“Pardon me, your boyfriend. I know we have been over this, Ms. Oliver. I’m just finding it hard to connect the dots. There are some major holes in your story.”
“I do not see how,” I tell the asshole. Marcum is continuing to pet my back. I don’t know if he thinks I need calming down or not. I do. I’m about to rip this asshole a new one and then maybe—maybe I’ll feel better.
“Well, for starters, Ms. Oliver, why did you not go back into the main entrance of the jail, where you would most assuredly be safe? Why follow the inmate further into the jail?”
“His name is Maxwell,” this time Marcum replies, and I almost smile.
The detective doesn’t reply; his eyes are on me the entire time. I take a breath and go over the story and that Max and Marcum have drilled in my head. Honestly, it’s not far off from the truth. Marcum said the best lies always have elements of the truth, so this careful, well-thought out version of the day Max and I met, follows along that line of thinking.
“I told you, detective. The guard panicked. When the alarms sounded, he ran into the chaos. Without him and because the prison alarms were going off, I assumed I wouldn’t get the guard to buzz me back in through the locked doors. It was all happening so fast. Max thought if I acted as his prisoner we would have a better chance of making sure I got out of it all safely.”
“That’s the part I don’t get, Ms. Oliver. The cameras show Max manhandling you, and clearly there was fear on your face, a panic even. I saw nothing loving or tender at all, in the way Mr. Kincaid treated you that day, if, in fact, you and he were having this relationship, as you stated.”
“I think we’re about done here,” Marcum says, and the irritation in his voice is clear.
“No, it’s okay, Marcum. The detective here is just doing his job,” I interrupt, and this time I don’t back down from the asshole. I’ll give him my story one more time, so that it’s on record again, without any changes. When they realize that I’m not going to deviate from it, then perhaps they will let go of it and the wheels will slowly start turning. I need Max home. I need him home, now. “I told you, detective; I was terrified. I was in the middle of a prison break. The prison’s guard left me unprotected. Completely unprotected. If Max hadn’t stepped in when he did, I shudder to think, exactly what would have happened to me. As it were, the Hernandez brothers tried to get to me. If Max hadn’t saved me from the state’s negligence of having one, lone guard, and that guard being ill trained. I would have died—or worse. The looks you read on my face were exactly that. Max saved me that day.”
“Are you so na?ve that you expect us to believe you trusted a man, a convicted felon, a murderer; to protect you, Ms. Oliver?”
“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Marcum says, and his voice would be enough to make me back down. I’m not sure Detective De Luca is smart enough to know how close he is to danger. Then again, I’m kind of done here too. It’s clear what this detective thinks of Max. So, I decide to let him have some hard truths. Fuck this shit. I stand up, take a breath and decide to show him just a slice of the real Tess. The Tess that only Max has ever nourished and breathed. The Tess that belongs to him and no one else.
“I trust Maxwell Kincaid with everything inside of me. Have you ever been in love, detective?”
Something flashes in the man’s eyes, but he makes no move to respond.
“Let me tell you exactly what kind of man Maxwell Kincaid is. He’s the man who protected me when the Hernandez brother’s tried to attack me. He’s the man who kept me safe through the swamps and kept me safe in an underground bunker while numerous convicted felons, murderers, as you so colorfully put it, were running around looking for blood. He’s the man who risked his life, to get me to his father. He’s the man who stitched my arm and saved my life after the officers that you work with, shot at me, not Max. Me. Most of all he’s a man who could have run. Who had the means and the finances to skip the country, and instead turned himself in. He’s an honest man. He’s a good man. He’s my man. So yes, detective, I not only fucking trust him, I would fucking die for him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to the doctor and make sure my child is healthy so that when the state of Florida gets off their ass and lets my man free, we can finally live happily.”
Marcum and I are to the door, and my hand is on the knob when the detective speaks up, and I stall for just a moment.
“That’s a pretty speech, Ms. Oliver, if I could discount the fact that Mr. Kincaid murdered someone in cold blood…”