Broken Road (38 page)

Jarrod ran toward the room and pushed open the door. One of the officers grabbed him. Morgan looked up to see his heated face and raging blue eyes. She immediately looked down and away, but that wouldn’t stop Jarrod. As the officers were holding him back, Jarrod screamed, “What did you do to her? Where is she, you bitch? I swear I’ll kill you if she’s been hurt!”

Jarrod was removed forcefully from the room; four armed police officers were needed to subdue him. Willie stood outside the glass looking in. He glared at Morgan, who finally looked up and saw him standing there. This time she didn’t look away. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” to him. He never looked away. He would not grant her that mercy. He wanted her to witness all the pain and fear he was enduring, hoping that somehow, those emotions would transmogrify to her.

When she couldn’t look at him anymore, she lowered her head and let her loose hair fall over her shoulder. A minute later she looked from the corner of her eye, peeking through the strands of her hair to see that he still stood there motionless. She turned her body completely away from him so that she would not be tempted to look again. She could no longer hear Jarrod’s voice. She had heard him screaming vile, disgusting profanities at her for a long while, but suddenly there was silence. The two officers still stood their ground in the small room in which she was brought. Nobody spoke. All that could be heard were her sniffles.

She sat there in complete silence for a long while, wondering why no one had come in to question her yet. Her uncle was no longer standing at the glass window, and she wondered where he had gone, but knew no one would tell her if she were to ask, so she didn’t even bother.

In the meantime Jarrod and Willie had been brought into a small conference room, where they impatiently awaited for news and for the return of Detective Anderson. Jarrod was secretly happy that the room they were in did not have windows, as did all the others. If he had to constantly see Morgan’s face, there would be no way for him to control himself. As it was, he was dying to just rush into that room and strangle all the pertinent information out of her. He and Willie sat there in mute silence for what seemed like forever, both lost in their own personal thoughts.

Finally Detective Anderson arrived. He walked straight into his office, where a police officer joined him to update and apprise him of the new and relevant circumstances. After writing all the information down and giving the officer instructions, he asked that the officer bring Jarrod and Willie into his office.

When they entered the detective’s office, he asked that they sit down. Jarrod and Willie looked at each other in apprehension and dread, but did as requested.

“Morgan Billings has turned herself in,” he stated flatly.

Jarrod nodded and said, “We saw her being brought in. We had no idea she had turned herself in, though. Has she said anything? Do you know where Angel is?”

“She hasn’t been interviewed yet.”

“What do you mean, she hasn’t been interviewed yet?” shouted Willie as he stood angrily. “She’s been here for over two hours.”

“I
was
the detective in charge of the case. Nobody could interview her but me, and I just returned from Langdon’s house a few minutes ago,” said Detective Anderson.

“
Was
? What do you mean by
was
? If you’re not handling the case anymore, who is?” asked Willie.

“Detective Lieutenant Jerome Roberts of the Gainesville Police Department. I’m sorry, but as a detective of the UFPD, I can only investigate cases that take place on campus. The case has been led outside my jurisdiction. Only local or state police can handle it now.”

“But Morgan’s here,” Jarrod said. “You’re here. Why can’t you just interview her and pass the information on to them? We’re just wasting time, and we can’t afford to do that.”

“I understand how you feel. It’s aggravating for me as well, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m bound by the law. If it makes you feel any better, I will be assisting them in the investigation. Ms. Billings is being prepped for transfer to their precinct as we speak. I’ll be heading over there myself as soon as I clear up a few matters here.”

“Will you be able to sit in on the interview?” Jarrod asked. “You’ve been involved from the beginning. You know everything about the case.”

“No. I’m sorry. The interview process has to be conducted solely by the detective handling the case. That would now be Detective Lieutenant Roberts, not me. Once again, it’s beyond my control. I’ve already been instructed to have copies of everything we have regarding this case faxed over to him. Plus, as I mentioned before, I will be on hand twenty-four/seven for assistance.”

“Can you at least tell us what happened when you went to John Masterson’s house?” asked Willie. He was beyond frustrated and needed some answers now.

The detective explained that he, as well as two other UFPD officers, had arrived at the house in Alachua and found only one roommate present at the time, Nathan Daniels. Once he was able to get over the shock of his roommates’ potential participation in the case, he was cooperative and led them directly to their rooms. Nothing of pertinent interest was found in either bedroom, aside from the pictures on the walls and a few other items in Langdon’s room. His car was in the driveway, so he must have left in either a borrowed, stolen, or rental car. The Gainesville PD was notified. They arrived within minutes of the call and were now handling the case.

“I suggest you both head over to their precinct now,” said the detective. “I’m sure Detective Lieutenant Roberts will want to speak to you both personally. If you like, I can have a cruiser bring you over.”

“No. No thanks. We have a car,” said Willie dejectedly. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. His daughter was being held captive by a madman, and all these people were worried about were policies and procedures. He and Jarrod stood up, shook hands with Detective Anderson, and thanked him for his help. As they left, Jarrod glanced over toward the interview room and noted it was now empty. He had never felt more helpless in all his life, and that was saying a lot, after the horrendous year he had just gone through.

