Kinney asked which boat it was.
Dame didn’t know how to answer that. It was a boat. Big. Huge. White. Fancy. Like on TV. There was a hot tub, leather everything, a bar. They sat downstairs and chilled out for a little and had a few more drinks.
Drugs? Kinney asked.
Just weed.
That’s it?
Yeah.
Okay Reuss said. Then what?
We started, like, kissing.
Mike suggested they move things up to the bedroom. When they got there Dame was taken aback to see a camera on a stand. Lights, too, professional-looking. It didn’t fit with the chick’s worries about getting found out.
He began to feel uneasy. Not scared, yet. But the vibe was off.
Mike went behind the camera. Dame told him to hold up.
Did he listen? Reuss asked.
Yeah.
Then what?
Uhm... She started sucking my dick.
Did the male participate?
Nah, he, he just sat there and watched.
What were you all wearing at this point?
Uhm. I was naked. She just had, like, panties.
Did she have any identifying features? Kinney asked. Tattoos, scars.
I think?
They showed him Olivia’s headless boudoir photo.
Oh yeah he said.
You’re sure Kinney said.
Yeah.
What about him?
He had his clothes on.
The girl wanted another drink. Mike took all three cups and went downstairs.
Your cup, too Reuss said.
Yeah.
Upon return Mike placed his cup and the girl’s cup on the nightstand. He gave Dame’s cup directly to him. Dame didn’t drink but set it on the nightstand next to theirs. Mike edged Dame’s cup away from theirs a couple inches, as if to keep them separate.
The girl put a condom on him. They got on the bed and started having sex.
Mike lay next to them, kissing her, touching Dame’s shoulders, his chest. At the next opportunity, when they changed positions, she went to use the bathroom, and Mike turned his back, Dame leaned over quickly and swapped his cup with Mike’s.
You switched the drinks? Reuss said.
Dame couldn’t easily explain why. Little things, adding up: her wanting to ride together, the phone, the camera, Mike jamming the cup into his hand like a command.
Did they notice? Kinney asked.
Dame didn’t think so. The girl returned. Mike picked up his cup, really Dame’s, and gave Dame his cup, really Mike’s. They said cheers. Mike slammed his back. Dame took a tiny sip. The girl didn’t drink, even though she’d been the one to ask for a refill.
Mike knelt and started sucking Dame’s dick. The girl went to turn on the camera.
Even though you’d told them not to Reuss said.
Yeah.
Did you ask her to turn it off?
No.
How come?
Dame thought. Stuff was happening, I got into it.
The girl slid behind him, pressing her body to his, kissing his neck, sticking her tongue in his ear, telling him how hot he was. She drew his arms behind him. Something cold touched his wrist. He jerked reflexively, looked down.
She’d put a handcuff on him.
He elbowed her away, shoved Mike’s head back.
The girl told him to chill out.
He went to get dressed. He was standing with one leg in his jeans and she rushed him.
She did Reuss said.
Her first. Then him, too.
Clutched together, they staggered around the bedroom. A light tipped and went out; the camera fell over. Dame was holding back. Last thing he needed was she gets hurt. Them with this big-ass boat? With friends with this big-ass boat?
Him with a record?
What would that look like?
She got something around his neck — a shirt or another article of clothing — and hauled him backward onto the bed. Mike fell atop him, twisting Dame’s left arm behind, trying to get the other cuff on. Dame began to struggle in earnest. He was bigger, he was stronger, he was buck naked and slick with sweat. He broke free, grabbed his pants, and ran for the door. Mike stood to obstruct him but Dame lowered his shoulder and went through him and flew down the steps four at a time.
At the bottom he got confused and wound up in another bedroom. It was a big-ass boat.
Backtracking down the hall, he collided with Mike, who wrapped him around the waist, dragging on him with his full body weight until his grip gave out and he let go. Dame stumbled toward a glass door. He remembered boarding the boat via a ramp to the back deck, but when he threw open the door and burst outside he found himself standing on a different deck, at the front, and there was no ramp.
He’d gone the wrong way again.
Mike was coming, lurching after him like a zombie.
Dame climbed onto the rail.
The distance to the dock was one body length. He didn’t have any shoes or socks. He slipped, wobbled, righted himself. He didn’t have his shirt, either. His jeans with his wallet and his keys and his phone were balled under his arm. The cuff swung.
Mike staggered groaning onto the deck.
Dame jumped.
He almost didn’t make it. His head smacked the planks, his legs went into the water. The next morning he would wake with his face gashed and his elbow swollen double. In the moment he didn’t feel a thing. He clawed himself up by his fingernails.
Behind him, Mike was climbing shakily onto the rail.
Dame ran. He heard a dull crack, followed by a splash.
Winterholz and Kinney brought Roby’s statement to the Alameda County district attorney.
A joint operation involving San Francisco, East Bay Parks, and Concord served search warrants on Haven Harbor and Shelby Fuller IV’s yacht, Motion Sickness.
Now, sitting around the conference table after lunch, I played the recordings of our interviews with Olivia Parisi.
Roses are red, Michael Jackson sang “Thriller,” I promise I’m not a serial killer. I was like, “Fine, you win.”
Cute.
Yeah. Although maybe he’s saying that because he is a serial killer. ’Cause who comes right out and tells you they’re not a serial killer.
Except a serial killer.
Exactly.
“Jesus,” Mendes said.
During the playback of interview number two, I noticed Tiffany Reuss squirming as Olivia discussed her trauma at the hands of men.
Guys my age, you have no idea. I don’t know if it’s too much porn, or... One guy, it was like our second date, we’re making out on his couch. We hadn’t really done anything, just kissing. He starts choking me.
Oh God.
Yeah.
What did you do?
Grabbed his hands, like, “What are you doing?” He was all, “Oh, you don’t like that?” Like I’m the weird one. Like it’s a normal thing you do. And, I don’t know. Maybe it is.