Thursday 11 October 2012
With Missy Fairmont, alleged stalking victim, and faux pizza delivery guy Frank, alleged stalker and double murderer, impatiently waiting in separate interview rooms, Detectives Brian Hunt and Sue Lennard, and Officer Andy Ricketsen took a breather. The planning of the safe house operation had been complicated and the waiting around had been excruciating for everyone involved. Hunt, Lennard, and Ricketsen were all running on adrenaline since apprehending the couple, and their Lieutenant, Troy Logan, had instructed them all to take their time. Sue was still giggling as a result of his attempt at a motivational and inspirational speech.
‘Be sure,’ she imitated the Lieutenant’s southern accent, ‘to get your ducks all in a row before you go barging in there, guns blazing. You don’t want to misfire and end up looking the fool. I want their arses nailed to the wall, ‘specially over Seaborn.’
Hunt couldn’t help but snicker; Lennard had Logan down pat. She provided the relief that they needed. When Ricketsen joined in the laughter, the other detectives looked towards the trio. Hunt returned the stares as coolly as they were directed at he and his team.
‘It’s time to get in there, kids. Lennard, you and I will hit this Frank turkey and get everything out of him that we can. Then you and Ricketsen will interview Mrs. Fairmont,’ Hunt instructed the two and walked off to interview the pizza delivery guy.
* * * * *
Hunt was quick to get the administration side of the interview out of the way. He was going hard and fast; they couldn’t afford to waste any time if Missy Fairmont was to be interviewed for any length of time before she would legally need to be released from custody.
‘Don’t mess me about, kid, I want your real name. NOW.’
The pizza delivery guy looked so much younger sitting in front of Hunt now than he did in the apartment. The detective suspected that he wouldn’t be much older than twenty-one, and he was scared. Hunt had seen the look the kid was wearing many times before. It was the expression that suspects wore when they realised there was no way out of the situation they had managed to get themselves into. It was the realisation that they had taken lives and would have to face the consequences of their actions. With a little pressure, Hunt knew the kid would talk.
‘Cody. Seaborn,’ the fake pizza delivery guy replied. Hunt’s jaw dropped and Lennard looked as though she was about to pass out.
‘Seaborn?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, Russ was my uncle. And before you ask, I’m nineteen.’
The comment further stumped Hunt as he considered the implications of the young man’s actions. His life would end, his freedom would be lost, and he successfully destroyed his own family.
‘Explain it to me, Cody,’ Hunt said. The boy shrugged his shoulders.
‘I’m pretty sure that Uncle Russ recognised me outside the police station the day that Missy came in to make the report that she was being stalked. When she saw that the investigation was picking up speed, she said we needed to derail it so that it would be drawn out and we could do what she originally planned.’
‘Which was what?’ asked Lennard.
Full of bravado, Cody Seaborn didn’t bother to lower his eyes or demonstrate remorse when he answered Lennard.
. . . To be continued . . .