Until Proven Innocent

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AFTER
Cordelia Waters
Saturday May 20, 2016

Day three. The second morning I've had to wake up with the weight of the world pressing down on my chest. An absence that prevents the air from entering my lungs.

Thirty-eight hours. Emerald has officially been missing for thirty-eight hours. Why haven't the police found her yet? Isn't this their job? To find missing children? And apparently the longer that she is missing, the guiltier I'm looking.

When it was solely Weston's accusations, it was difficult, yes, but I could handle it. But now with practically the entire task-force keeping their watchful eyes on me, even Gerard having his doubts, I can't help but feel scared and hopeless.

I did not kill my daughter. Innocent until proven guilty, right? Soon enough they will find whoever did this and my name will be cleared. Emerald will be back home with us and all rights will be restored. The truth will reveal itself soon enough. I just hope it's sooner than later.

My mind is still swarming with questions that don't have answers. Who took Emerald? Who would want to take her? They've officially searched all of the Mendozas' properties and have crossed them off the list. I didn't think they were responsible, anyway. They're good people, Marcia and her husband.

Whoever took Emerald must have done it for money. Why else would someone take my child? But that begs the question: if someone did take her to get money from us, why haven't we received a ransom call?

My thoughts drift to dangerous territories: perhaps it was a child pedophile. Or a sadistic psychopath who likes babies. I try not to think like that, but I can't help it. I pray for her. I pray that she is safe and will be returned home to us soon.

The doctor has been lingering since he arrived last night. He kept his distance, but watched from a close perimeter, making sure he was aware of everything I did, right until the minute I crawled into bed.

Weston slept in our bed last night. I guess he couldn't claim the couch again since the overnight officer was there, the doctor in the spare room. They're invading our home. It doesn't even feel like a home right now – more like a crime scene. But I guess that's what it is.

I tried to talk to him before bed. But after his latest conversation with Gerard, my husband is even more paranoid than he was before, thinking I did something to our daughter. No matter how many times I tell him that someone abducted our baby – that she's out there somewhere – he won't even look at me.

I yearn for the moment that they find whoever did this. Then he will look at me and tell me how sorry he is to have ever doubted me.

I need him to just look at me. To hold me. To love me.

____

I shower, throw on some clothes, and sluggishly wander into the kitchen. Sergeant Sol sits at my kitchen table, reading the newspaper. She glances up for half a second, gives me a short smile, then returns to her reading. I try to block out her presence. It's fairly early, just past seven, and Doctor Eilsteen hasn't appeared in my sights yet, thank God. The sight of him alone causes my blood pressure to skyrocket.

After sipping my coffee and checking the internet and news websites for any updates, the doorbell rings.

When I open the door, I'm not surprised to see Detective Sullivan standing there, looking as though he got three hours of sleep, tops.

"Find anything?" I ask.
"I'm afraid not. May I come in?"
I nod my head and he steps inside. He greets Sergeant Sol, then heads over to the living room, takes a seat on the couch.
I follow behind, perching myself on the pleather chair. "Listen," I begin. "I don't really think it's necessary having all these officers here."
"With all due respect, Cordelia, I don't think you're in a position to make that call."
I'm taken back by the venom in his voice. Is this the same Gerard who was so kind to me the night of the abduction?
But then I remember that that Gerard is gone. Replaced by someone else.
"I'm telling you, you have it all wrong. I did not do anything to my daughter!"
He looks over in the direction of Sergeant Sol, who has her head down as she reads, dismissing me. Dismissing my excuses.
"I spoke with Doctor Wyatt last night," he turns to face me again.
"And?" My heart leaps.
"She seems to remain firm in her beliefs that this was an abduction. However, we're not ruling out anything just yet. I understand that you're stressed and upset, and you're going through a very difficult time right now. But you also need to understand that it is my job to find your daughter. And I will do whatever means necessary to bring that child home. And if that means keeping you in here under tight supervision, then so be it."
I close my eyes, his words sending a blow to my chest. "Alright."
"I'm sorry if this upsets you. But it's what needs to be done."
"Fine. I understand," I meet his eyes, searching for any sign of recognition, compassion. "Just find my daughter."
He nods his head, clears his throat. "How is your husband today?"
"Fine, I guess. He won't talk to me. He's still sleeping. He must be exhausted, out searching for Emerald all day."
"He was out looking for Emerald?"
"Yeah..." I glance up at him, slightly confused. "He said he was with the police, helping them look for her."
"Well, he wasn't with any of my guys. In fact, no one saw your husband at all yesterday. They assumed he was here, hiding out in his room most of the day."
My heart stammers in my chest. "Weston wasn't here. I was here. All day. While he was out looking for our daughter!"
"I see," he pauses. "Perhaps he was out by himself, then."
"No, he told me he was with the police."
"I don't know what to tell you, Mrs. Waters'. None of my men saw him."
I let this information sink in once more. "I'll have to talk to him then. If he even speaks to me."
"Yes. You probably should."

