The Raping of Ava DeSantis Page 16

  Unable to tolerate any more, Wesley turned off the television. He silently rose from his chair, grasping at the remote control. His legendary slick blonde hair, blue eyes, and bright smile were all fading into a gray ghost version of himself.

  “What’s our plan?” he asked.

  The ScarCom gang looked at one another around the room.

  “We need to pound the airwaves hard,” said Loretta, the middle-aged black woman.

  “What’s the spin?” asked Derek.

  “The spin is that my father is innocent,” replied Wesley. “He is innocent. I know it without a doubt.”

  Amoli raised her hand. “But, sir, how do we leak that?”

  Wesley fumed at her question as the receptionist entered the room.

  “Mr. Scarborough, Detective Zhao is here to see you.”

  The room was quiet. The gravity of the case was finally hitting home.

  “Please seat him in my office. I’ll be right there.”

  ***

  Detective Rudy Zhao (rhymes with Pow!) was a slim, cocky Chinese cop in his early fifties. His wide collared shirt, spiky black hair, and dimpled cheeks made him look like a disposable bad guy straight out of a Bruce Lee movie. Yet his interest in being a good guy came at the age of thirteen (just a few years after his parents emigrated from Hong Kong) when his father was mugged and stabbed while closing their College Park convenience store for the night. Fortunately, his father survived, but the homeless assailant was never found, something that still burns Zhao to this day.

  Wesley entered his office in a hurry. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Zhao was slouched down in a client chair, casually drinking a Corona beer. “No problem,” he said in his mild Chinese accent. “I really dig the whole retro ‘bar at the office’ thing by the way. I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and helped myself.”

  “Not at all, that’s what it’s there for. I’m Wesley Scarborough.”

  “Detective Rudy Zhao.” They shook hands. “I’m sorry we are meeting under these circumstances.”

  “Thank you.” Wesley looked at the empty chair beside Zhao. “Should we be expecting someone else?”

  “Oh, you mean my partner?” He laughed. “That’s only in the movies, Mr. Scarborough. Not in Hotlanta. We’re in the running for number one murder capital again this year…Way too many cases and not enough detectives to work them.”

  “Yes, I read about that.”

  “In fact, forensics is hiring butchers from Winn-Dixie to keep up, so if you know of anyone looking for work, let me know.”

  Wesley smiled awkwardly.

  Zhao cleared his throat and continued. “Okay, so I did some research on you before I came here. You were the guy that defended the lawyer in that stripper rape case. Safflower wasn’t it?”

  “Saffroy. Jacob Saffroy. Yes, I was the spokesperson for his law firm.”

  Zhao shook his head. “See, that is a perfect example of why I left sexual assault years ago. Can’t stand the ‘he said, she said’ shit.”

  “I can relate.” Wesley shifted his weight.

  “Funny how a woman would risk exposing her hooker past just to get back at a married man who dumped her?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Yes, they certainly have.” Zhao finished his beer then placed the empty bottle on the steel desk. Wesley was eager to jump in.

  “Let me save you some time, Detective Zhao. My father had nothing to do with this.”

  “With all due respect, Wesley—I can call you Wesley, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unfortunately, your mother was entitled to one hundred million dollars in the event of a divorce. That’s a hell of a lot of money to lose. Shit, I’d whack my wife for that kind of cash and she gives great head.”

  “No, you don’t understand. There’s someone else who’s responsible for this.” He leaned across his desk. “I know who tried to kill my mother.”

  “Uh-oh, I feel a story coming. Do you mind if I get another beer first?”

  Wesley went to the bar, annoyed. “What would you like?”

  “I see you already ran out of malt liquor so why not give me something rich white people drink.”

  Wesley handed him a green bottle of Heineken beer.

  “Thank you. Now you can go ahead with your story.”

  Wesley drew a deep breath. “Detective, two of my best friends were murdered recently and now my mother was attacked. I believe the same person is responsible for all three events.”

  “Interesting. Sounds like you might have pissed someone off.”

  Wesley ignored his smug response. “Back in college, my two roommates and I partied with this nerdy, awkward girl one evening. She was over at our house to help us study for a big history exam, and we all winded up drinking way too much alcohol. Then, one thing led to another, and we had sex. All four of us.”

  Zhao placed his hands behind his head and kicked his feet onto the desk. “Now you’ve got my attention. Please continue.”

  “Unfortunately, this girl became pregnant. She didn’t know which one of us was the father so she threatened to have the baby if we didn’t give her money. She kept calling and hounding us to help her, and when we didn’t, she turned into a complete psycho.”

  “I see. Psycho girl blackmails rich boys.”

  “Yes, and she kept threatening us until my mother stepped in and paid her to have an abortion…and she did, but…”

  “Buuuut? Whaaat?”

  “The girl lost her ability to have children as a result.”

  “Okay, well, that’s a zinger. So let me see if I got this right: you all gang-bang psycho chick, she gets knocked up, blackmails your parents, has botched abortion, loses her plumbing and asks for more money?”

  “Yes, and we gave her more money. It was a simple, financial transaction between two consulting adults.”

  “You mean four consenting adults. How much did your mother give her?”

