It was the truth. It was all he had, the antidote for whatever pain he’d inflicted on her.
He only hoped it was enough.
17
BODY LANGUAGE
He hardly felt better about where he stood with Kenna after their disastrous chat in the alleyways downtown. Staying in contact with her was enough; he wouldn’t be greedy. Besides, he was thoroughly convinced he could not make her see reason.
It was up to her to determine his guilt or innocence.
All morning, Dayton was stationed at his desk. His research had ended with Kenna but he’d been neglectful of compiling his findings. He copied and pasted and burned holes into the keyboard as he typed, all the while wondering if he’d be finishing the near decade-long project in vain.
With Kenna, he had stumbled into an unexpected outcome. It was best to quit while he was ahead. Forget the project and turn to what he wanted most: happiness.
The doorbell rang. His fingers hovered over the keys.
As he approached the door, he was light with anticipation in the hope that Kenna was on the other side.
Perhaps she wanted to apologize for how out of hand things had gotten after they’d breezed out of Bigleaf. She’d collapse into his arms, an incoherent flurry of ‘I’m sorry’s. He’d hold her while she admitted how remorseful she was to have accused him of such treachery.
Dayton opened the door, revealing a man with a pointed face in a suit and dark sunglasses. His hair was a dirty shade of blonde that bordered on brunette. Short but somehow unkempt. He glanced behind the man, spotting a black, nondescript SUV parked along the street, and his skin prickled as wariness set in.
The stranger smiled. All lips, no teeth.
“Glad I caught you at home. You weren’t around yesterday when I stopped by.” He whipped out a badge from within the breast of his jacket. “I’m Detective Brian Reynolds with the Portland Police Bureau. I’m the lead on the Greene investigation.”
Reynolds.
The man the other officers had spoken of at the bar.
The detective stepped past him, operating under the assumption that a flash of his badge negated formal permission to enter. An aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap car air freshener followed him inside.
“Please, have a seat.” It was the last thing he wanted to say, but he lacked any alternative.
How would it look if he didn’t cooperate with an investigation? He wasn’t surprised it had come to this.
The poor girl hadn’t put herself in that dumpster.
Reynolds took the armchair while, after much internal debate, he sat in the middle of the couch. The rightmost side would’ve made him seem too evasive. Had he chosen the leftmost side, he would’ve seemed too eager.
The detective retrieved an impossibly small notebook from the outer pocket of his jacket. The leather harness holster cutting across his dress shirt didn’t escape Dayton’s notice.
“Let me check my notes. I get a little mixed up sometimes.” Atop the cushion, his hands tightened into fists before loosening again as he watched the detective flip through those tiny pages.
“I’ve been hopping around town the last few days, following up on a couple of things from the statements my guys pulled.”
Dayton didn’t care for the explanation but it miffed him nonetheless. He couldn’t think of a single incriminating thing that resided in the statement he’d given.
“YouareDayton Merino, correct? That’s the name I have for this address.”
“Yes.”
“Dayton Merino.” He said again, this time in a questioning tone. “Feel like I know that name. You’re a doctor, is that right?” He was quiet for a beat. A wedding band glinted in the natural light as he flipped another page. “Psychiatry?”
“That’s right.”
If the rest of the questioning went on like this, Dayton was sure he’d lose whatever shred of sanity he still had. Asking questions to which the detective already knew the answers.