____

The doorbell rings around nine-o'clock and Gerard answers it. He's been going over some files at the kitchen table with Sergeant Sol. I made them scrambled eggs, adding the frying pan to the pile of dirty dishes that I don't plan on doing.

I am so certain that it's just going to be another cop at the door that when I hear her voice, I almost don't register. I turn my head and crane my neck to see: it's Savannah.

I drop my phone on the counter and rush over to her. She turns her head, eyes widened when she sees me. I fall into her and wrap my arms around her neck, and before I realize, I'm crying, yet again.

"I'm so sorry, Cordy," she grasps my hands.
Gerard closes the door and lingers behind us. "I'm Detective Sullivan," he says, sticking out his hand. "And you are?"
"Savannah Valentine." She shakes his hand.
"Ah, you must be from District Systems?"
"Yes." She nods.
"Would you mind if we chat shortly? I'll give you a few minutes."
"Yes, of course. Whatever I can do to help."

Weston has showered and is making his way to the home-office to talk with Rowan Ashby. Savannah and I pass him as we walk down the hallway towards my bedroom. I nod to her, telling her to go ahead without me, then I grab hold of my husband's arm in passing. He looks at me.
"Where the hell were you yesterday?" I ask in a hushed whisper.
"How many times do I have to tell you this?"
"Gerard said he didn't see you. None of them did."
He stares at me defiantly, Officer Ashby waiting to our left. "Doesn't matter what they saw," he says. "I was out there looking for our daughter." We hold eye contact for a moment. "I have to go," he breaks from my grasp and heads into the office, closing the door behind them.

I make my way to my bedroom and close the door behind me, relieved to finally get some privacy away from the watchful eyes in my home.

"How are you holding up?" Savannah asks once we've sat at the edge of my bed, her sympathetic eyes lingering over mine.
"I'm alright. It's just... it's so hard." My throat feels raw and the tears begin to spill over again. I can't hold it in.
"Oh, sweetie." She brings me close and hugs me tight. I sniffle, leaning into her neck as I cry.
Once she lets go, I reach over to the nightstand and grab a tissue to dab my eyes.
"Do they have any leads?"
"Not really. Well, they have one person they're pretty set on."
"Who?"
"Me."
"You? Are they crazy?"
"No, but apparently I am."
"Oh, that's ridiculous. You didn't do a thing to your daughter. That's fucking –"
"I know, I know. That's what I keep telling them. But they don't believe me. They think I had a psychotic break or something."
"Well, are they still looking for her?"
"Yes, simultaneously holding me here and searching for her elsewhere."
"God, I can't imagine what you're going through. This must be horrible."
"It is. It really is. And what's even worse? Weston won't speak to me. He blames me as well."
"No..."
"Yeah."
"He's your husband! He's supposed to stand by your side."
"Yeah, well I guess it's a little hard when I've been so scattered the past few months."
"Honey, none of that was your fault. And besides, you're all better now. The psychiatrists cleared you a while back now. You're fine! How can they even think that?"
"I guess crazy people don't instantly get cured."
"You're not crazy."
I take in a deep breath. "Yeah, well, tell them that."
"I will. That cop wants to speak with me."
"He's a detective."
She gives me a look. "Same shit."
"But please, tell them. Anything. I need them to believe me."
"I will, Cordelia. Don't worry. We'll figure this out."