  Wesley hesitated. “I’m not sure. She handled that part.”

  Zhao removed his feet from the desk. “Sounds plausible so far, Mr. Wesley, except for one thing. How did your mother know the baby was yours?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, if it was a crackerjack orgy, then why was your mother the one to pay her off? Not your friends’ families? Shouldn’t everyone have chipped in like a potluck payoff?”

  “Because my mother wanted to keep everything quiet.”

  “Really?”

  Wesley leaned in closely. “Detective Zhao, my family had the most to lose at the time, and it still does. My mother didn’t even tell my father about it. She said he would never forgive me.”

  “Why not? Sons knock up crazy girls all the time.”

  “Because he’s a judge. And he doesn’t forgive anyone. Ever.”

  “I see. But you all have been out of college, what, how many years now?”

  “Fifteen, I think.”

  “So why would psycho girl come back now to start taking you all out?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I haven’t figured out yet.”

  Zhao plucked a piece of paper and pen from Wesley’s desk. “What information do you have on psycho girl?”

  “Well, I know her name is Ava DeSantis—”

  Zhao shook his head. “I don’t know why, but that name sounds familiar to me. Is she a soap opera actress or something?”

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “Hmm. I love those damn shows. Come one o’clock, everyone fights for the remote in the break room.” Zhao wrote something down. “Okay. Go on. What else do you know?”

  “She’s originally from Atlantic City.”

  “Yes, Jersey girls, very tough. Hard to get brains out of hairspray that thick.”

  Wesley was stoic.

  “Okay. Do you know where she lives now?”

  “Yes, somewhere here. In a Midtown high-rise, I believe.”

  “And how do you know that?”


  “I just heard rumors.”

  Zhao wrote something down. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, she works at a place downtown called Le Masquerade. That’s the sex club where they found my friend, Sebastian O’Connor last week.”

  “Oh, the guy with the dog collar? That’s who you mean? Oh, hell, we had so much fun with that one. All day people were barking like dogs and wanking off around—”

  Wesley glared at him.

  “All right. I’ll make some calls up north and check out this girl, but in the meantime, don’t let your father get too comfortable. I’m not done with him yet.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand. I just need you to protect my wife from this woman. She’s very pregnant and Ava has already…I mean, she’s crazy. I’m afraid she will hurt my wife.”

  “I’ll try to get a patrol car to watch your house, but I can’t guarantee it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Zhao rose from his chair and headed for the door. On his way, he paused and turned back to Wesley. “I forgot to ask you one question.”

  “Yes?”

  “How come you’re not worried that psycho girl will come after you?”

  “I am. I am worried.”

  Zhao cocked his head. “You sure don’t look like you’re worried. But then again, I guess that’s why you make the big bucks. Nerves of steel.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in touch very soon.”

  “Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate your help.”

  Zhao acknowledged his comment then exited his office. Seconds after he was gone, Wesley fell back in his chair and exhaled.

  CHAPTER 29

  Visiting Hours

  Thursday, October 12, 2006

  7:37 P.M.

  Grady Hospital was unusually busy that evening. The five-alarm apartment fire at Georgia Tech had created so much chaos in the burn center that Thomas and Michelle had decided to go home early after a long visit with Miriam, who was now awake but still unable to speak or move. Hospital workers were scattered throughout the Intensive Care Unit, hustling from room to room; grieving parents were lined up in the hallways consoling one another; and mascara stained co-eds roamed the corridors making sure each Yellow Jacket BFF was like, okay.

  Ava pranced down the busy hallway wearing a brown wig, child-like pink dress, and a stuffed pregnant belly, while carrying a ridiculously large bouquet of long-stem yellow roses. She waltzed right into Miriam’s hospital room, completely unnoticed by the busy staff, as bouncy and peppy as a kid starting the first day of school.

  “Hey, Miriam! Wake up!” she said in a loud voice, mocking Michelle’s South Georgia accent. “It’s Ava. Wesley’s wife.”

  Miriam’s face was between gauze dressings and open to the air. She looked like Burn Victim Barbie with remnants of blonde strands of hair popping out from various places on her scorched scalp. Her distinctive cheekbones were now fat and swollen, her radiant skin now charred black and oozing a greenish substance, her large accordion plastic breathing tube was still attached to her mouth and shoved down her throat. She slowly opened her melted blue eyes as Ava placed the large flower arrangement beside her on the nightstand.

  Ava overreacted to her disfigured face. “My goodness, you look like shit, Miriam! I wonder if you can get a refund on all that expensive plastic surgery.”

  Miriam struggled to lift her melted eyelids wider. Once she realized who was speaking, her body twitched in response, but the cables kept her from moving.

  Ava smiled at the grotesque scene in front of her. “You know, Miriam, from the bottom of my heart, I do not judge you in any way. Wesley tells me that you are a very nice mother, and what you do behind closed doors in no way affects my opinion of you.” As she spoke, Ava removed a large container of Morton Salt from her purse and opened the top.

  The sound of Miriam’s heart monitor started to climb.

  “But it’s very important that this little mishap stays between us.”

  Miriam’s squinty blue eyes screamed for help, her mouth unable to move, bound to the breathing tube by plastic medical tape.

