AFTER
Detective Gerard Sullivan
Saturday May 20, 2016
I stand back and observe the scene in front of me. Red and blue flashing lights line the street; families huddled on front lawns and sidewalks, trying to get a look at what's happening; a coroner stands over the body; analysts dusting everywhere for finger prints, shoe prints, anything.
It all happened so quickly. One moment I was a silent intruder in this woman's home, trying to locate her as a suspect. The next, she is the victim.
I raced over to where she lay on the floor, not thinking about disrupting the scene in any way. The only thought going through my head was to check for a pulse. And when I did, I realized all too soon that I was far too late. By the look of it, she had been dead for hours, the pool of blood dark and dried.
The forensics team has arrived now. There's a blood splat analyst photographing the body, the walls, the counter. It's eerie how everything in the home remains so intact despite the traumatic demise that occurred here. A few dishes sit in the sink, a scrap book lies open on the dining room table, a bag of groceries sit on the floor beside the counter, unpacked. The question haunting my mind: was she lying here, dead, when I came by the house earlier? Was there anything I could have done to prevent this?
Robbins appears at the corner of my eye and I turn to her. "We need to bring Weston in for questioning. Stat." I tell her.
"Will do," she nods and looks down at the body. Rosella's long black hair flows effortlessly beside her, down onto the floor. There's a large gouge in her forehead where the blood leaked out. Her eyes are wide open, face pale. We both stand there, frozen, staring at her. "What do you think we're dealing with here?" Robbins asks.
"They were having an affair," I say. "That's all I can gather thus far. Where the baby is and how Rosella ended up dead is beyond me."
"But you think it's him?"
"I'm hoping he can give me some answers."
____
Holden and Ashby go to the Waters' residence to retrieve Weston, yet again. By the time I get to the interrogation room, he's already seated inside, hands folded neatly on the table. From what I heard, he caused quite a scene as they hauled him out of bed and into the squad car, Cordelia echoing similar sentiments as she stood behind and watched the suspicion transfer from her to her husband. Why does everything seem to lead back to him?
"Evening," I say as I enter the room.
He looks up. "It's morning now."
I check my watch. He's right. It's after one a.m. I pull out the chair across from him and take a seat.
"Why am I here?" he asks. "Nobody has told me anything. And for you to come to my house unannounced in the middle of the night, waking up my wife and I," he pauses. "It's unacceptable."
"Why don't I tell you what's unacceptable, Mr. Waters? Lying multiple times in what is now to be considered a homicide investigation."
His eyes widen. "What? You found Emerald?"
"No, I'm afraid we haven't. Your mistress, on the other hand,"
He stares at me. "What are you talking about?"
"Rosella Collins. She was found dead in her home this evening."
His face contorts. "What?"
"When was the last time you had contact with Ms. Collins?"
"I already told you, I haven't seen her since last Wednesday!"
"Do you have an alibi? Anyone who might have seen the two of you together?"
"I don't know, we were in a coffee shop!" He's getting worked up.
"When did you first begin your relationship with Ms. Collins?"
"Back in March, I think."
"You don't know?"
"It was March."
"Did you have any reason to suspect Ms. Collins of kidnapping your daughter, Mr. Waters?"
"No. No, of course not."
"So you didn't find it suspicious that a week after you broke off your relationship with this woman, your infant daughter goes missing?"
"No, not at all."
"Hmm, interesting. And you don't find it a bit strange that tonight, two days after your daughter's disappearance, Ms. Collins turns up dead?"
He stares at me. "I don't know what you want me to say. I haven't spoken to, nor seen Rosella, in over a week. I don't know what could have happened to her."
"You don't seem all that broken up about it,"
"How dare you?" he spits. "I am devastated inside. I may not be sobbing on the floor, but the fact that Rose is dead crushes me. I loved her. I really did."
The room is silent, neither one of us saying a word.
"Am I being arrested?" he finally asks.
"No," I say. "Not yet, anyways."
"Then if you're not going to charge me with anything, am I free to go?"
I stare at him, analyzing every part of him. "You may go," I say. "But this isn't over. We will find out what happened to her."
"Good," he says. "I truly hope you do. And I hope you and the other cops in this place actually do your God damn job and find my daughter."