AFTER
Detective Gerard Sullivan
Saturday May 20, 2016
I signal left then turn onto the Waters' street. Just as I'm approaching the house, I see that we have company. Multiple cars and vans congregate in front of the house, news anchors and camera crews waiting outside like a starving pack of wolves.
I park on the side of the road and brace myself for the storm. As soon as I open my door, lenses and microphones are shoved into my face.
"Excuse me, detective, can you give us an update on the Waters' case?"
"Detective! Over here! Have you located the body of the missing child yet?"
"Is it true that the mother is the main person of interest in the Emerald Waters' case?"
"Can you give us an update on the status of Mr. Waters?"
"Do you know where the child is?"
"Can you give a word on Savannah Valentine?"
I walk forward, keeping my face neutral as I repeat the words "no comment." How did they already find out about the Savannah lead? Someone must have leaked information. Fuck. Now we have a PR problem on our hands.
I rush into the house and close the door tightly behind me. Holden notices me and comes over. He gives me a quick update, letting me know that the parents arrived a couple of hours ago and are in the other room watching television. But now for the real reason I'm here: the search warrant.
After leaving Savannah's place, I got a judge to grant me a warrant for any and all property, possessions, and belongings owned by Weston Waters. If he is indeed hiding something, it won't be long before I find it.
"Where's Weston?" I say to Holden.
"No idea."
"He's not here?"
"Don't believe so. The wife said he was out grabbing dinner."
"Great." I say.
Holden finds Cordelia and vacates her from the premise while I begin my search. They can't go far due to the ankle bracelet and the zoo of paparazzi out front, so he takes her to the back porch. She protests at first, telling me that I have no right to search their home. But she eventually accepts this fate and willingly vacates, knowing all too well the consequences of arguing with me.
I begin with the living room, going through drawers and cabinets, not sure exactly what I'm looking for. I go through the kitchen, seeing if I can spot anything out of the ordinary. Any kind of clue or piece of evidence that can point me to something.
Next, I move to Weston and Cordelia's bedroom. If he's hiding something, surely it will be in here. Anything that can explain why he lied, and continues to lie, to both me and the police department. Something isn't adding up here.
That's when I spot it – the laptop sitting on his night stand. I walk over and perch myself at the edge of the bed, grabbing the laptop. I open it and am brought to the lock screen. Fuck. There's a password.
My moment of disappointment is only temporary as I soon remember Meredith Younger. She'll have no problem getting into this thing and finding anything of value.
_____
I show up at the station, Weston's laptop in hand. I head directly to Younger's office and take a seat next to her desk. She's been awaiting my arrival.
"Let's have a look, shall we?" she says, taking the laptop from my hands.
She puts it on her desk and opens it. Within seconds, she's through the firewall and into his system.
"That easy, huh?" I say to her.
"It's easier on a PC than it is a Mac."
"Remind me never to leave you alone with my personal belongings," I joke. She laughs.
I slide my chair closer to her and lean in to get a better look.
"Anything in particular that you're looking for?" she asks.
"No idea. All I know is that he's continued to be dishonest with me from the beginning. I don't know what it is exactly that he's lying about, so we have a wide base to cover."
She nods and gets to work.
The screen opens to reveal a mundane screensaver. Files and documents lined perfectly down the side of the desktop. She begins clicking through each of the files, looking for anything that stands out. It's mostly work files, we soon learn. Patient files, x-ray scans, receipts and tax information. There's a folder titled Emerald filled with hundreds upon hundreds of photos. We quickly scan through them even though they all look the same to me. Then again, I'm not a parent.
"Here, let me see," I say, taking the laptop from her and placing it in front of me. I want to navigate it myself.
"I'm going to get a coffee," she stands. "Want anything?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"Let me know if you need me to get through anything else."
"Will do."
Younger leaves her office and I continue going through the folders on the desktop. When that proves fruitless, I open up the internet browser. Emails. That would be the ideal place to check.
