Trade Anything Part 4

Meanwhile, Max realized his shirt is soaked through with perspiration. The stress and anxiety of his missing daughter, the reporter ambush, and now talking to the police was taking a toll on his nerves. He thought he was coping, but apparently he was wrong. Max hated to sweat. He hated how it felt as much as how it looked. Sweat made people look like liars. Just ask Richard Nixon. Sweat cost him the debate with Kennedy and ultimately the election. Almost as though his car had a mind of its own and could read his thoughts, the car turned right onto the street where Max lived. At least the car tried to take him home.

The street was blocked by police cars, an ambulance, two fire trucks and the fire chief’s SUV. A uniformed policeman stepped up to his car to say “You can’t come this way, sir.”

Max pulled over to the curb and got of out of the car. “I live on this street, officer. Which house is on fire?”

“The fifth house from the end on the other side of the street.”

“That’s my house!” Max replied.

“Sorry, sir. The fire department is doing everything they can. You’ll have to stay back.”

Max debated with himself about what to do next. That officer wasn’t going to let him get any closer. There was nothing to do but wait. Should he go to the precinct as planned? At least now his soaked through shirt was understandable of a man who’s daughter is missing and whose house is burning to the ground. He returned to the car and pulled a small notepad from the glove compartment. He wrote down his name and phone number which he quickly crossed through and wrote his cellphone number. There wasn’t any point in giving the man the phone to the house under the circumstances.

“Shit!” The page tore into instead of tearing off the pad. He wadded it up and tossed it to the floor. He wrote the note again but without the earlier mistake. Everything happens for a reason after all he cheered himself. The notepad easily relinquished the second page. Max found the officer and handed him the note.

“Here’s my name and cellphone number. I’m on my way to the precinct to meet with Detective Hathorne. Please call me when the fire is out so I can try to salvage some of my things.”

“Will do, sir, but it may be a while.”

With only a nod, Max returned to his car and drove away. As he parked his car, Max saw Detective Hathorne waiting in front.

“I was beginning to think you had had an accident.”

“I was in a way. I passed my house on the way here. Fire trucks filled the street. My house is on fire.”

“How awful. No wonder you were late. Do they have the fire under control?

“Controlled I think, but not extinguished. The police officer guarding the street said he would call me when I can go back to see if there is anything I can salvage. I mentioned I was coming to see you. I also gave him my cell number.”

“Fine, fine. This shouldn’t take long. I know you must be frazzled by the day you’re having.”

“I am. The house is insure of course, but still, there’s the little irreplaceable things you collect―.”

“There is that, Max. I may call you Max? However, I was referring to your daughter’s disappearance without a clue, or even any possible reliable witnesses. A house can be replaced, but a little girl?”

“All the more reason I hope to find a photograph of her and some of her toys and things. Those are the things I referred to, Detective. I couldn’t care less about the rest of it, but I have to save something for Daphne to have when she is found.” Max’s voice trembled and his eyes welled up as he spoke.

Detective Hathorne was about to say something when the door opened after a quick double knock. Officer Lewis said, “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but could I speak with you a minute outside?”

“Of course, Officer. Sorry, Max. I‘ll be right back.” Detective Hawthorne stood up and was behind the closed door before Max could think of a response.

A few minutes later Detective Hathorne returned. His demeanor was a lot more serious. “Mr. Winters, would you mind following me please? We need to continue our conversation in a more accommodating setting.”

“Sure. It’s all the same to me, Detective.” Max wondered what had changed, why he was now Mr. Winters instead of Max. Somehow he knew he really didn’t really want to know the answer, so he kept quiet.

The two men followed Officer Lewis down a hallway and into a formal interrogation room. Max was directed to a seat facing the requisite two-way mirror. The shirt that had dried out began to stick to his back again.

“Are Alice and the Mad Hatter on the other side there?” Max asked with a tone of forced cheerfulness.

“What?” Hathorne asked.

“Take a seat, Mr. Winters,” Officer Lewis instructed.

Max promptly did as he was told. He didn’t like this woman Lewis and tried very hard to not show it.

“Oh! I get it!” said Hathorne. “You were referring to Alice and the Looking Glass. No, Mr. Winters, I’m afraid this is not a fairytale no matter how much you may wish it to be.”

Max sat there and wondered what was to happen next. Lewis and Hathorne stared at Max as though he was expected to say something. So he did. “Have you found my daughter? Is that why we’re here?”

The two stone faces on the other side of the table maintained their silence.

“Is it bad news? Is Daphne, is my little girl―?”

“Your daughter has been found, Mr. Winters,” Detective Hathorne said while Officer Lewis scowled.

“Is she all right?”

“She’s a bit shaken up, but she seems to be fine. She’s at the hospital now being examined.”

“Oh, thank God! Thank God!” Max said with tears rolling down both cheeks. “Where was she? Where did you find her? Was anyone with her?”

