Chapter 3 - The Interrogation RoomBy 10:00 AM the next day, the sun was shining brightly over Portland, but inside the precinct interrogation room, the atmosphere was freezing.
Dennis and Trisha sat side by side across the metal table. Trisha’s designer sunglasses were pushed up onto her forehead, her mascara smudged from furious, ugly crying. Dennis looked disheveled, his expensive polo shirt wrinkled, his hair sticking up in tufts where his hands had torn through it repeatedly.
Detective Miller and I sat opposite them, separated by a one-way observation mirror. On the other side stood child protective services caseworkers and a team of investigators.
"You can't do this!" Trisha shrieked, slamming her manicured hands onto the table. "We are her legal guardians! We fed her! We clothed her! That old man—that senile old man invited us into his house and gave us custody!"
Dennis stared at the floor, refusing to look at the glass. "Dad," he mumbled, his voice pathetic and cracked. "Dad, please. Look at us. We made a mistake. We were stressed. The nanny quit right before our anniversary trip to Hawaii, and we couldn't cancel the non-refundable tickets! What were we supposed to do?"
"You left a five-year-old child locked in an unventilated attic with a bottle of water and a box of crackers for three days," Detective Miller stated calmly, sliding a stack of glossy photographs across the table.
The photos showed the narrow wardrobe, the thin mattress, the dust motes dancing in the dim light, and the exact angle where the door latch could only be secured from the outside.
"That's child endangerment, kidnapping, and willful neglect," Miller continued. "And that's just to start. We pulled the home security logs from the last three years. Do you know what else we found, Dennis? We found forty-two separate instances where Sophie was locked in that attic for more than twenty-four hours while you and your wife went on weekend getaways to Vegas, Seattle, and Palm Springs."
Trisha gasped, turning pale. "The security system was supposed to be encrypted!"
Detective Miller gave a cold, humorless smile. "Mr. Stanley owns the system. He owns the deed to the house. He owns everything."
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Dennis finally looked up, his eyes locking onto the one-way mirror. He knew I was standing right behind it.
"Dad!" Dennis screamed, standing up and slamming his chair backward. "Tell them! Tell them you know I'm a good father! Tell them Maya was crazy! Tell them Maya abandoned the kid and we just stepped up!"
