Both cops stood looking at each other when she announced her father, Supreme Court Justice Spencer Kennedy was a pedophile. Did they hear that right?
“Miss Kennedy.” Detective Garcia stopped mid-sentence when the door opened.
“Wait a minute. We are in the middle of a murder investigation. We’re not done with her yet,” Detective Jones stood, his hands on the table in a defiant stance.
“Then charge her. Do it. Charge her for the murder and kidnapping or we walk. You have no right to question her with counsel present,” snarky, the Lawyer spoke, a slight smirk creased his lips.
Looking at each other, both detectives knew what they heard and would follow up on it. Jones looking over to the young blonde, shaking his head, “Don’t leave the state. We’re not done here.”
“I will be taking my client home now. Before you contact her, you contact me,” handing over his card, the Lawyer escorted Gypsy from the room, not stopping until they reached the elevator. Once inside, his demeanor changed. “Do not ever fucking pull that shit again. You know who you are, and what those fucking assholes can do. They will have you sign, sealed and delivered if you act dumb like that again,” he warned, taking out his phone the moment the doors opened. “Miss Kennedy is ready. Take her home,” he said, the car already waiting by the door for her.
Twenty-four hours later, knocking on the front door of the Kennedy home. Detective Garcia and Detective Jones had no clue how to address the claims Miss Kennedy made against her father. The one thing they did know, was someone had this kid, and they were running short on time.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked as soon as the door was open.
Both holding up badges, Jones spoke, “We’re here to see Justice Kennedy about an urgent private matter.”
The woman looked at both badges, motioning for them to come in, but the moment they did, her hand went up for them to wait in the foyer of the house.
“I will let Mr. Kennedy know he has a guest.”
As she walked away, both men scanned the living area, the walls, and anything within the view for signs of a child. Nothing. Everything smelled like they overused bleach for cleaning, and there wasn’t any warmth at all in the home. Paintings and art pieces everywhere, but not a picture of the family anywhere. Odd, but then again, was it? The Kennedy family didn’t seem like the warmest people in the world.
Garcia leaned over, whispering, “You notice anything here?”
Jones nodded his voice low, “Fucking place is too clean. Nothing in view. Do they even live here?”
Soft footsteps stopped them from speaking, the maid motioning for them to come with her. She was older, heavyset, and gave off no emotions whatsoever.
“Mr. Kennedy will see you now,” only speaking when she stopped at the soiled oak door, slowly pushing it open. That was the moment they would both find themselves in the presence of evil.
“Come in. You gentlemen want a drink?” Spencer never lifted his head as he dropped two cubes of ice in his whiskey. Straining the ice as the amber fluid was transferred into a glass, he turned with a slight smirk on his face.
“Nothing for us. We’re here on official business, Justice Kennedy,” Jones said, his hands resting at his sides.
Crossing the room, he took a seat at the oversized solid oak desk, looking up at both men with curiosity. “Take and seat and enlighten me as to why you disturbed my day,” leaning back, Spencer sipped his drink, curious as to why he was not forewarned of any visit from Law enforcement.
“We’re here about your Granddaughter!” Garcia spilled the beans, his eyes on Spencer for any change in demeanor.
“Surely, you have this wrong. I have no grandchildren. My son is running for President of the United States. He has no children that I’m aware of,” his voice proud, but dripping with smugness.
Detective Jones took a seat, opening the file he carried with him, “This is about your daughter. Mary Elizabeth Kennedy. Her daughter Grace has been taken, and the parents who adopted her murdered.”
Clenching his jaw, Spencer realized at that moment that his daughter never lost that baby as she said. That fucking cunt lied to her entire family.
“My daughter lost her baby at twenty weeks. It was a tragic loss for her with her marriage failing and her baby passing. I think you’ve got this wrong, Detective. Mary Elizabeth does not have any children, and there is no way if she did, she would give away a Kennedy. We take care of our own,” rising from his seat, Spencer was livid. Not at the Detectives, but at his daughter. He would be on a flight to Los Angeles the moment they left the house.
Pulling a photo from his file, Detective Garcia handed it over to Spencer, waiting for some sort of feeling from him. A reaction that would tell him that he knew something.
“There is no way Mary Elizabeth would do this. She wanted that baby. It died,” grasping the picture, shaking it, he knew that was his granddaughter the moment he saw it. The girl had her mother’s eyes. “Where is my daughter?” asking, he grabbed the phone, calling for his assistant to make arrangements to have the jet-fueled and ready to fly to Los Angeles within the hour.
“Mary has already given a statement to us, but there is something she said that we need to confirm. It is a very delicate matter, Mr. Kennedy. You might want to call a lawyer to be present,” Detective Jones spoke, his voice soft to not alert anyone else in the house.
“I don’t need one. Do you fucking know who the fuck I am!” slamming his hand down on the desk, the fire building inside of him ready to explode.
Taking a step back, his hand on his weapon, Detective Garcia waited for the elder Detective to speak.
“Miss Kennedy made a statement claiming you were a pedophile and gave reference to you hurting her, and possibly her daughter,” Detective Jones said, his eyes on Spencer.
“My daughter is a pathological liar. She’s sick, and the longer you keep me here, the more time you don’t spend on finding my Granddaughter. We’re done here. Maria will see you out,” Spencer spat, walking out, leaving Garcia and Jones looking at each other, dumbfounded as to what had just happened.
Taking two steps at a time, Spencer scaled the flight of stairs in record time, only stopping for a moment when he saw his wife.
“I am going to Los Angeles on business. I don’t know when I will be back,” growling, slamming his door behind him.
“So, help me God, I am going to break every fucking bone in the bitches body,” screaming, his suitcase on the bed and being packed by the maid. She never batted a lash. This was a normal day in the Kennedy house.