Jericho suddenly unlocked the door. “I’ll be right back.” He rushed out the door, closing it behind him.
I turned to Spencer. “I bet you can’t wait to start working with me next week.” I offered a hysterical laugh before I put my head on the table.
“I’m a real estate lawyer, you know. I have no criminal defense background, not that I believe you did anything wrong. I can give you a referral, but let’s wait and see—”
The door opened and Jericho returned with Mathers and Compton. “What fresh hell is this?” I banged my head on the dining table.
Jericho stepped over and put his right hand between my forehead and the tabletop. “I have some experience in questioning people. Hear them out. I think the three of you got off on the wrong foot. Let’s try this again.”
I lifted my head, tears sliding down my cheeks. For forty-eight hours, I’d been on edge, consumed with fear. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could maintain my sanity before I ran screaming through the streets.
Jericho handed me a bandanna from his pocket that looked clean, so I took it and dried my cheeks. I tossed it on the table and turned to the cops in front of me. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll freshen up, and we can try this again.”
I hurried down the hallway to the ensuite in the primary bedroom and closed the door. I went to the vanity sink to splash cool water on my face, hoping to relieve the natural red flush I developed when I was upset.
It felt as if I were living a nightmare, and I had no idea how to wake up. Nothing made sense.
Finally, I dried my face, combed my hair, and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. “Get your shit together. You’re stronger than this.”
I opened the door to find Jericho sitting on the bed. “You okay? You can do this, Sean. You need to get them to take the focus off your orientation and put it on the crime at hand. I’ve read about you, and you’re a very polished speaker who can usually get people on your side without much fuss. Show them that Sean Fitzpatrick.”
I was surprised by Jericho’s support. He was right, though. I prided myself on breaking through people’s prejudices to get to the heart of a matter. I’d assumed Compton was a cis-het white guy, but that wasn’t fair. People were people. Case closed.
Jericho opened the door—I could get used to being treated so queenly—and followed me down the hallway, where I rejoined the two police officers and Spencer, who seemed awfully nervous.
“Spence, why don’t you go? I’ll see you at the office on Tuesday. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Say helloto Nash for me. I’d like to get together with the two of you after things calm down.” I shook his hand and showed him to the door.
He leaned in to hug me and whisper in my ear. “Don’t say anything that can be misconstrued or turned against you. I’ll get you a referral for a lawyer who suits your case better and text you a name later tonight. Hang in there, my friend.”
I nodded and closed the door behind him, turning to the law enforcement officers at the table. “Let’s try again. When will we know who was in the trunk? Have you found anything on the video footage from the garage?”
“Yes. A white panel van drove into the garage basement where your car was parked at about one in the morning. There were no license plates on the rear, and it blocked the view of any activity near your car. It was parked there—” Compton pulled out a little notepad and flipped through the pages for a moment— “for about fifteen minutes before it drove off.”
“Did you get a look at the occupants of the van?” Jericho asked.
“Checked all the cameras and got flashes of the van as it entered and exited the garage. This is the only shot of the driver and passenger.” Compton plucked his phone from his jacket pocket and scrolled a bit until he found what he was looking for.
There were screenshots of the van entering the garage. One had a view through the front windshield where two people were visible, both wearing sunglasses, baseball caps, and stars-and-stripes kerchiefs around the lower halves of their faces. They could have been anyone.
Jericho’s hands were on the back of my chair as he peeked over my shoulder. “There are markings on the driver’s hands. Were you able to blow those up?” He glanced down at me and frowned. “Sorry. No pun intended.”
Mathers giggled. “Sorry, Sean.” She then looked at Jericho. “We’ve got our team working on it. What did you do for the Army?”
“Special Forces. Sorry for interrupting.”
From there, we went through my life with a fine-tooth comb. Any recent hookups who might have thought we had more of a connection than we did. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any names to give on that front. I never asked for names.
I gave them the names of the folks I’d recently met with on The Hill and the names of other people I interacted with regularly, like Naomi Chu, the event planner at the Four Seasons Georgetown, and Nash Lincoln, the new catering manager working with her who happened to be Spencer’s partner. Other than my staff and the congressional staff, nobody stuck out as a threat.
“And you, Mr. Hess. How do you fit into all this? Where did you meet Sean?” Mathers stared at Jericho, but the man was unflinching.
“Through mutual friends. A buddy from the Army contacted me to lend a hand because he doesn’t live in the area. I’m only too happy to do what I can.” Jericho stepped away from me and leaned against the door jamb leading to the kitchen.
“Those cowboy boots look like they’ve seen some work. What do you do now, Jericho?” Again, Compton was giving Jericho the up and down.
Jericho smirked. “I train and board horses. I’ve got a ranch in Maryland. It’s nice to get away for a while.”
I could tell Jeri was done talking about himself, and I was also tired of answering questions. I stood. “You have my number, so please call me when you learn anything. I’ll reach out if anything comes to mind.”