Upon entering his email account, which he leaves logged in, I scan through the inbox. There's nothing too interesting that stands out, mostly just back-and-forth emails with clients and employees at the practice. Other than that, his emails don't extend much beyond subscriptions and emails to Cordelia. Is Weston Waters' life truly that uninteresting? What does the man do for fun? Who does he associate himself with? These questions remain a mystery.
The mouse hovers over the trash folder. Perhaps I'll have better luck in there. I click the button and the screen fills with multiple emails, most of them junk. But there are two emails that stand out amongst the rest, solely because they are from the same sender: Rhoden Lakes. The most recent email is dated from five days ago. I open it and see that it's only one sentence:
It would be respectful if you'd at least take my calls.
So perhaps this is not junk-mail after all? Although I wouldn't consider it a formal email either. No, "Dear Mr. Waters" or "Yours Truly." It's very straight to the point. Could it have possibly been sent by mistake? But then I remember there's another email from the same sender. I click back to the junk folder and find it, dated from just over a week ago on May ninth.
Finnick's? Regular time.
That's it – another one liner. What does this mean and what is Finnick's? I pull up another tab and Google it. Ah, it's that bar down on Cheyanne Avenue. I've passed by there a few times.
I can conclude two things from these emails. The first is that they are not junk-mail. Whoever this Rhoden Lakes person is must know Weston personally. The second thing I can gauge from these emails is that Weston is clearly hiding something – or someone. Why else would they be asking him to meet, and why else would he delete the emails?
Could this be the golden ticket I've been searching for?
I grab my phone and dial his number. "Mr. Waters, where are you?" I ask once he answers.
"I'm just out grabbing dinner. Why?"
"I need to speak with you immediately. Can you come down to the station?"
"Is everything alright? Have you found her?"
"No, I'm afraid we haven't."
"Then what is this regarding?"
"You and I need to have a little chat."
It's quiet for a moment. The finally, he speaks. "Sure. I'm not too far from there, actually. I can be there in ten minutes."
_____
Fifteen minutes after our phone call, Rebecca notifies me that Weston has entered the lobby. I meet him there, then together, we walk to my office. I close the door behind us, motioning for him to take a seat.
I walk around my desk, pull out the chair, and sit across from him. He's staring at the files I have spread out. He looks exhausted, as though he hasn't slept for days. I can imagine why.
"So, what did you need to talk about?" he asks, finally looking up at me.
Where to begin? "You lied," I say.
"Pardon me?"
"Your wife seems to think you spent the entirety of Friday with the police. I know you weren't at home, so where were you?"
"I was out looking for my daughter!"
"So why did you tell her that you were with us?"
He shrugs. "I don't know, anything to get her off my back. Make her realize that I'm actually trying to do something, not just sitting around idly."
I nod, accepting his answer. "But that's not all you lied about, Weston."
He stares at me, awaiting for me to elaborate.
"You were home on Thursday morning."
"What gave you that idea?"
I glare at him. He should know by now not to play this game. "It isn't in your best interest to continue this lie, Mr. Waters."
He glares right back, then decides that I'm right. He looks away for a moment, staring at the wall. Then he turns back to me. "Savannah told you, didn't she?" he laughs slightly and shakes his head. "This is why we didn't say anything. Because you think we had something to do with it."
"Not at all. I wouldn't have thought that. In fact, considering your wife is the main person of interest in this case, my first thought would be that you were somehow protecting her."
He flattens his mouth into a straight line, then massages his left hand. "It's not like that."
"Well please, explain to me. I'm all ears."
"She was having a bad week, okay? She was stressed and anxious. I guess she had a little melt down on Wednesday. But she was talking pure nonsense. Saying I was having an affair with Savannah."
"Well were you?"
"Of course not."
"Then why would your wife think that?"
"I told you, she wasn't in a good state of mine. She would have said anything."
"I don't believe that."
"Oh yeah? Why not?"
"There's something else you're not telling me."
"Like what?"
I tilt my head slightly. "Are you having an affair, Mr. Waters? Not with Ms. Valentine. There's someone else."
His facial expression doesn't alter. He continues to stare at me, but it's as though he's frozen in time. "Mr. Waters," I say again.
"No. No, I'm not having an affair," he spits like it's such a filthy word. "Why would you even ask me that?"
