When Tate answered his phone later that afternoon he heard Mario’s say in a panic-stricken voice, “They want me to come down to the police station. They gave me half an hour to get Wil and take him to Maria’s.”
“Stay where you are, I’ll be right there. I’m going in with you.” Without waiting for a reply Tate hung up, grabbed his jacket and hurried down to his car, making a call on the way. Ten minutes later, thanking whatever traffic gods had kept the traffic moving for once, Tate pulled up in front of the restaurant. Mario dashed through the front door to scramble into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” Tate asked.
Mario gave him the school’s address, which luckily was not too far away. As soon as Tate pulled up in front Mario was out of the car. He returned a few moments later with a very bewildered Wil in his arms. Once the boy was ensconced in the back seat and buckled in Tate took off even as he asked, “Where next?”
Mario told him then called Maria to let her know they were on the way. Quietly so Wil wouldn’t hear he told her what was happening. They arrived at Maria’s to find her standing on the stoop. She hurried down the steps, scooped Wil from the car, and said, “Call me when you can,” to Mario. He nodded, forced himself to grin at Wil and told him to behave.
“Promise, daddy,” Wil replied. He tugged free from Maria’s hand to hold out his arms to Mario.
Immediately Mario opened the car door and Wil rushed to hug him. Mario hugged him back hard, told him “Love you,” and smiled when Wil returned the words. He kissed Wil’s forehead and told him he had to leave. As Wil went back to join Maria, Mario sighed deeply.
Tate reached over to squeeze Mario’s thigh while he pulled the car back into traffic. “You’ll be back to get him very soon.”
“Or sitting in a jail cell,” Mario replied morosely. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
* * * *
As Tate and Mario walked into the police station a tall, well-dressed, grey-haired man got to his feet and strode over to them. “Tate,” he said, “I wasn’t really expecting to see you here as well.”
“Moral support.” Tate smiled then introduced the man to Mario as attorney Mitch Underwood. “He’s going to be representing you during the interview.”
“It’s going to be that bad?” If Mario had been scared beforehand now he was verging on terrified.
“Not with me by your side,” Underwood assured him just as the two detectives approached them. The detectives knew him and thus greeted him warily.
Oates looked over at Tate with a somewhat malicious smile. “Two for the price of one. I was just about to call to tell you we wanted you to come in.” With a glance at his partner he continued. “If you’ll come with me Mr. Kendall while Mr. Bassani and his lawyer go with Detective Forson.”
Underwood held up a hand and shook his head. “Mr. Kendall is also my client, therefore he will not be interviewed unless I am present,” he said formally.
Oates mouth tightened as he muttered, “Of course he is,” under his breath. “Okay, let’s get this going. You,” he pointed to Tate, “remain here.” He added, “Please,” rather grudgingly.
“Of course,” Tate replied with a slight smirk which vanished as he watched Mario and the others disappear down the hall. Resigned to a long wait he settled down on one of the hard benches, took a book from his jacket pocket and began to read with an occasional glance in the direction of the door he’d seen the men go through.
* * * *
Half an hour later, Tate took another look at the interrogation room door just in time to see a man open it and step through.
Inside the room the man walked over to Forson, leaned over and whispered something as he handed him a folder.
Mario watched disinterestedly. He felt as if he’d been put through the wringer. The detectives had asked him the same questions over and over with different variations each time. Sometimes Underwood allowed him to reply, other times he would caution firmly that he was to remain silent.
Forson read what was in the folder then slid it over to Oates. The frown on Oates face as he scanned it almost gave Mario hope that he’d been given a reprieve at the very least. Almost. So when Forson said, “You’re free to leave, Mr. Bassani,” Mario wasn’t certain he believed him until Underwood stood and waited for him to get up as well.
At the door Underwood turned back to ask, “And my other client?”
“He can leave as well but I’d like a word with you first, sir,” Forson replied.
“I had a feeling you would. Mario I’ll rejoin you and Tate as soon as we’re finished.”
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