The Morning Of

by S. B. Cody

  “I don’t know,” Julie said.

  “Who was it? A student?”

  “I don…” Julie paused. It hadn’t been announced yet, so it wasn’t something she should go around proclaiming.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You said you cleared the building? Didn’t you catch him?”

  It was too late now. “No, we didn’t.”

  “They got away?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “But I don’t understand… I… How?”

  “I don’t know.” Julie turned and sat down on the top step. She buried her face in her hands. Brian joined her, throwing his arm around her. “How could this happen? Here? It’s…” She couldn’t even find the words anymore. Nothing so horrendous had ever occurred in Stanford prior to this. Crime happened. Bad people came through. But you never felt unsafe. That was part of what made this place perfect for Julie to be a cop. She still got to serve the public but avoided the truly horrible. Now she wondered if she had made a mistake, except this life was all she’d known for years. Longer than she even knew being a wife or a mother.

  A lot of the people on the force got into it because they’d grown up around it. Not Julie. In fact, it had been just the opposite. Her father had been in and out of jail for most of her life. Began with some relatively harmless possession charges, but he soon graduated to armed robbery as a means to support the habit, but he was hardly John Dillinger. Ended up getting caught because he dropped his wallet at the bank he’d chosen to rob. When the cops came around for him, he went running. He proved to be no Jesse Owens either because after making it about thirty yards he tripped over his own feet.

  She could never forget the shame that she saw on her mother’s face when this happened. For years it had been hard to shake off the image around town as being the daughter of a criminal. Her goal in life was to make sure that she never had to feel such a thing again. Instead, she would be the one who put criminals away. From then on out, becoming a cop had been her sole focus. Even when she had achieved it, she kept a one-track mind on it. This, of course, meant that other things fell by the wayside, which is why she was the last of her friends to get married. Her mother had been kind enough not to badger her about it, but was not above dropping sly hints, such as constant updates about the girls around town.

  That came to an end one night when she’d gone out for happy hour after she got off duty. There she had run into Brian, a guy she’d gone to school with. She had always suspected that he had a thing for her, and she had thought he was pretty cute himself. He got so flustered anytime he was around her and tried to act really cool. She found it funny. Meeting him at the bar, they recounted the time she’d seen him playing football and he insisted on running the ball the entire way just to impress her. It ended up with him on the ground having had the wind knocked out of him, of course. They’d decided to make a date to see each other again. And it became clear that this guy was just as cute and awkward as he had always been. A year later they were engaged. A year after that, married. Two years after that, they’d had Terry. None of this had ever been a part of the plan, but now everything else was secondary to it. And today she had been convinced that it was all about to be taken from her. Just about enough to drive her mad. And the worst part… this was just the beginning.

  Connor and Brandy stuck around at West for about another twenty minutes. Connor insisted that he was ready to go right away, but Brandy insisted that he rest first. She worried that if he rushed home he’d end up hurting himself. The two of them walked into the house, and Connor went right to the couch and dropped onto it. Brandy sat down next to him, threw both of her arms around him, and nuzzled her face into his shoulder.

  “Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me what you’re thinking. How you’re feeling.”

  Connor simply stared straight ahead. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Didn’t know how to tell her that he wasn’t feeling a thing. After all, how would she react? What would she think? He didn’t even know what to think.

  “Honey?” Brandy said, lifting up her head. Connor glanced down at her. His mouth fell open, but nothing came out.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. We’ll just sit here.”

  Connor could only imagine what she was thinking right now. He was sure that she must feel disappointed in him. It seemed like he did a lot of that anyway.

  They’d gotten together their second year of college. Part of the teaching program that he did required students to do some hours, assisting in one of the area schools. This year he’d been assigned at West, no less. Each day, he would need to go up to the front desk to sign in. And each day, signing in with him would be Brandy. Each time he was near her, he’d find himself feeling nervous, which sadly was the way he usually felt around girls. At least that’s how he felt the few times he’d been talked into going to a party. He avoided them as much as possible because he tended to get way too anxious during them. So when he was at one, he would usually find a quiet spot in a corner where he’d observe the party rather than participate. People playing beer pong. Guys hitting on girls, desperate to bring them back to their dorm. And then Connor, looking on at them with a mixture of amusement and envy. He liked to imagine that he would go up to a girl and deliver those magical words in exactly the right order to make them swoon over him. In high school, he’d gone out on a few dates, but it never became anything. He just didn’t know how someone did that. To him it felt like speaking a foreign language. Besides, he was convinced that once they got a whiff of the real him, they’d be repulsed. Especially when he started going to the student clinic for therapy and had been put on antidepressants. God knows what they’d think of him then. Probably that he was a basket case or something. And to be honest, that’s how he ended up feeling most days.

