The Tears Devourer

VII

      Mathew Patton opened the door wide, letting both detectives into his living room, without taking that angry gaze from their backs. Michael sat in a chair that he dragged from the dining room, to in front of the couch where the officers had settled, while Mathew only managed to rest his right shoulder on the edge of the wall that separated both sectors of the house.

    Officer Mondy was used to such treatment, most of it derogatory. As one of the few first black officers to become a detective in the entire Dells roster and history, he always expected the worst class of scoundrels he encountered would behave in much the same way. The detective decided to completely ignore the father, and concentrate on what the son had to say.

    "Very well, Michael," Mondy began the questioning, pulling out a sound recorder, and pressing the red button that made it vibrate. "Please explain to us what you meant by saying that you were the last person Ariana Torres spoke to."

    "Well, Corie put it that way," Michael replied. "Ariana got upset with me while we were eating in my garden, she went like crazy to her house, that's when I called Corie and asked her if she had arrived safely, but she said that she didn't know anything about her. She asked me to wait, that she was gonna call her and let me know if Ariana left her, but she didn't call me back, so I assumed that Ariana wouldn't let her talk to me about how she was or with whom..."

    "Okay, you don't need to clarify that part," Herrera interrupted, fixing his short, thick hair, even though it seemed all the time that he had it well combed. "Do you remember why Ariana got mad?"

    "I don't know... Why would a woman be angry, right?" Said Michael slyly.

    "Son, don't waste our time," Herrera warned him, unable to contain a stupid smile on his face at the comment.

    "What more can I tell you, officers?" Michael stretched both arms out slightly and extended them forward, hands pointing palms up. "Maybe I said something that made her mad, but I'm not sure..."

    "What were you talking about when she got angry?" Mondy chimed in.

    "Religion," Michael snapped, shifting his gaze to the detective who spoke to him. "Ariana had a very believing family. Too much, in my opinion. She gave me to understand that she disagreed with the archaic ideas they have, and I supported her, I said that the bible should go in the mythology section of bookstores and that Jesus should be considered a demigod, but then I noticed in her face that was offending her." Michael sighed and paused before continuing. His gaze darted from one detective to the other, watching for any hint of discomfort at hearing his version of events. "Look, Ariana believed that religion and science go hand in hand, that one is the metaphorical representation of the other, quite the opposite I find myself, thinking that all aspects of religion are nothing more than hoaxes whose purpose is to frighten and..."

    "Why do you speak of her in the past tense, son?" Mondy cut in, cutting off the boy's speech. "Ariana is not dead, just missing."

    "Well..." Michael's gaze drifted to the dusty wooden floor. "I'm just a realist, detectives. Ariana got lost coming home. She didn't escape, nor is she staying with someone else, so it is very likely that, well..."

    "What time did she leave your garden?" Herrera asked, frowning. Michael crouched forty-five degrees forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and intertwining his fingers.

    "I think almost eleven o'clock," he answered, after thinking for a few seconds. "The discussion didn't last long, but the previous talk and the food; yes. It was supposed to go straight to Corie, but hey, obviously that didn't happen."

    "How long have you known Ariana?" Mondy continued.

    "I met her the day before she disappeared."

    "Are you telling us, you've never seen her before that day?" Now it was Mondy in the feline position.

    "Not at all, detectives. I thought the question was to specify the day I met her, personally. It is more than obvious that in this city, most know who is who and who or who they hang out with."

    "Exactly... But you still haven't earned that degree of trust," Herrera pointed out. "We know your father because of his temperament, and if it weren't for this, we would have no idea who you are."

    "I can't find any questions in your unfriendly comment," Michael said, folding his arms and leaning his back on the sonorous wooden chair where he sat.

    "It's because there isn't." Herrera frowned and took a deep breath, letting out a snort. "Since when have you known her?"

    "I've seen her before at Catholic school. I drive there by car to go to mine, the one in Dells. I had never spoken to her in my life, much less was I interested in doing so."

    "And why do it later then? Why speak to her suddenly?"

    "She changed. She no longer wore long skirts or a ponytail on her head. Have you seen any pictures of how she dressed as a receptionist?"

