The small room is stuffy. There is an annoying buzz from the fluorescent lights above. Angelo sits in the police interrogation room, waiting. He knows there is a video camera and that everything is being recorded, even him sitting here alone. In another room, someone is analyzing his performance, interpreting his body language, his facial expressions, trying to determine what is going on inside his head. It is all about acting, he tells himself.
He tries to focus on what he knows to be true. He doesn't need to hide anything, because he has done nothing illegal. He can't allow his thoughts to wander into the world of possibility; that is speculation and fantasy. He can't have his mind go down the path of what they might be thinking. That is what they want him to do, and that his how they will try to trap him.
He is confident that he can outsmart these local cops. This is the biggest thing they have ever dealt with. Angelo can imagine the fat cop, the one who drove him here, getting home after his day at work today, all excited, asking his wife and kids, guess who I brought in today? Telling them all about how their dad, her husband, was better, tougher and more powerful that the mighty Angelo Lord, CEO of Alpha Incorporated. This, what might be the worst day of Angelo's life, is the best thing that will happen to this man in his pathetic little existence. This lowlife doesn't understand that Angelo is just playing the part of the cooperative, docile suspect. The minute he chooses to bare his teeth and show his true strength, Angelo will be out of here so fast that Fat Boy will be left staring at the waves in his coffee. But for now, he will act like he wants to cooperate.
The detective enters the room. With a waft of cool air, Angelo picks up the smell of male body odor and coffee. He recognizes his scent from when he met him earlier today, when he spoke to him outside Escalus' office. There, he told them he had met Isabella Measures on two occasions, plus there had been email, text and phone conversations with her, all of which were available for them to examine, provided they had the adequate warrants. It is their last meeting, at his home, that earned him the invitation to the police station. He reminds himself that he has not been arrested. He is here of his own free will, for questioning. The detective, Polonius, told him that that he was likely the last person to see Isabella.
"Sorry that we took so long, Mr. Lord. I understand that you are a very busy man. We really don't want to keep you here any longer than necessary, you know?"
He doesn't believe him. Angelo knows exactly what is going on. The Mountain View Police are keeping him here as long as they can. It is about showing their power over him, how they control the game. They figure that he will begin to get agitated, lose his cool, screw up. But they don't know who they are dealing with. For him, mental toughness is as important—more important—than physical strength. His military training is far superior to what these jokers did in their silly police academy.
"Now, Mr. Lord, I need to ask you one more time, do you wish to have a lawyer present?"
"Am I under arrest, Detective?"
"No sir, you are not. We just need to ask you a few more questions."
"I do not require a lawyer then. I am, in fact, a lawyer, although I do not practice criminal law, and, yes, I am aware that my answers may be used in a court of law."
If he were to get a lawyer, these guys wouldn't get a word out of him. He could have the best criminal defence lawyers in the country here within the hour. They would march in, cops and clerks would scatter from the parade of suits that would tear this shitty little police station wide open. They would tell Angelo not to say a word to any of them and haul him out of here. He would love to see that, love to see the look on the face of Fat Boy, donut hanging out of his open mouth. But that is not what he wants to happen. Angelo wants to disclose. That is his style.
But really, what Angelo wants to do is to help them find Isabella. Her disappearance is as much of a mystery to him as it is to everyone else. He had no idea she had even gone missing, so he knows that he is not responsible for whatever happened to her. She wasn't in his bed when he returned the next morning, crazed with fear, thinking that he had killed her. She was gone. He knows that she must have let herself out because the doors were alarmed and no one else entered from outside. He checked the logs when he got home. But what he didn't do was check the video surveillance. He was going to do that, right after he met with Escalus. But instead, he is here, at the police station.
Detective Polonius asks him again the same questions that he did the first three times. Angelo doesn't allow himself to become angry. If this is what it takes for them to find Isabella, he will play their game. But this time, there are more questions about the night at his place. He has already given them a description of what she was wearing: a plaid skirt, white blouse, flat shoes, but now the detective wants more detail about what happened in bed.
Anglo finally interrupts. "With all due respect Detective, I am not comfortable discussing the private and personal matters of what exactly occurred in my bed. It is sufficient to say that we engaged in sexual relations."
"Sure, Angelo, whatever you say. But, you know, I can't help but thinking that here is this cute little girl—I mean really cute—and, so the two of you, let's use your words, 'engage in sexual relations,' but tell me, what was it like? Was she good? You know what I mean?"
Now, for the first time, Angelo feels his blood pressure rise. He won't let himself show anger, not to this loser. He takes a calming breath. "Detective, I will only say that I believe the encounter was mutually satisfying."
"Okay, so when it was over, what did you do then? Lie there and talk? Cuddle? Have a smoke? I don't know what young folk do these days—take a selfie of the two of you?"
