at Desdemona, who rises to go get Max and Angelica.
With Desdemona leading the way, Max and Angelica follow. Her tiny hand in his. He’s whispering encouraging words to her as they pass into the room. Angelica scowls at the CPS agent before turning her attention to Angela. Her eyes widen as she lunges forward and falls into her mother’s arms.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: VIPER
I give the three punks who accosted me last night my evilest grin. I admit, I practiced it until even I got the chills. Nothing scares a fuckhead more than seeing a woman ready and able to commit unspeakable acts of revenge against them. These guys are not immune. They know they’re fucked, but even they don’t know how fucked up they really are. At least not yet.
“What do you want?” Punk One, who I recognize from his driver’s license as Thad Bayne, asks. The pitch of his voice reveals his fear.
“I thought you should meet some other members of the Demon Dawgs, you know, the ones you called pussies?”
I chuckle when Chill and Dice growl in unison at the slight, causing the three men to pale. Chill and Dice are standing behind the men while I stand in their line of sight. The three twist and turn to see Chill and Dice while still keeping me in view.
“Look, we didn’t know. We thought she was lying or a member of a fake club,” Shawn Leverett says, or as I know him, Punk Two.
“You saying I run a weak club?” bellows Puma as he enters the room. I laugh when two of the three punks wet themselves.
“No, Sir,” Punk Three, Derrick Gatehouse stammers. “We swear we didn’t mean to insult you or your club. We were just joking around.”
“Joking around?” Dice asks, smacking a hammer against his hand as he circles around to stand next to me. “Saw a woman alone and thought you’d have some fun at her expense?”
“We’re sorry, we shouldn’t have done that. We were drunk. That’s right, we’d been drinking and weren’t thinking straight,” Shawn blabbers. As if his pitiful excuses mean anything to us.
“Is that what happened with Liz, Cindy, Barbara, and Melissa?” I ask, reading the first four names from the list Spark gave me.
“Who are they?” Puma asks, taking the paper from me and reading through the list.
“Women who they harassed, either together or individually. Women who filed complaints against them with UNLV security. Let me guess, you were drunk when you accosted them, too?” I sneer at the punks.
“Who are these last eight?” Puma asks, showing the list to Chill.
“They are missing. Have been for several months. I’m thinking our guests can tell us where they are.”
Puma stalks toward them like, well, a puma. But instead of swiping at them with claws, he plows his massive fist into their midsection one after the other. The sound of their distress calls to the beast in me. I want them to hurt. No, I need them to hurt. They need to know what it feels like to be powerless against an attack. Just like the women they harassed.