“You can cut the grateful, happy father act, Mr. Winters,” Officer Lewis said. “You know where we found her so why don’t you come clean and tell us the truth about how she got there.” Officer Lewis spat her words like she was ridding her mouth of an unpleasant taste.

“We found your daughter in you basement, Mr. Winters. Do you want to continue the story from here?” Hathorne asked.

“In my basement? How in the hell did she get in the basement?”

“Are you really going to continue this innocent act, Mr. Winters?” Officer Lewis accused.

“Innocent act? What act? I’m happy you found her of course, especially ―. Wait. Was she in the fire? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Firefighters found her once they had knocked down the flames.”

“But she is all right? You said she is all right.  She is all right?

“She is fine as far as we could tell without a thorough medical exam, Mr. Winters.” Officer Lewis answered. “What we want you to tell us is why you had your daughter handcuffed to a chair in your basement while you were running around telling everybody she had been abducted. That’s the big question here, Mr. Winters.”

“Handcuffed? I don’t know what you’re talking about! I swear to you I took Daphne to her friend’s birthday party. When I went back she was gone and nobody around there knows anything about anyone living in the house or the party. I’ve been worried sick. And now you have the balls to sit here and accuse me of some kind of scam while I kept my little girl handcuffed in my basement and set the house on fire? You people must be out of your fucking minds!” Max stopped when he heard the f-word fly out of his mouth. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t usually swear like that. I apologize, Office Lewis, especially to you.”

“Save it, Mr. Winters,” there was that knife edge tone again which Max could slap her for using to him.

“You know, Officer Lewis, when someone is apologizing to you the least you could try to not be such a bitch!” There. Max had finally told her what he thought about her.

“All right. Let’s cut the name calling,” Hathorne said. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Officer Lewis, perhaps it would be better if you left the room. I see no point in you two antagonizing each other. That’s not the reason we’re here.”

“Fine,” Officer Lewis said as she stood up and left the room.

“Mr. Winters, let’s get back to how your daughter ended up handcuffed in your basement.”

“Detective, I’ve already told you. I don’t know.”

“Okay, Mr. Winters. Let’s watch one of the videos we also recovered from the fire and you can tell me about it.”

Hathorne stood and walked over to a video monitor and pressed the play button. The video showed a young girl sitting on a small chair.

“Is this your daughter, Mr. Winters?”

“Yes. That’s Daphne. What is this?

“Let’s see keep watching. I think things will become clear to you as we go along.”

A man’s voice instructed her to take off her shoes and socks. The girl began to cry. She said no. The man told her if she did what she was told she could go outside and play afterwards. So the girl removed her shoes and socks. Hathorne stopped the video.

“I don’t think we need to see any more to understand where this is going, do we, Mr. Winters? How long have you been abusing your daughter, Mr. Winters?”

“I have never touched my daughter, not like that.”

“Is that not your voice we hear coaching her in the video?

“I will tell you again, Detective Hathorne. I have never touched my daughter.”

“You just display her on video and sell her online to men who get their rocks off with children, Mr. Winters?”

“I want to call my lawyer. I’m entitled to legal counsel. I’m not saying another word until my lawyer is here.”

“Fine. I’m happy to offer you one of our guest suites. Just answer me this: what is it with guys like you who would trade anything for sex with a child?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You have to know this isn’t the only video we saved for you. You will go to prison for child sexual abuse and maybe even arson.”

“Why would you guys even think to look at some videos from a burned out house, Detective?”

“That so called crazy wife of yours. She finally got someone to listen to her. She didn’t stab you in your sleep as you claimed. She was protecting the little girl. She told us about your movie business.”

“And you believe her?”

“Wouldn’t you if you were me? You look tired, Mr. Winters. Let’s get you checked in so you can lie down and get some rest.”

Two male officers entered the room. One of them handcuffed Max as Hathorne advised Max Winters of his rights. After being photographed and fingerprinted Max asked if he could wash the ink off his fingers.

“The ink will wear off. Besides, your cellmates will all have dirty fingers anyway,” Hathorne said.

Max was put into a cell with three other men who seemed to take no notice of him. One of them pointed to one of the lower bunks and told Max, “That one’s yours.” Max laid down facing the wall.

“Hey, Mister Sociable! Wha’d ya do?” one asked.

“They say I set my house on fire.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Know who did?”

“Sorry. I’m really tired. I need some sleep,” Max replied without ever turning to face the other men. He quickly drifted off to sleep.

Max woke to being pulled off his bed onto the floor. He looked at his finger tips to see if the ink was still on them. His fingers were clean. His relief led him to the mistaken impression he had been dreaming and was now awake. He opened his eyes and saw his cellmates standing over him. Metal glistened from their cocked fists.

“You lied, motherfucker. You messed with your little girl. That’s why you’re in here. Here’s how we clean scum outta our cell here.” All three of the men planted their weapons into Max’s chest and stomach at once. The only sound Max made was like the air being released from a yellow balloon that tried to pass itself off as the sun one day at a party.