"Actually," he continues. "I'm pretty sure she put her name and number in my phone herself, and told me to call her. She must have gotten my number out of there, too."
"Okay, so did you…talk to her again after that?" I ask, while my fingers click rapidly over my keyboard to keep up with his story.
"Not until recently. I remember her name showing up in my call log a few times over the last few weeks. I ignored all of her text messages and voicemails just like I do to all the other sluts. The next time I was in Atlantic City was for my brother's fight last weekend. I still have the voicemail she left me saying she knew I was in town since she'd seen me in the crowd on TV, and she wanted a repeat. After the fights were over I was...bored, and decided to call her back. She asked to come up to my hotel room. We met up about thirty minutes later," he says.
"Which hotel were you staying at?" I ask him.
"The Trump Taj Mahal both times, which is where both the fights were hosted, too."
"Got it. Keep going with as many details as you can remember," I encourage.
"I knew she was drunk when she walked in. Her speech was slurred and she was staggering. I remember smelling the alcohol on her breath. She bitched about me not calling her before she tried to push me backwards toward the bed. After I sat down she climbed on me and unzipped my pants to start trying to fuck me. I had to stop her to grab a condom because she was in such a hurry she was trying to get it in without one. When we were finished she asked if I wanted her to stay. I told her she got what she came for and that I was going to sleep, so I didn’t give a fuck either way. She called me an asshole and left. The next thing I know, two Montgomery County cops show up to my apartment and arrest me last Friday. They took me to the local shithole jail, and since it was the weekend, I was held there for three goddamn days on a writ before the Atlantic City PD finally showed up to take me into their custody. Late last night I went in front of the magistrate and was finally given a bond. My dad said he got there early this morning to post it, and the bastards took until noon to release me."
"Okay," I say, thinking through the next step of gathering evidence based on what he's told me. "I'm going to need you to get me the hotel receipts, plane tickets, and your cell phone records. Also, I'll need copies of all the voicemails you have, and screenshots of text messages from her. Oh, and we should probably hurry up and get a subpoena ready for the hotel to see if they have any surveillance video from that night before it gets recorded over. So that we can narrow it down for them, what time was it when she arrived at your hotel room and when she left?" I ask as I type up a to-do list. I'm greeted with silence for so long I finally look back up at his startlingly beautiful face, meeting his dark stare. "What?" I ask insecurely.
"Um, yeah, sure. I can probably get you all that," he finally responds. "And she got there about midnight and left probably before one."
"Great. So what about witnesses? Anyone see you with her that night?"
"Jude heard me on the phone with her on the way back to our rooms. His room was next door to mine, so if she had protested he would've heard through the thin-ass walls."
"Jude?" I ask. "What's his last name?"
"Malone. He's my little brother," he says, sounding softer and much less hostile than most of the previous conversation.
"Is he at least eighteen years old?"
"Yeah, even though he still acts like a juvenile, he just turned twenty." The criminal snorts, and I swear it looked like he almost smiled.
"Do you think he'd be willing to sign an affidavit swearing he didn't hear anything…unusual?" I ask.
"I'm sure he would," Jackson says immediately like his brother would lie and say it, even if it wasn’t true. Relatives are crappy witnesses because they always side with their family members, but it's better than having no witnesses.
"Are you friends with this woman on Facebook, Twitter, or any other social media site?"
"Hell no."
"Well, if you can give me some details about her, it'd be worth doing a search to see if we can find her profile and print any public pictures or posts. Do you have any social media accounts?" I ask.
"Yeah, there are some fan pages but the coaching staff maintains them for me."
"Is there anything negative, harmful, or damaging to the case on any of them? Because if there is you should shut them down."
"Um, I don't know. I'll have them double check."
"Okay, but do it as soon as possible, and I want printed copies of all of them to see for myself. The prosecutor's investigator is probably printing off every word on there as we speak."