Chapter 4 - The Arrest

After he merandized me, Junior started to ask questions. Obviously benign ones I would answer in the spirit of cooperation, ones that can indict me would be spun or deferred. My career as a CFO taught me to answer questions from investors, auditors, the SEC, and the IRS without impeaching myself.

“May I see your wallet sir?”
“Front right pocket,” I answered. I use a business card holder as a wallet. Since I only carry plastic it takes up much less room. I was curious how awkward this would be for Junior since he had to touch an area that most men would not venture on another. Since he cuffed me he had no choice. I was surprised when he went for it without hesitation. I was glad my khakis were loose so he didn’t have to fish much.

“Mr. Scott?” asked Junior from reading it off my Florida license.
“Yes.”
"The Porsche yours?"
"Yeah."
"Nice, or at least was, you must have broken the frame."
This was commentary, not a question so I remained silent. I could not see the senior officer, who was attending to Rachel.
"You know your victim?"

He used the term victim. If I answered yes or no, I will admit she was my victim. There was just one answer to that question, "I need to call my lawyer. I respectfully will not answer any questions."

I learned early in my life not to treat people disrespectfully, and this was certainly no time to start. I was sure this would be the kid's first homicide and any kind of incriminating answer from me could end my life as I knew it. It was clear that I would be the number one suspect. As I looked up at the headlights, I realized that it appears that I rammed the Lexus. My finger prints are on the gun, and my DNA in her mouth. Clearly they will have the case solved in twenty four hours. I crashed into her to make her stop. Undoubtedly they will know the gun was hers - registered or not. She took it out to defend herself; I wrestled it away, and led her to the beach. I forced my penis into her mouth, and after I climaxed I replaced my shaft with the gun shaft and blew off the back of her head. Case closed. If they can prove premeditation I would have a choice of lethal injection or the chair they used to fry Bundy. I was fucked.

"You know the girl?"
I remained silent.
“We got a call from someone heading southbound and saw the cars. We were checking them out, when bam! We heard the shot."
I remained silent.
"Not talking?"
"Not without my lawyer."
Just then Senior came up and whispered in Junior's ear. I also saw more blue lights and two more uniforms heading down the dune. The still ocean began to crescendo in both form and audibility. I could see the sky start to lighten although the sun had not pierced the horizon yet. It was the predawn light that I knew well from my morning routine. I would have been close to my office in Jacksonville by now.

The two cops originally on the scene escorted me up to the highway. Two tow trucks were on the scene, and the backup officers stood watch over Rachel. I couldn't help but wonder if Senior closed her lids, covering those beautiful green eyes that would haunt me forever. Nobody will ever know what I knew happened. My pals may believe me out of loyalty, but they will always wonder if I just lost it and let the demons take me over to become another casualty of the dark side of humanity.

Junior opened the back door, put his palm on my head and pushed me down into the back seat, my hands cuffed behind me. I felt the binding pinch as my butt found the slick surface of the vinyl seat.

We headed south, so I suspected it was the Flagler County Sherriff that I would visit with. I didn’t take notice of the logo on the police cruiser. But if it was St. Johns we would head north. Flagler County was the lowest population in Northeast Florida. I had visions of a Mayberry station with the sheriff’s desk next to the sole jail cell, separated only by iron bars. Wild fires were the only newsworthy events here. I'll bet this makes the paper in Jacksonville and Daytona. It will then get picked up by the AP and the Wall Street Journal will run it by Tuesday. I had never made the Journal. The company I took public would only get the modest web based news releases. This wasn’t how I envisioned the prime years in my forties to gain notoriety.

As we cruised in silence, I began to wonder what got Rach motivated to frame me for her suicide. It was clear that she wanted to die. Furthermore she wanted me to be charged with her death, but why. She obviously made the early morning trip an hour south of Jacksonville to chase me. She must have been parked in the condo lot and waited for me. Maybe she partied in Daytona Sunday, never went to bed, did some ecstasy, and just lost it. There were so many questions, and the one that held the answers was gone – her corpse lying on its back at the beach.