Red Rain

60

At first Mark thought people were screaming. The sound made him drop his coffee mug on the kitchen table. And as he hurried to the front of the house, he realized they were sirens.

And, strangely, the wailing cacophony made him angry. Because they had just been there, just invaded his house and his life, and he didn’t want them back with their foolish accusations and misguided questions and insulting stares.

I’m sick of the bullshit. I just want my kids to be safe.

Why are they back here? What are they doing to find my kids?

Mark clenched his jaw tight and squeezed his fists until his fingernails dug into his palm. And then the pounding on the front door and the shouts shook him out of his anger.

He heard Lea calling his name. Turning, he saw her halfway down the stairs, her hand gripping the banister, her eyes wide with fright. “Mark?”

The pounding on the door drowned out the rest of her words.

“Mr. Sutter, police. Open the door.” Barked. Just like on TV.

Mark pulled open the door. An army of men-it seemed like an army-led by Captain Franks, who came in with his shoulder low like an NFL blocking tackle, pushed into the house.

Mark stepped back, blinking at the force of it all. The sheer invasion. The anger. He saw the weapons raised. They forced him against the fireplace.

He heard Lea scream.

“Mark Sutter, you are under arrest for the murder of Autumn Holliday.” Franks spitting the words in his face. Standing so close, Mark could smell the coffee on his breath.

“Huh? Autumn? What?”

Did the words make any sense?

Beside him, a wavy-haired cop was reading him his rights from the screen of an iPhone.

“Wait! Wait!” Mark raised his hands in the air.

The cops all tensed their weapons.

“What did you say?” His voice shrill, almost unrecognizable, shouting over the droning voice of the cop still reading off the phone screen.

“Did you say Autumn? Killed?”

He couldn’t help it. He pictured her bent over his desk. Her hands gripping the edge of the desktop. That creamy white ass moving under him.

“Nooooooooo!” A howl of protest burst from deep inside.

Two cops stepped toward him menacingly, guns raised. He saw Pavano and Pinto holding back, still in the doorway, as if guarding against any escape attempt.

Were there cops outside in case he made a run for it?

What a joke. The child psychologist makes a run for it.

How could Autumn be dead? Why? Why Autumn? And why did they think he was the murderer?

“I–I can’t. . believe it.” He felt sick. He grabbed his stomach. He felt the coffee rising up his throat. “Not Autumn.”

He let out a long sigh, shut his eyes, and leaned back against the mantel.

“No. There’s some mistake. Why are you arresting Mark?”

He heard Lea’s trembling voice. Opened his eyes to see her step warily past Pavano and Pinto into the living room.

The officers ignored her and kept their eyes on Mark, weapons tensed.

“You don’t have to answer any questions until you have a lawyer present,” Franks said, the only calm voice in the room. “But you can help yourself by-”

“When was Autumn killed?” Mark interrupted, narrowing his eyes at Franks. “Last night? You know I was here all night. You were here with me.”

“How was she killed?” Lea asked, moving up beside Mark, gripping his hand.

Her hand is ice cold. She’s as terrified as I am.

“Our initial report says she was murdered this morning. Perhaps an hour or two ago.” His dark eyes locked on Mark’s, probing. “Mr. Sutter, if you’d care to cooperate. Could you tell us your whereabouts this morning?”

“Huh? My whereabouts?” The word didn’t make sense to him. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. The word didn’t seem like English.

“Did you go out this morning?” Franks rephrased the question. This version sounded more like a threat.

“N-no. I was asleep. On the couch in the den. I woke up and made some coffee.” Again he felt his stomach lurch. He held his breath, forcing it down.

“You didn’t go out this morning?”

His answer came out in a sharp scream. “No. I fucking told you. I didn’t go out. I’ve been in here all morning. Do I have to spell the fucking words for you?”

Franks didn’t react. He turned his gaze on Lea, holding on tight to Mark’s hand. “Mr. Sutter, can anyone vouch for your whereabouts? Can anyone confirm that you were here all morning?”