  Ava shook the free flowing container of salt onto Miriam’s head and face. “I’m afraid, that since your family is so well known around here that if you tell your story to anyone, it will surely make the headlines.”

  Miriam cringed from the intense pain.

  Ava continued pouring the salt as she spoke. “Do you really want everyone to know this happened to you, Miriam? Do you really want to read about yourself in the papers, Miriam? I would hate to see you ruin your entire life for just one little mistake. Miriam.”

  The stinging pain of the salt was so unbearable, she jerked within her soul.

  Once Ava was done pouring, she placed the empty container back into her purse.

  “Wait, I almost forgot! I have a present for you!” Ava removed a handheld DVD player and placed it on Miriam’s food tray table.

  She hit PLAY.

  The sounds of sex filled the room. “Oooh. I bet all Scarborough men are good in bed. All that blue blood filling up their big cocks.”

  Miriam closed her eyes.

  “Now, come on, Miriam. Open your eyes!” Ava yanked the full bedpan from underneath her torso and dumped urine all over her face.

  Unable to move or react, Miriam forced her eyes shut as the stinging urine splashed her face, melting the salt even more…Her body trembled, reacting to the intense cutting pain.

  The DVD continued to play…

  “Oh, I bet you’re wondering who that is. That’s Julie, my girlfriend. She’s just a runaway junkie with a brain tumor, but that’s a whole different tragic story.”

  Miriam grimaced, still refusing to watch the video but unable to avoid hearing it.

  “Wesley really enjoys fucking her. Almost as much as he does me.”

  Miriam’s soul began melting inside.

  “Oh, and for the great news! The doctors were wrong, Miriam. I can have a baby!”

  Ava pulled back and showed Miriam her pregnant belly.

  “In fact, I’m due this week.”

  Miriam cracked her eyes open one last time, looking at Ava straight on.

  “I’m thinking about changing my last name to Scarborough. What do you think?”

  And with those words, Miriam finally gave up her struggle. The heart monitor halted to a flat line, setting off the alarm…as her burnt body finally relaxed into peace.

  “That’s what I thought.” Ava quickly grabbed the DVD player and put it back in her purse. She walked casually out of the room, down the busy hallway, passing hospital workers as they rushed in the opposite direction.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Final Countdown

  Friday, October 13, 2006

  3:14 P.M.

  Detective Zhao stood impatiently on the bright sunny doorstep of the Scarborough Mansion. For a third time, he smashed the gold lion knocker guarding the red double doors.

  Miss Eloise—almost unrecognizable in her black velvet dress and coordinating birdcage fascinator—finally answered the heavy door. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?”

  Zhao flashed his badge. “I need to speak with Wesley, please.”

  Miss Eloise stepped partially outside. “Sir, he just cremated his mother this morning. Is there any way this can wait?”

  “No, ma’am, it can’t. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded and let Zhao into the lavish home.

  Inside, at least sixty gray and black figures gathered in the echoing marble foyer. Thomas, Wesley, and Michelle stood near the banquet table receiving condolences from Miriam’s vast network of friends: prominent attorneys, lifetime church-addicts and the slimeball Wall Street criminals whom she had once proudly called clients.

  Wesley immediately spotted Zhao and approached him. “Did you find anything?”

  “Yes. But we need to talk…alone.”

  “Sure, we can go into the library. Follow me.”

  Zh
ao grabbed his shoulder. “No, not here. Let’s go out and grab a beer.”

  “Now? But, Detective, my wife—”

  Michelle interrupted. “Go with him. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Wesley mulled it over, then handed his car keys to Michelle. “If you get home before I do, put the security alarm on. First thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Michelle. This is very serious.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And if anyone tries to break in, you know where the gun is?”

  “Yes. You showed me a dozen times.”

  “Good.” Wesley kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be home shortly.”

  “So when are you due, Mrs. Scarborough?” asked Zhao.

  “Today,” she said sadly.

  Zhao’s expression couldn’t hide his thoughts: what shitty timing.

  Wesley grabbed a tweed coat out of the front closet. “Let’s go. I can’t take any more of this funeral shit.”

  ***

  Wesley and Zhao parked themselves at the bar inside Mister Wok’s upscale Chinese restaurant. Two empty bottles of Tsingtao beer stood before them.

  “Yes, psycho girl is a real piece of work, Wesley,” he finished slugging his second beer. “You sure know how to pick them.”

  “With all due respect, Detective, is there any way we can just stick to the facts tonight? I’m, I’m at my breaking point. This is definitely the worst day of my life.”

  Zhao whipped out his notebook, completely ignoring Wesley’s request for mercy. “Like you asked, I ran both federal and state background checks on psycho girl. And it looks like she’s been very busy.”

  “In what way?”

  “Over the past decade alone she’s been arrested on four counts of solicitation, three counts of possession, two DUI’s and probation in a pear tree.”

  Wesley was unmoved.

  “I also called one of my former colleagues who moved to vice in Atlantic City. He told me that psycho girl was a very popular streetwalker who worked the convention center circuit for years. Beautiful girl, except she had a nasty heroin habit that kept getting her busted.”