"We parted ways. I got up, put on my clothes and went out, for a drive."
"Christ, my wife would serve my balls in a tomato sauce if I ever split like that. Did you two say anything when you left?"
"No, I believed she was falling asleep, so I let her rest." Polonius, who has been sitting across from Angelo, pushes his chair back and stands. Angelo notices how he positions himself so he is not blocking the video camera.
"So, she was asleep. Did she move at all, roll over, stir, say goodnight?"
"No, she did not appear to have moved. She was quiet, but so was I. I didn't want to wake her."
Polonius does not respond. He simply stares at Angelo, before finally saying a soft, "I see." "Were you able to hear her breathe, see her chest rise? Oh, I guess she would have been lying on her stomach, so you couldn't exactly see those titties of hers moving, could you?"
Angelo begins to feel a nervous burn begin inside his chest. Polonius is being a little too specific, too much detail. Sure, he could be taking a chance, guessing that she was lying face down, but how else could he know? Angelo suspects that he just flinched, and the camera would have caught that nervous grimace. He is fucked.
"I don't recall seeing her breathing, but it is not reasonable to think that I would recall that." His lawyer hat is on now. "Will you need me for any further questions, Detective?"
Polonius moves in front of the door, positioning himself to block Angelo's escape. "I thought that you might want to help us find this girl, you know, given that you slept with her and all—thought you might have a soft spot for the kid."
Angelo is careful now what he says. He looks up at the video camera on the wall and then at Polonius standing at the door. Now it hits him: the bastards have been in his house. All the time he was waiting here, waiting for these assholes to interview him, to ask the same questions again and again, to wait while they bring in another cop to ask the same questions, all that time, they were executing a search warrant. They would have gone through his private quarters, his room. They would have found the video he recorded of him and Isabella. They even blocked his phone. It is no wonder that he isn't getting any messages.
"So, Angelo, do you want to tell me more about your relationship with Ms. Measures?" The detective moves to the table and opens a manila folder, shuffles past a few pages, and, like a card dealer at the table, fans out his hand. Photos, glossy, enlargements. Stills from a video, from Angelo's video.
"So, where shall we start?" He throws down his first card, a still of Isabella entering his room. She is wearing her schoolgirl outfit. Her face looks different, but it could just be the dim lighting. "I'm just wondering about what kind of lover you are, Angelo. You make this girl come to your place all alone. You aren't even there to greet her. You really know how to treat a lady special. I guess that is part of your mating ritual or something, but each to his own. Poor girl, must have been scared to death."
Angelo says nothing. He lets the cop go ahead and show his hand. The next photo is of Angelo, his bare back to the camera as he approaches the bed. Isabella, still clothed, is kneeling on all fours on the bed, facing away from him.
"I have got more," Polonius says and throws the rest of the photos on the table. Angelo, snickers to himself, this man is a little too cocky, going all-in so early in the game. He flips through the images. There she is, head buried in the blankets while his hands are on her throat, and the final one is of Isabella's half-dressed, limp body sprawled on the bed, the same image that haunted Angelo's memory during his drive that morning.
"Where are the rest?" Angelo asks. "Pictures from the rest of the video."
"That is it. That is when you left the room and turned off the video camera. Look Angelo, we have the evidence, we have everything that was on the video file. It is pretty clear that you didn't want a record of what happened next."
The detective pulls a chair next to Angelo and sits, almost touching him. In a soft voice he says, "come on Angelo, tell me what you did with her body."
Angelo thinks: stay cool man. He knows this doesn't look good. That is an understatement. If they had seen the video of Isabella getting up and leaving the bedroom, they wouldn't be trying to get him to confess to her murder. That wouldn't make sense. They obviously don't have enough evidence to lay charges, at least not Murder in the First Degree, not without a body. Yet it seems as if they are missing the crucial part of the video, the part that would exonerate him. Then it hits him: Mr. Wiggles can save him.
"Detective, I don't know what is going on here, but it looks like someone has tampered with the file. I didn't shut off the video, it runs as part of my surveillance system. It is all stored on a cloud, that seems to have been tampered with. But there is a second camera that shoots from the bed. I know that sounds weird, but it is inside the stuffed dog that you see in this shot." He pulls out a photo where Isabella is facing the toy.
"We've collected everything from your room and seized it for evidence. I can assure you that there was no stuffed animal. We would have swabbed that for DNA."
Angelo feels the weight begin to push on his chest. He is struggling to breathe, fighting to get air into his lungs. He gasps as the thought comes to his mind. Someone took Mr. Wiggles, and there is only one person who knows about Mr. Wiggles' little secret: Mariana Frederick.