we were to look around? A collection of Mrs. Lincoln’s underwear? Your porn collection? Maybe pictures of the neighbor you took peeking through her windows when she wasn’t looking?”
Detective Torres started wandering around the living room looking at Dale’s books, his DVDs, peeking under his couch cushions.
“Hey! I said you couldn’t search my house!”
“Oh, I’m not searching. I’m just looking at what’s in plain sight. You’re kind of a boring dude, ain’t ya?”
The detective was holding up a DVD of
“When was the last time you updated your DVD collection?”
Dale felt his blood pressure escalate. He knew that the detectives were trying hard to anger him and that losing his temper would only further amuse them or give them the probable cause they needed to arrest him. He tried his best to keep his voice calm and steady, but he could feel the heat in his cheeks and forehead, knew his face was probably the color of a particularly livid sunburn.
“Please, do not touch my things.”
Dale gently removed the DVD from the detective’s hands and replaced it in his DVD stand.
“Afraid we’ll find that porn collection?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave my house right now.”
Lassiter stepped up close to Dale again, once more invading his space.
“I can tell you don’t like us, Dale.” She pulled out a plastic ziploc bag with a Q-tip and a specimen slide inside it. “How about you let us take a swab of the inside of your cheek. Then we can test it against some DNA we took from Mrs. Lincoln and exclude you as a suspect. Then you never have to see us again.”
Dale’s face lit up. He tried his best to hide his smile, dropping his head to stare at the floor. But as quickly as he would suppress the self-satisfied grin spreading across his face, it would come bursting back wider and more exuberant than ever.
“W-where did you find the DNA?”
The detectives exchanged quick looks. Torres shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
“Now why would you want to know where we found the DNA?” Torres asked.
Dale looked from one detective to the other. He felt his smile returning so he averted his eyes back to the floor.
“Just curious. Did they find it inside her?”
Lassiter turned pale and Dale could tell that Detective Torres wanted to hit him.
“Excuse me?” Lassiter said.
“Where’d they find it? It must have been inside of her. It’s semen isn’t it? Someone came inside her. That’s why you want my DNA. Was it in her ass? In her mouth? Or was it all over her tits?”
“That’s enough, Mr. McCarthy.”
“Have you seen her tits? It looks like she’s had a boob job but she hasn’t. They’re real. I can tell by the way they jiggle when she walks. They’re real and fucking perfect. Not all big and flabby like yours. Hers are firm and perky. I bet that’s where they found the semen. Because if it was me, that’s what I would have done. I’d have fucked her right between those perfect tits. Now, since I’m not going to let you swab my cheeks for DNA so you can try to frame me for something I didn’t do”—Dale turned to the female detective, no longer bothering to hide either his smile or his erection—“no matter how much I would love to have been the one who fucked that sweet cunt, you can go on and get the fuck out of my house.”
The detectives looked shocked. That made Dale’s smile widen even more. They had been trying to make him uncomfortable. But they were amateurs. Dale was a master of psychological warfare. He watched them turn and walk toward the door. The big black woman turned toward Dale one last time before she left.
“You know we’re going to catch you, right?”
Dale chuckled.
“You mean you’re going to catch the rapist, right? The one that you say attacked her in her sleep, as incredulous as that seems? But since that isn’t me, I guess I won’t be seeing you again.”
Torres stopped this time and grabbed Dale by his T-shirt, balling the front of the shirt up into his fist.
“You’ll be seeing us again, motherfucker. Believe that.”
Dale began to shiver.
“Do-don’t-don’t manhandle me! Let me go!”
The detective let him go and walked out the front door, slamming it behind him. “Fuck you very much, Detectives,” Dale muttered at their backs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sarah was just about to call downstairs for room service when the phone rang. She picked it up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Lincoln?”
“Detective Lassiter?”
“My partner and I are in the lobby. Do you mind if we come up?”
“No. Come on up.”
Sarah didn’t like the sound of the detective’s voice. She sounded too serious, almost angry.
“That was Detective Lassiter. She’s on her way up.”
Josh looked anxious and excited but there was definitely worry on his face.
“Did she say anything?”
“No. But she didn’t sound too happy.”
Sarah and Josh sat on the bed waiting. It took a long time before the detectives finally knocked on the door. Sarah fidgeted the entire time. She kept looking from the bedside clock to the door and biting her nails. It felt like time had slowed to a limp.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln?”
Josh got up and opened the door while Sarah remained on the bed, anxiously gnawing at her fingernails.
Josh opened the door and Detective Lassiter rushed into the room followed by a short Mexican detective.
“That guy is an asshole!”
“Who?” Sarah asked.
“Your neighbor. Dale. He’s a fucking dick! Excuse my language.”
“That’s quite all right. What did he say?”
The detective paused. She looked over at the other detective beside her.
“This is my partner, Detective Michael Torres.”
“Uh…hi. What did he say?”
The two detectives looked at each other. Sarah could tell something was wrong. Josh looked agitated as well. He could obviously sense that something wasn’t right.
“He asked us where we found the DNA. He wanted to know if whoever raped you had ejaculated on your breasts. Then he indicated that that’s what he would have done.”
“I’ll fucking kill him!”
The way Josh said it, no one in the room doubted his seriousness.
“Look, I talk to a lot of insensitive assholes and not all of them are guilty. Not every pervert is a rapist. Some people just have a twisted sense of humor.”
“You think he was just kidding? You told him that my wife had been raped and he said that he wished that he could have cum on her tits and you think that was just some kind of fucking joke?”
“What I’m saying is that I can’t prove he did it. Yeah, I think the guy is fucking weird, disgusting, and probably guilty of something. I just can’t say that he’s guilty of raping your wife. I can’t say it for sure because she can’t.”
“But what do you think?” Sarah asked. “Do you think he did it?”