  As far back as he could remember, one thing he’d always been really good at was finding flaws in himself. His gut was just a little too pronounced. That blackhead just wouldn’t go away. If someone passed by him and laughed, he naturally assumed they must have been laughing at him. And while his friends all found their niche, whether it be baseball, or writing, or public speaking, Connor always found himself to be painfully mediocre at everything. Sometimes he wondered if that was why he became a teacher. After all, those who can, do…

  And when he’d look over at Brandy, he assumed that she would find something wrong with him. As nervous as he’d get, he still looked forward to seeing her. Her brown hair always tied back in a ponytail. Round face that just came to a small point at her chin. Each time he saw her, she carried a nervous smile. That nervous smile seemed to break into a real one when he’d walk in, and she’d greet him. But that was as far as their relationship went until one day as he walked to his car and he found Brandy softly banging her head on the roof of hers.

  “You okay?” Connor heard himself saying.

  “My car won’t start,” she said while continuing to bang her head.

  “Why not?”

  “No idea.”

  “Gonna call a tow?”

  “I guess so. But I have a test in half an hour. I really need to get to campus.”

  “I could give you a lift,” Connor said.

  “Really?” she said, turning around with her nervous smile.

  “Sure. Why not.”

  “That’s so nice,” she responded, her real smile emerging now. And so as he drove her, they had their first real conversation. Connor found that he wished the conversation would keep going when it was time to drop her off. And thankfully, she made sure that it would.

  “Thank you so much!” She beamed. “I guess I’ll have to pay you back somehow.”

  “Oh no. You’re fine,” Connor said.

  “No. Let me buy you lunch. Or at least swipe you at the dining hall.”

  “Why not.”

  “Great,” she said as she opened her backpack and took out a piece of loose-leaf and a pen and began scribbling on it. “Here’s my number. Give me a call.” And he
actually did. And then seven years later they were married. And now here they were. Brandy hadn’t hung around teaching for very long. Her dream had always been to be a writer. First novel got published their last year of college. Her second, two years after that. From there, she was rolling and was able to write full time. Connor struggled a bit more. First year out of school he couldn’t find a job for the life of him. He’d gotten by subbing in the meantime before deciding to go back to school full time to get his Master’s. Then he’d gotten his job at West where he’d been the last five years. The first two went pretty well, but then…

  He’d like to be able to say their disagreement about children was their first big problem, but they’d been struggling together for a while now. As much as Connor hated to admit it, he’d kind of just been going through the motions the last few years. She always said she loved how passionate he was about things, especially teaching, but that passion no longer existed. And he just didn’t know what kind of teacher or husband he was anymore. He often wondered why she put up with him. He’d often been amazed at her patience, and it seemed like it was in full effect right now. She seemed perfectly content to wait here until he felt ready to talk. No matter how long that took.

  Connor tilted his head and stared down at his wife, her head buried in his shoulder. At last his mouth produced words, and he spent the rest of the night telling it all to her.

  PART II

  The Investigation

  6

  Detective Kara Smalls woke up at 7:00am on the morning of the shooting. She hadn’t planned on it. There was nothing that she needed to be up for today, but at this point it had been hardwired into her. On any typical day, she would be getting ready to arrive at the police station by 8:00, so she could begin work. But not today. Today, they didn’t want her.

  Yesterday, Kara had had to face the firing squad. She’d been ushered into the back conference room where she was sandwiched between two union lawyers who were constantly leaning over and whispering in her ear. While grateful to have support, she could really have done without their warm breath all over her. Right across from her were Captain Barron, and some guy from Internal Affairs named McClellan. Down at the other end of the table was a lawyer named Edwards, who represented the schmuck that made this whole thing necessary. Kara avoided everyone’s stares, Barron’s most of all. She didn’t need to look to feel him boring into her, his eyes filled with contempt. You’re an embarrassment, they said.

  Kara hated that she had to go through with this whole process. Most of the cops she came across hated Internal Affairs with a passion. She saw real value in what they did. She just never thought she’d be on the receiving end of it.

  “Detective Smalls,” McClellan said, not once looking up from his form. “First, please understand that this is an official deposition and you are under oath. Any statements that are shown to be misleading can lead to a charge of perjury. And your statements here can be used should this case go to trial. He brought up his hand and flicked off a small piece of lint from his left lapel. “Do you understand?” he continued.

  “Yes,” Kara said with a small nod and steady breath. This whole thing felt surreal. Typically, she was the one asking the questions.

  “Ms. Smalls,” McClellan began. “Were you the lead detective in the murder of Rebecca Llewellyn?”

  “Yes, I was,” Kara replied, relieved to have the first question out of the way.

  “Did any other detectives investigate with you?”

  “Not in an official capacity.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I consulted with some other detectives, but I was the only one assigned to it.”

  “So did all pertinent decisions related to the case come from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “When were you first assigned the case?”

  “The evening it came in, which would have been November 3 of last year.”

  “What did you observe when you arrived at the scene?”

  “Ms. Llewellyn laid dead in the living room. She appeared to have been beaten to death.” The whole thing shook Kara when she saw it. The entire left side of the victim’s face had gone red and purple, swelling up to twice the original size. Her skull appeared lopsided, having been caved in. Beneath her, a pool of blood had congealed, creating a thick soup in which her head waded.

