The Bone House - Brian Freeman [26]
'Troy? At a girl's dance show? No way.'
'Where was he?'
'In the room, I guess.'
'I talked to a hotel employee who saw Glory at the event center on Friday night,' Cab told her. 'He said she ran past him, and she was crying, and she looked scared. Do you have any idea why?'
'I already told you, no,' Tresa insisted. She twisted the loose fabric of her T-shirt into a knot, and her eyes grew teary again. 'Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew what happened? When I left her, she was fine. I was the one who was upset.'
Cab eased back in the chair, his long legs stretching out, his arms behind his head. He watched the girl in front of him, and he thought about all of the messes, insecurities, fears, jealousy, pettiness, and traumas of being young. There were so many nicks and cuts that felt deep even when they were shallow and left scars that you could pick at years later. To him, Tresa looked like a typical teenage girl, screwed up in all the ordinary ways, but looks could be deceiving.
He brought his arms back on to the table and leaned forward. 'Tell me about Mark Bradley,' he said.
Tresa recoiled in surprise. 'What about him? How do you know about him?'
'It doesn't matter.'
'Troy told you, didn't he? That stupid jerk.'
'I know Mark Bradley and his wife were here at the hotel this week. I know you and he have some history together.'
Tresa pushed her chair back, physically adding distance between them. 'That was all a misunderstanding.'
'He was a teacher accused of having an affair with a seventeen- year-old student.'
'It didn't happen like that!' Tresa retorted. 'God, all of you are so stupid. No one listened to me. No one believed me.'
'He lost his job.'
'Yes, and it was my fault!'
'Are you in love with him?'
Tresa's face flushed. She tugged at her dirty red hair. 'That's none of your business.'
'Mark Bradley was at your performance on Friday night, wasn't he? Is that why you didn't do well? Did it make you nervous having him there?'
'I choked. The pressure got to me. That's all.'
'What was Mr Bradley's relationship with Glory?' Cab asked.
'None. There was no relationship.'
'Did Glory believe that you and Mark Bradley were having an affair?'
'No! That was my mother. That was all her stupid idea.'
'Did you or Glory have any contact with Bradley this week? Or with his wife?'
Tresa shook her head fiercely. 'No. I didn't even know he was there until I saw him on Friday. We didn't talk to each other.'
'Are you protecting him?' Cab asked.
'From what? He didn't do anything.' She hooded her eyes and stared at her lap. 'Are we done? I need to find my mom.'
'Sure. I understand. You can go.'
Cab watched her as she gathered up used tissues from the table in her fist and left the room. Her face was a pouty mask. He realized that he'd reached a roadblock with Tresa anyway. The girl was shutting him out. What frustrated him was that he still didn't know a thing about Mark Bradley, and he didn't have any evidence about the man, only rumors.
He was an enigma. Was he an angry predator with a predilection for teenage girls or an innocent victim?
Maybe Glory Fischer, drunk, sexually promiscuous, had met Mark Bradley on the beach on Saturday night. Maybe it was an accident or a deliberate rendezvous.
Maybe.
If Glory did meet him, what happened next?
* * *
Chapter Nine
'It was him,' Troy Geier insisted, bolting out of his chair. 'Bradley. He did it. I know it was him. That son of a bitch.'
Cab held up his hands. 'Sit down, Troy. OK? Take it easy.'
The burly sixteen year old paced back and forth between the walls of the interview room and then slumped heavily into the chair again. 'Sorry.'
'You did the right thing by telling us about Mark Bradley. I appreciate it. Right now, though, I want to talk about Glory.'
Troy's big head bobbed. 'Sure. OK.'
Cab sucked out more of his iced latte, which had melted and was mostly warm. He gave Troy a minute to calm down. The teenager was a beefy kid with a broad face dotted by pimples. He had wavy brown hair covered by a baseball cap, which he wore backwards. His