    Both detectives exchanged glances, and both glances whispered the same thing: 'Like father, like son.' The kid was as stupid as the father, and much more superficial when it came to choosing women, surely.

    "Were you present? Did you see the girl leave the house?" This time, Mondy addressed the boy's father, who continued to observe everything standing up, leaning on the edge of the wall.

    "I was in my room," Mathew said dismissively, waving his hand as if throwing something invisible in the direction of the hall. "I don't care who this i***t messes with, as long as he stays out of my stuff."

    "Answer the question, please," Mondy asked.

    "I saw her go from my window," he said, frowning and adjusting the red cap that dictated 'Brooklyn' on his head. "She was a bundle of rage, came down the street and I lost sight of her a few seconds later."

    "You're saying a sixteen-year-old girl just went out and walked over to her friend's house... alone, at night." Herrera's left eyebrow made a perfect C cast across her face, rising in such a way that it even looked painful.

    "You must already know how women get when something bothers them," Mathew replied, a playful smile on his face. "You're big enough to get an idea." Herrera turned to look at Mondy, looking for permission to smash the i***t father's face.

    "One last question, Michael." Mondy stepped into the deadly glances between his partner, the standing alcoholic, and the seventeen-year-old in front of them. "Did you have feelings for Ariana? Or maybe for her friend, Corie?" Herrera's face was now pointed at her partner, slightly wrinkled and her eyes wide.

    "I don't know Corie except by her face," Michael replied features on his face similar to Herrera's, but less obvious. "And as for Ariana... I don't know, Detective. Can you get to feel something for a person you just met? I guess sympathy. I liked her... She likes me, but she's not the type of woman that sexually attracts me, or empathically... You know, for the long term."

    "That'll be all for now." Mondy got up from the green couch, feeling someone else's embarrassment, and motioned for Herrera to follow suit. "If we need any of you at any point in the investigation, we'll let you know. Please, for the next month, you are asked not to leave Dells for any reason, if there's an emergency, I'll leave this to you." He raised his right hand to the hidden pocket of his dark leather jacket and produced a small business card. "Let me know personally if anything comes up, and if I can't get the call, Connie will be more than happy to take it for me at the station."

    They left the Patton house, receiving only the boy's goodbye, and nothing more than a snort from the father. The detectives didn't speak until closing the doors of Mondy's Ford.

    "What was that, Brendan?" Herrera rebuked him. "I guess the last question had a purpose, right? Because I thought something... stupid. Until leftover. We had already suggested that before, and it was obvious that the baby didn't move the floor."

    "Dusty, did you see his eyes as he spoke?" Mondy asked.

    "What are you talking about?"

    "His eyes... He spoke of her not only in the past tense but as if she were not a person." Mondy rubbed his chin doubtfully. "I've seen this kind of behavior before, I don't know if you know it, but I took psychology courses to solve one of my first cases."

    "And why did you ask that question? What does it have to do with his look?"

    "I think the boy is lying, Dusty. The last question was exactly to reveal that, if he could feel something for the girl, no matter what it is, simply if he could feel something." Mondy's eyes fell on the steering wheel, where his hands rested, clutching the padded plastic.

    "We don't have anything strong against him," Herrera added. "His father will back the little prick. Ariana left Corie's house around nine at night, according to her statement, and left the little i***t's house around eleven. During that period of time, we have nothing against him. There are no recordings, no letters, no conversations. What do you think to accuse him of? Hart won't approve any investigation if we don't have anything against him."

    "Well, we'll have to find something, Dusty." A fat bead of sweat slipped from Mondy's temple. "He was breathing heavily and his hands were sweating profusely. I don't know why, but his demeanor was very... Relaxed. I think I know how to catch him, but I'll have to warn an old friend about this first."

    Mondy took his cell phone out of the right pocket of his khaki pants, dialed a number on the digital keyboard of his screen, and held it to his right ear, while the slight tremor was noted throughout the length of his arm.

    "Professor Holland?" Mondy asked the device in his ear. "This is Brendan Mondy, remember me?" The detective faked a smile as he listened to what Professor Holland replied. "I think I have something that may interest you, professor. Remember the case where you helped me two years ago, in Chicago?" He waited a moment with his arm still raised. Exactly, professor. I think I have another psychopath here at Dells."