"Would you like to tell me about Rhoden Lakes?" I ask, and watch as he tries to hide his reaction.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Mr. Waters, there's no point in lying any longer. I found the emails on your computer. So you can either tell me the truth, or I'll have someone trace them."
He leans forward in one fast motion so our faces our inches apart. He doesn't say anything. Just keeps his face close enough that I can hear him breathing heavily through his nostrils.
"You're looking awfully guilty of something right now, Weston."
He pulls away from me and sits back in his chair, avoiding eye-contact. I let him sit like this for a moment, wallowing in the silence.
Finally, he readjusts in his chair and sits up straight. "Okay," he says.
"Okay, what? You ready to talk?"
He nods his head somberly. "On one condition,"
"You're not really in a position to be negotiating. But I'll hear what you have to say."
He looks angered by this, but knows that I'm right. He doesn't have many options. "I'll tell you everything. But please don't tell Cordelia, alright? You can do anything you want, tell everyone at the station if you have to. But could we try to keep this from her?"
"What are you hiding?"
He takes in a deep breath and looks down at his shoes. "You were right. I'm having an affair. Was having an affair." He stops, almost to let the words sink in, then he looks back up at me. "This has nothing to do with what's going on. I guess this all came at a bad time."
"What did, your affair?"
He nods.
"How long?" I ask.
"Only a couple of months. I never meant to.... I didn't intend for things to turn out like this. But, I guess no one really plans to have an affair. They just do."
"Who is she?"
"Do I have to say?"
I stare at him, letting him know through visual cues that, yes, you do.
He sighs again. "It's the woman you asked me about earlier. Rosella. Rhoden Lakes is a pseudonym she made up. You know, just to be safe."
"Rosella?" I say, caught off guard. I grab my phone and check the time. It's nearly ten o'clock.
"What is it?" he asks, clearly catching on that something isn't right.
"You should have told me this when I asked you the first time," I dial Robbins number and put the phone to my ear.
"Why? What is it?"
I turn to him, aggravation and annoyance flooding my body. If he would have just been honest with me earlier, I could have put together the pieces and put out an APB. "We have reason to believe that this woman was lurking outside your home back in March," I say. Robbins phone goes to voicemail and I hang up. "Your nanny also mentioned that she came by the house about two weeks ago. Now tell me, Mr. Waters, what your mistress was doing lurking outside your home at night and coming to your house in the middle of the day?
"I had no idea about that," he says, and genuinely looks taken back. "What makes you say she was lurking outside?"
"Your babysitter saw someone sitting outside in a red Impala back in March. Said that your landline rang but no one was on the other line. It freaked her out."
"God dammit," he brings his hand to his forehead.
"And what about two weeks ago?" I say. "Why did she come by then?"
He opens his eyes and looks at me. "I told her not to. But she needed to see me."
"Why?"
"She just wanted to. I don't know," he turns and pushes his hand through his hair. "This whole situation has gotten far out of control. It was never meant to be like this."
"Like what?"
"This serious. It was just a fling. Temporary. But it evolved to something more. And now, with Emerald missing... God, I just can't focus on that right now. I need to focus on finding my daughter."
"So you don't find it odd that the woman you are having an affair with has been stalking you and your family? That doesn't strike you as suspicious?"
"What are you implying? That Rose had something to do with Emerald's disappearance?"
"That's how it looks, yes."
"No, that's insane. Rose would never do something like that. And besides –"
"Besides what?"
"Nothing."
I shake my head. "You're digging the whole deeper and deeper, Weston."
He stares at me.
"Give me a number I can reach her at," I say and pull out my phone again.
"Who, Rosella?"
"Yes, who else?"
He sighs and recites the number.
"When was the last time you had contact with this woman?" I ask him.
"About a week ago. We met for coffee. That was the last I saw of her."
"You're sure, now?"
"Yes."
I dial Robbins number and try her again. I turn to Weston. "I hope you're telling me the truth this time. And if you're not, don't think I won't hesitate to drag your ass down to the station to get the answers I need. Understood?"
He nods.
"And please, try not to go running off again. It looks bad."