Tony made no attempt to subdue his glare. This ridiculous mockery had gone on for far too long. The walls of the small interrogation room were beginning to close in around him. He didn’t try to keep his volume in check as he addressed the FBI agent across the table, “Agent Jackson, I’ve been listening to you for hours and I’ve—”
Brent interrupted, “What my client is trying to say is—if you don’t plan on charging him with a crime, we’re leaving.”
Agent Jackson pulled out a binder of papers. It was surprising he could locate anything within the clutter of jumbled stacks upon the table. While Brent had more recently arrived, Tony had been sitting there for hours, listening as the FBI agents tag-teamed his interrogation. One would ask questions and then disappear. Moments later, another agent would enter the room and resume the inquisition. The barrage was taking its toll; between the throbbing in his head and the ache in his back, Tony was ready to leave the small room. He didn’t care how—he just wanted out.
Agent Jackson leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what; I’m tired—you’re tired, and I don’t anticipate this ending anytime soon. The Bureau has kindly arranged for you, Mr. Rawlings, to spend the night. Mr. Simmons, by signing the gag order and release forms, you too will be provided accommodations until this situation is resolved.”
Brent stood. “This is Anthony Rawlings, CEO of Rawlings Industries. You cannot hold him without probable cause.”
Agent Jackson stood to meet Brent’s gaze. “Despite your client’s recent loss of memory, I guarantee we have probable cause; however, if you gentleman aren’t ready to call it a night”—he handed Brent the binder—“Then I suggest you and your client review this testimony. We can continue this discussion in a few hours.”
Tony’s blood boiled. He’d spent hours being questioned about Claire, their relationship, and her disappearance. Not once had anyone from the FBI volunteered information regarding her safety or whereabouts. Getting angry hadn’t produced any results; he decided to try cooperation. Slapping his hand on the table, he exhaled. “If this will help you find Claire, I’ll stay, but once again, I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with her disappearance. I want her found—safe and sound. If you have information regarding her whereabouts, I deserve to know.”
Agent Jackson looked at his watch. “Mr. Rawlings, what you deserve, has yet to be determined. Gentlemen, I’ll have food delivered. I suggest you utilize this time as a meeting of the minds. This case has taken unexpected twists and turns, and I want answers when I return.”
Tony looked down at his hands. This man and the whole damn FBI were holding him essentially against his will. He hadn’t had this kind of restriction placed on his comings and goings since childhood—it was absurd. As Agent Jackson left the room, Tony didn’t bother to stand; being polite to the man holding him hostage wasn’t high on Tony’s priority list.
His mind spun trying to decipher meaning from the agent’s questions. Agent Jackson asked Tony when he last saw Claire. He asked if he’d spoken to her while he was in Europe. Why he cut his European trip short? Why he hired a bodyguard for Claire? What happened in California that led to Claire’s hospitalization? After showing pictures of Claire with Harrison Baldwin, the agent asked if Tony was sure he was the father of Claire’s unborn child.
Yes, that innuendo could have landed Tony in custody for assault, if Brent hadn’t been quick enough to separate the two.
Looking around at the drably painted walls, he rolled his head upon his shoulders and looked toward his friend and attorney. It was their first opportunity to speak alone since Brent’s arrival. Tony cleared his throat. “Thanks for getting out here to Boston so fast.”
Brent’s stance softened. “You know it’s true; they can hold you up to forty-eight hours without charges.”
“Why won’t they give us any information on Claire?”
“I’d assume they want to learn what you know first.” As Brent spoke, he opened the binder. Tony watched Brent’s face blanch as he scanned the pages. For minutes, Tony sat and studied his friend’s expression. With each passing second Brent’s expression became harder and grimmer.
As the tension grew, Tony asked, “What is that?”
Brent didn’t answer; instead, he walked to a chair in the corner of the room, turned on another light, and continued reading.