Loves Me Not

FORTY EIGHT

AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER

Tuesday morning arrives and I'm still no further in this investigation than I was on the weekend. I've gone through my notes countless times, combed through her laptop top to bottom. I've talked to nearly every single person involved in Catalaina's life – which mind you, isn't that many – and I still don't have the answers I need.

Zoey informs me that they've been searching the water for her belongings but nothing has turned up yet. As for CCTV footage, no other vehicles can be traced to the pier that night. This case is getting more and more frustrating by the minute.

I think of Ben and Dominic, once again. Do I go with my instincts and bring Dominic in for yet another interrogation? Or do I keep looking until I find something more solid on him? He lawyered up after we last spoke, so the next time I talk to him has to be legit. No more playing games or beating around the bush. If I bring Dominic Belmont in again, it's going to be in handcuffs.

I grab a pizza from the plaza across the street and sit in my office, going through paperwork for the lieutenant. Not three bites into my slice, Julie knocks on my door and tells me that there's someone in room two that needs to speak with me. I ask her if they can wait. She tells me that apparently it's imperative they speak to me right now.

I toss my slice back on the napkin, wipe my mouth, and stand up. I head over to room two, knock twice, then enter.

There at the table sits a man, posture straight, hands folded neatly in front of him. I approach with caution.

"I'm Detective Porter," I say, eyeing him. "You need to speak with me?"
He stares at me for a moment. I do a quick run-over of his appearance. Light skin, perhaps Latino decent. Shaved head, dark eyes. Tattoos covering his arms, crawling up his neck. "I think you should sit down," he says to me.
I walk forward, pull out the chair, and take a seat. "And you are?" I ask.
"Don't worry about that for now."
"That's not how this works. You want to speak with me, I need a name."
He contemplates this for a minute. Then he says, "I want to be pardoned from anything I'm about to tell you."
"I'm sorry?"
"Listen, Chief. I have some valuable information that I think might be of use to you. And I don't even have to be here right now, you understand that? I could continue on living my life without ever stepping foot in this place. But I'm here as a courtesy to you. I'm here because I believe I can help."
"I'm not sure I'm following," I say. "What is this regarding?"
"The missing girl," he says, then corrects himself. "The dead girl."
"Catalaina Kittridge?"
"Yeah, that's her."
"You know something about her death?"
He sits back in the chair and crosses his arms. "I don't talk unless you promise me what I asked."
"And that is?"
"To be pardoned from anything I'm about to tell you."
"That's not how this works."
"Then I walk," he pushes back from the chair and stands. He stares at me, challenging me.
After a minute, I cave. "Sit down," I tell him. "We'll discuss what needs to be pardoned afterwards. But right now, I want you to talk."
"Nah, not until we have a deal."
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I look up at him again, his dark eyes glaring at me. "Okay," I say, knowing fully well what I'm getting myself into. A legal mess, that's for sure. But what other choice do I have? "But if what you tell me proves to be useless, you understand I can promise you nothing, correct?"
"Trust me," he says. "What I have to say aint nothing."
"Okay," I lean back in the chair, ready to listen. "Speak."
He takes a seat once again. "Tony Rodriguez," he sticks out his hand. I reach forward and shake it hesitantly. His grip is firm.
He lets go and places both his hands on the table in front of him. "The dead girl – I knew her. Quite well, I'd say."
"How's that?"
He laughs. "You're not going to believe me."
"Try me."
He stares at me a moment. "I was her supplier."
"I'm sorry – her what?"
"Supplier. I supplied her with drugs."
"Catalaina didn't do drugs."
He brings his hands together and begins to clap very slowly, patronizing me. "Good job," he says, smiling as he claps. "You do know something about the dead girl after all."
"Cut the bullshit," I say. "I'm not here to play games. Tell me what you know."
"I just did," he says. "I was her supplier. And no, she did not do drugs." He stares at me, taunting me a little more. "She sold them."