“Lea can.”

Franks waited for Lea to speak up. Mark saw she was breathing hard. She’d gone very pale. “Actually, I was upstairs. In our bedroom. Mark was down here. But I know he didn’t go anywhere this morning. You kept us up all night, remember?”

“So you were upstairs and didn’t see him this morning?” Every question Franks asked sounded like an innuendo and a threat.

Mark gasped, startled by the anger that built up so instantly inside him.

You should be out finding my kids.

“I didn’t see him,” Lea started. “But-”

Behind Franks, a state cop dangled a pair of silvery handcuffs in front of him.

“You’re wasting your time,” Mark told him, unable to keep a trembling sneer from his face. “If someone murdered Autumn, the real killer is out there. And you’re standing here arresting me, a child psychologist who’s never even been in a fucking playground fight.”

“Very eloquent,” Franks commented drily. “Listen, Mr. Sutter, cooperate with us now and we can clear this up very quickly.”

Mark blinked. “What are you talking about? What do I have to do?”

Lea let go of Mark’s hand. “I’m going to go call Nestor.” She turned to Franks. “He’s our lawyer. He’s in Sagaponack. I don’t think Mark should say another word until he gets here.”

“What do you want me to do?” Mark concentrated on Franks. “How do we clear this up? Tell me.”

“Show us your wallet,” Franks said. “That’s all. Have you got your wallet, Mr. Sutter?”

“Of course I have my wallet.”

Franks nodded. “Then will you be so kind as to show it to us?”

Mark thought hard. Where did he leave it? His brain was so churned up. His stomach rumbled with anger. He could feel every muscle in his body tensed and tight.

Where? Where?

“I left it on my desk last night.” He started into the hall.

Two cops rushed forward and grabbed him roughly by the arms.

“We have to come with you,” Franks said. “You’re in our custody, remember?”

“I know I left it in my office.” Mark let the two cops walk on either side of him. Franks followed right behind. “I can picture it next to the phone.”

Into the office. A strong breeze rattling the blinds in front of the open window. Mark gazed at the desk.

Autumn, how can you be dead? Who would want you dead?

Autumn, you were so beautiful.

No wallet.

He fumbled his hand over the desktop. He shoved a stack of folders out of the way. He pulled open the desk drawer and shuffled through it.

Don’t look frantic. Don’t make them think you’re frantic.

But he couldn’t control his hands from shaking. Emotion had taken over. Rational thought always lost out to fear, to panic.

“I know I left it here yesterday. I was at my desk and I needed one of my credit cards to buy something over the phone and-”

“Do you want to search for it in any other room, Mr. Sutter?” Franks’s deep voice, mellow and calm.

Sure, he’s calm. What does he have to worry about? He’s so pleased with himself, so pleased with his false arrest.

“Yes. Yes. Let me look for it upstairs. In the bedroom. Maybe I left it on the dresser. Sometimes I leave it there. I-”

“Can I save us some time?”

Franks’s question made Mark spin away from the desk. He squinted at Franks. “Save time? What do you mean?”

One of the officers handed Franks a plastic bag. It looked like a food storage bag. Franks shoved it into Mark’s face. Mark squinted at a wallet in the bag. “Is this yours?”

Mark reached for it, but Franks swiped it away from his hands. “No. No. Don’t touch. It’s evidence. Trust me. We saw your driver’s license inside. Your AmEx card.”

A dizziness fell over Mark. No. Not dizziness. Falling, a free fall. Like he was dropping down an endless black hole.

“Okay. That’s my wallet.”

Franks nodded to the cop at the office door. “Put the handcuffs on him.” He turned back to Mark, shaking the wallet in front of Mark’s face.

“Mr. Sutter, your wallet was found this morning in the grass next to Autumn Holliday’s front stoop. My advice, sir: Don’t say another word to me until your lawyer gets here.”