  “What was your first impression of the scene?”

  “That the scene was a robbery gone wrong.”

  “What led you to that conclusion?”

  “The place had been ransacked. Furniture turned over. Door busted open. Jewelry box had been emptied.” Her perception of the whole thing soon changed. Kara had seen more than her share of robberies gone wrong, and this screamed personal. On top of smashing her head in, someone had slammed her head against the ground repeatedly. Whoever did this had been full of rage, and they had wanted to hurt this woman.

  “So, Ms. Smalls, when was it that you first began to suspect Mr. David Llewellyn?” McClellan asked.

  “The night of the murder,” Kara answered confidently. Just because she had been wrong, didn’t mean she had done anything wrong. Besides, she had done this job for ten years, and her instincts on cases had become fine-tuned. And when a wife laid dead, one suspect always jumped to the front… the husband.

  “And what first led you to suspect him?”

  “When I first spoke with the neighbors, they expressed to me that the Llewellyns appeared to be having marital problems.” When Kara had gone to interview the neighbors they had said that the couple could often be heard fighting. To the point that the shattering of dishes could even be heard.

  “And how did you proceed from there?” continued McClellan.

  “We retrieved Mrs. Llewellyn’s cell phone and used that to make contact with her husband. Informed him of the situation. Asked that he meet with us at his home.”

  “Did anything occur there to make you suspect him?”

  “His demeanor upon hearing that his wife had died.”

  “I object,” Edwards said. “Detective Smalls is in no position to comment on my client’s demeanor.” The whole time his head didn’t lift from his legal pad that had been filled with notes.

  McClellan swung his head towards him. “Mr. Edwards, the whole purpose of this line of questioning is to determine Ms. Smalls’s impression of the scene at that time and to establish her state of mind.”

  “Very well,” Edwards replied.

  “Please continue,” McClellan said, clearly as annoyed by Edwards’s general demeanor as Kara was.

  “Mr. Llewellyn did not seem particularly upset to hear about his wife. And when we interviewed him, he still didn’t. In fact, I don’t even know if he inquired as to how she had been killed.” The whole process chilled Kara. The whole time talking to him, he slouched in his chair and couldn’t even make eye contact. Seemed bored by her questions. She’d interviewed plenty of grieving spouses, and most would at the least shed a tear or two. Not this one. His voice didn’t even crack. So far she had a disinterested husband who was known to fight with the victim. And if there was one thing that this job had taught her… Occam’s Razor was real.

  “What kind of evidence was collected at the scene? And what, if anything, did you learn from this evidence?”

  “Victim’s skull had been caved in. The autopsy would later determine this to be the cause of death. Underneath the victim was a pool of blood. Spatter analyst determined that it collected like that for about an hour. Beside her lay a lamp with traces of the victim’s blood on the bottom. This was determined to be the murder weapon. When we tested the blood collected, it was shown to all belong to the victim.”

  “Any fingerprints?” McClellan asked.

  “Various prints all over the house and on the lamp. Only ones that could be identified belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn. Nothing which indicated a possible suspect.”

  “So to clarify,” Edwards butted in again. “There was no physical evidence which pointed to Mr. Lle
wellyn as the killer?”

  Kara inhaled, desperate to maintain her composure. She refused to look over at him, but sliding her eyes over, she saw that Edwards had a cocky little smile on his face. She wanted nothing more than to stand up and slap it off. But that would be frowned upon. “No. No physical evidence,” Kara responded, making sure to put the extra emphasis on ‘physical.’

  “Since Mr. Edwards raises the issue,” McClellan said, regaining control of the proceedings, “other than Mr. Llewellyn’s demeanor, was there anything else that caused you to suspect him?”

  “When we looked into his finances, we found that he had a large amount of debt. Appeared to primarily be due to a gambling addiction. From what we could gather, this appeared to be the cause of the fights that the neighbor reported.”

  “And was there anything that seemed to suggest that Mr. Llewellyn was innocent of the crime?”

  Edwards perked up at this question, beginning to squirm in his seat. Kara expected him to start salivating and licking his lips, he seemed so excited. This whole process would be so much easier if that son of a bitch wasn’t here. Everything about him screamed slimy douche. Jet black hair slicked back with so much grease that it would probably catch on fire if he got too close to an open flame. Wore a pinstripe suit that didn’t have a single wrinkle.

  “Yes,” she forced out, hating that she was giving this bastard what he wanted. “He had an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “And what was this alibi?” McClellan asked.

  “A friend of his reported that Mr. Llewellyn was with him at his house at that time.”

  “And why did you not then exclude Mr. Llewellyn as a suspect at this time?”

  “All we had to go on was the friend’s word. And we didn’t consider him completely trustworthy.”

  “And why not?”

  “He had a criminal record from having stolen a car last year.”

  “And that means he can’t be trusted?” Edwards asked.