Detective Anderson watched through his office window as they left, and then he slowly turned toward his desk and sat down. He pushed his chair back and leaned forward while lowering his head and placing it in both his hands. While rubbing his head furiously, he took a deep, resigned breath. When he raised his head again, he turned to look at the open file sitting on his desk. Disinclined, but nonetheless under exaction to cede to the infernal rules, he hesitantly closed it and mumbled, “Dammit.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

L
ess than half an hour later, Jarrod and Willie ascended the steps leading into the Gainesville Police Department. The building was no wider than a large house but appeared to be several stories high. The exterior, especially the front, was covered in gray, chipped cement, and the structure appeared old, a fact proven by a faded bronze sign near the entrance indicating it was originally built in 1919. It was obvious it was under much-needed renovation, as large scaffolding, gray tarps, and numerous workmen surrounded the eastern side of the building. The sound of hammering, drilling, and men calling out orders to one another cut through the cacophony of city traffic as the sluggish day began to break.

A far cry from the modern style and information technology services utilized by UFPD, the interior of the precinct lent more credence to the television shows Jarrod had used in comparison earlier that day. Two uniformed officers stood working behind a large dispatch area. To the left of it was a large staircase leading up to the second level. Practically all the furniture appeared to be made of dark discolored wood, and only the walls surrounding everything were of a light color. The banister was thick and ruddy, matching the steps, which creaked loudly as they carried the weight of those ascending and descending them. The chairs were of heavy, solid wood and must have been at least half a century old. Severely used, but in overall good condition, they would most likely make it to the three-quarter century mark if given the chance. The room was dark, even though the large windows were bare. Even the police officers seemed glummer.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the officers manning the desk as he lowered his glasses toward the tip of his nose while looking over them at the two gentlemen standing in front of him.

“Yes. My name is William Skyler, and I’m looking for Detective Lieutenant Jerome Roberts. I believe he is handling my daughter’s case. Her name is Angelise Skyler, and she was abducted last night outside of her dorm.” Willie inhaled deeply as he tried to soothe his raw nerves.

The officer turned to look at the female officer who had stopped entering information into the computer when she overheard Angel’s name.

“I’ll let him know you’re here to see him,” she said as she quickly jumped down from her stool and passed through a wooden gate that appeared to lead directly into a long hallway filled with offices.

“Why don’t you take a seat over there until he comes,” said the remaining officer as he pointed toward a small waiting area.

Jarrod and Willie nodded and quietly headed in that direction. They sat in the uncomfortable, but sturdy chairs as they waited.

A tall, muscularly built, dark-haired man who appeared to be in his mid to late forties approached them a short while later and asked Willie if he was William Skyler. Both Willie and Jarrod stood up and Willie responded, “Yes, I am. Are you Detective Lieutenant Roberts?”

“Yes.” He stretched out his left hand to shake Willie’s and then said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry for the circumstances you find yourself in, and I promise to do my best to recover your daughter safely.”

“Thank you. I appreciate anything you can do. This is Jarrod Wentworth. He’s my daughter’s boyfriend, and I’m sure that he can supply you with any information you might need.” Jarrod shook the detective’s hand and after exchanging pleasantries, Detective Lieutenant Roberts asked for them to join him in his office. They followed him into the long hallway and entered the third office on the right. It was small, cluttered, but bright, with no dark wood to be found anywhere in his office. His desk was a double pedestal steel desk with a wood-grain laminate top that looked fairly new. Behind it and to the right stood a gray four-drawer steel, vertical file cabinet that had pictures of what Jarrod presumed to be the detective’s young children taped to the side.

Additional framed pictures could be found on the right-hand corner of his desk beside the phone. The walls were painted a drab white, and the large, wide window that spanned the length of the office afforded a drab view of the building next to the station.

The detective stood behind his desk and motioned for them both to take the seats that were situated directly across from him. Once they did, he sat down as well. He folded his hands on his desk.

“Once again, please let me reiterate how sorry I am for you both as well as your families. I’ve spoken to Detective Anderson and he has been and will continue to be a tremendous help in trying to solve this case. Together we are going to do our best to find your daughter, Mr. Skyler. I won’t rest until we have her back.”

“Safe and sound?” asked Willie.

“I’ll do my best,” responded the detective. He would make no promises. He’d been at this long enough to know never to do that.

He pulled out a legal-size yellow notebook from the top middle drawer of his desk and pulled out a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I’ll need to ask you a few questions. Detective Anderson has already supplied me with a copy of your statement, Mr. Wentworth—”

“Jarrod.”

The detective looked up at him briefly, nodded and then continued. “Jarrod. I have an additional question I’m surprised was not asked when the statement was taken. Let me start by saying I do not mean to offend you by asking this question, but procedure requires that I do.” Jarrod nodded and waited for him to ask. “From the time that you left Ms. Skyler’s room for the evening and the time that you returned to retrieve your…uh…” He glanced down at the copy of the statement that Detective Anderson had sent him and then added, “Your…uh, cell phone, where were you?” He looked up from the file that lay before him on the desk and cast a quick, appraising glance at Jarrod.

Jarrod responded without any offense taken. “When I left, I stopped at the gas station across the street from her building and got twenty dollars worth of gas. I was there for about ten minutes, and after that I went directly back to my dorm.”

“And where would that be?”

“Murphree Hall.”

The detective nodded and wrote the information down. Willie was not as inclined as Jarrod to not take offense by the question and said, “Why are you asking Jarrod where he was? He had nothing to do with her abduction.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Skyler. He’s just doing his job. I’m fine with it,” said Jarrod.