130 Fact Check

"Yeah…" McCain pursed his lips. "If I knew who she was meeting that day… even the name of the boyfriend, I would tell you in detail. Whenever it was… I would tell you."

Silence. 

"I went to her house and thought about talking to her. And she threw me out a few minutes later."

"So, you went into the house and spoke to her. You said something and she started panicking. She wanted you out of the house, so you left, right?" I confirmed again.

"That's all that happened."

"You said she looked distressed. When you went in and she looked distressed, what did she first tell you?"

He shook his head from side to side. He had already answered this question. He just needed to remember it. 

He just needed to keep telling us the same thing until we could point out how awkward it was for her to be distressed about a meeting. We had to make him realize that we knew he was the cause of her distress, not something else.

"Uh… that she needed to be at a meeting."

"Other than that, what did she tell you?" Nash was casual once again. The hot and cold would give McCain a whiplash. 

"She said she had been busy the whole day, that she had met people." 

Nash showed a spark of interest. "Did she tell you where she met these people?"

"She may have told me, but I didn't understand her. She was very distressed."

Again. 

"Did she tell you to come back some other time?" I asked.

He was stumped for words. "I don't think she did that."

"She didn't give you another time to come over… to see her and your son?" He looked at me sharply. "That must have been disappointing. I can't imagine being so lonely and lost and being treated like that." I sighed. "But she is not a person of this world, so we shouldn't hold it against her. She must have had her own reasons."

"As he said, Maya looked very distressed," Nash prompted helpfully. 

"Do you remember what kind of clothes she was wearing?" I asked. "Was she wearing a suit, an evening gown…" I trailed off. I beckoned him to contradict his statement.

He looked up at the ceiling. "Wasn't my type of clothes, I can tell you that," he said cheekily. 

"What do you mean it wasn't your type of clothes?" I asked curiously.

Nash pressed a finger to his brow. 

"Just… plain, suitable." His voice was flat now. 

"So, she was wearing something not to your liking," Nash stated. "Do you remember the color of the clothes? Because she was standing in front of you all this time."

"And what kind of bag did she have on her? You said that she was going to meet someone. She wouldn't go without a bag, right?" I asked.

He looked puzzled for a second. "IS the bag of importance in her murder?" he said softly. 

I blinked. "If we get the bag, we'll be able to tell who she was meeting. Another suspect or witness." I said it simply, but the implication was that he could get out of this suspicion the police had of him.

"Uh… are there different kinds?" he asked calmly. 

"There are a lot of styles out there," Nash commented. 

"It was a simple purse. Like every other purse on the planet. Don't remember the details."

I pressed my eyes closed. Nash beside me was conniving something. And I couldn't wait to hear what it was.

There was silence for a few minutes. 

"Mr. McCain, my theory is that you didn't leave when she asked you to leave the house," he said finally.

McCain slouched slightly, his eyes showing a flash of fear.

"I'm just being open with you," he went on to say. "You were in the house a little longer than you told us. So, I would like you to be more forthcoming so that we can solve this mystery." His voice was low and calming, but I could see McCain was slowly deflating. 

"We have her family called in for questioning and your son is suffering. The weather is terrible and we have still not given answers to anyone. Furthermore, we are continuously questioning the family, making them relive the loss that they want to forget."

I had to give it to Nash for being an excellent emotional manipulator.

"We need to find out the truth," I emphasized. "We have the whole department volunteering to work long hours to bring peace to Maya's family. What I can tell you is that we will solve her case, but when that happens is what is in question. It is up to you. Because you know and we know that you didn't just get out of the house. So, you need to tell us what happened at that time to move forward. If you maintain that you left the house immediately and walked away, it is difficult for us to believe you." My words were explanatory, telling him a little about what the evidence we had implied and that there could be adverse consequences if he didn't tell the truth. 

"Were you looking to get back with her?" Nash prompted quickly when he saw the blank expression on McCain's face. 

"That would have been nice, but—" he stopped. 

My phone vibrated and I looked at the message on the screen. The footprint and size were a complete match and the DNA found under Maya's nails was also a match to McCain.

Bingo. 

"Okay… I know this is a weird question but… I have to ask." Nash was all apologetic and nice. "How would you define your relationship with Maya? Are you into certain things…"

"When we were together, we were very vanilla," he said softly.

"And what happened afterward? Were the two of you incompatible in some ways?"

I looked up. The officer was asking me to come out and take printouts of the results. I closed my file and got up on my feet. Nash paused and looked up at me in confusion. 

"I just have to go out for a bit. Don't worry. You continue," I assured him after giving him a pointed look. He nodded and turned back to McCain like nothing was amiss.

I stepped out of the room and found the officer standing outside. 

"Thank you," I said with a polite smile. The man smiled back. 

"Thought it would be bad if I handed it to you while you were in the room. Is everything going well in there?" he asked. 

I looked at him sharply. "As good as something of this nature can go. Is there something I should know about?" I asked suspiciously. 

"There are a lot of reporters and cameras outside. It's not just the paparazzi, it's prime-time crime show reporters, celebrity gossip, and whatnot. It's going wild outside." The man frowned. 

My eyes widened. "Is this happening live?" I asked promptly.

The man nodded, pulling out his phone and showing me the videos. 

I cursed. "Do not let anyone speak to the media and don't allow his lawyers in. If they cite some bullshit law, tell them the suspect hasn't asked for a lawyer."

"Been in this industry for a long time, ma'am," the man said promptly. I nodded and sprinted to the observation room. 

Nash was inside chattering with McCain. 

"You do realize that everything you tell us, we fact check. Regardless of what you tell us. So, based on pornographic videos you have seen or websites you have visited in the past… we can find out what you were thinking."

"Alright," McCain sounded confused. 

"We already know that you had a strained relationship with Maya, but you never told us that you divorced on bad terms or that Maya had filed for a restraining order." Nash smiled. 

McCain remained silent. 

"I have been in the police force for a long time. And I know that a lot of people will lie to me because of my job. And I don't get upset over that. A lot of times people tell me truths or they basically give me nuggets of truths to make me believe them… but you and I know that what we are talking about now: you are not being truthful."

Again… silence. A long silence. I looked at the watch and knew that I had to head back in.

I opened the door to the interrogation room and no one spared me a glance. McCain was engrossed in Nash's questions and Nash didn't want to disrupt his flow.