I Am Quinn

by McGarvey Black

  ‘It was horrible,’ said Viv, blowing her nose. ‘She was just lying on the floor. It was the worst moment of my life.’

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t actually see her,’ said Kelly.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Viv, ‘but I was in the building when they found her. It was still traumatising.’

  The Avon Ladies formed a group hug around Viv.

  ‘Look,’ said Viv, ‘Quinn dying is a horrible thing, but nothing we do is going to bring her back. We have to accept that we’re going to miss her. In time, it won’t hurt so much. I know Quinn wouldn’t want us to be sad forever. She’d want us to move on and go out and party.’

  What? No, I would not want you to go party, Vivian DeMarco. I wouldn’t want that at all. What I want is for you to find out why I was killed and who did it and to harass the police until they do. I want you to watch out for my kids. And, don’t be so touchy feely with my husband like I just saw you being. This time it’s about me, Viv, not you.

  Chapter 17

  During the funeral service, Alec felt Mike and Erin staring at him. He couldn’t stop himself from turning to look. It was an itch he had to scratch. No matter how hard he tried, he had to steal a glance.

  His conscience was clear. He and Quinn had been married for over twenty years and he had taken care of her when she went off the rails. Nobody knew what I went through. Her judgmental family has no clue what it was like for me.

  After he got back from that first meeting with the Newbridge police, his father had pulled him aside.

  ‘You need to hire an attorney, Alec, to protect yourself,’ his father said firmly.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide. I gave the cops my DNA. That will clear me,’ Alec said.

  ‘Talk to a lawyer before you do anything,’ his father said. ‘There are a lot of innocent men in jail. Every year you hear a story about some poor schmuck who spent thirty years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.’

  His father reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card.

  ‘Call this guy, Steven Stern,’ he said. ‘He’s supposed to be an excellent criminal attorney.’

  ‘I don’t need some high-priced lawyer,’ Alec protested. ‘The local police are idiots, anyway. I can handle them with my eyes closed. Besides, I don’t have the money for another lawyer after all the funeral expenses.’

  ‘Don’t be such a stubborn ass, Alec. I’ll pay for your goddamn lawyer,’ said his father in a tone that told him it was not up for debate.

  The next morning, Alec met with Steven Stern, Esq. The lawyer was smart and cocky just like his potential new client and Alec decided they were both cut from the same cloth.

  ‘It’s not that they always accuse the husband, Alec,’ Steven Stern said. ‘Statistically, when it comes to murder, the spouse or significant other is most often the guilty party. Naturally, that’s where the police look first.’

  ‘I already gave the cops my DNA,’ Alec said.

  ‘That was a mistake. I would have advised against that,’ said Stern. ‘From here on in, don’t speak to the police. I’ll do all the talking for you.’

  Alec nodded.

  ‘You’re certain there’s no possibility they’ll find your DNA in your wife’s apartment?’

  ‘No chance,’ Alec replied. ‘I’ve never been to her place. I haven’t physically seen my wife in six months. All communication between us was by phone or text.’

  ‘I’m going to ask you the question that I ask all my clients. Your answer is protected by attorney-client privilege, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Did you kill your wife, Alec?’

  ‘No. I did not.’

  ‘Okay, that’s all I needed to know. Unless the police want to charge you,’ Stern said, ‘you’re under no legal obligation to talk to them again. From now on, be like a mime. Complete silence. Clear?’

  ‘Absolutely. My DNA will rule me out,’ said Alec confidently.

  Stern picked up the phone and called the Newbridge Police Department to let them know he was now representing Alec Roberts and his client had nothing more to say. He also told them Alec would not be returning to take the polygraph test either.

  It had been a long few days and Alec was bone tired. He wanted things to go back to normal. Years of coping with his wife’s mental illness, and now he had to protect himself from a murder allegation. He felt himself getting angry. Quinn tried to drown me when she was alive and now she’s reaching back from the grave to pull me in with her.

  Chapter 18

  The two detectives canvassed half of Newbridge and then did the same with every shop in downtown Avon. McQuillan took one side of Main Street and Crews the other. Armed with a photo of Quinn Roberts and his little black notebook, McQuillan was looking for anyone who had spoken to or seen the victim in the weeks leading up to her death. At this point, they had no idea how she’d spent the last days of her life.

  Some of the people in the stores recognized Quinn Roberts from the news. A lady at the thrift shop said Roberts used to come in all the time but couldn’t remember when the last time was. The guy in the liquor store and the lady at the fruit and veg market also said Ms. Roberts had been a regular customer but hadn’t seen her in a while. Apparently, Quinn Roberts liked tequila, chardonnay, and mangoes.

  McQuillan pushed open the door of a small jewelry store called Bling. The owner, Joelle Lester, an attractive middle-aged woman with short blonde hair, stood behind the counter.

  ‘I’m with the Newbridge PD,’ McQuillan said, flashing his badge and handing her Quinn Roberts’ picture. ‘Ever see this woman? She lived here in Avon until fairly recently.’

  ‘Her husband did it,’ she said, without looking at the picture.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You’d be surprised what a jeweler knows. We keep a lot of secrets,’ she said. ‘It was her husband. I’m very intuitive.’

  McQuillan felt his ears getting warm.

  ‘Ms. Roberts was a customer of yours?’

  ‘She’d been in my shop a few times. I get to know local people pretty well,’ Joelle said. ‘The ladies in town drop by to try on a necklace or a pair of earrings while they’re out shopping. My store is kind of a sanctuary for them, a place where they can try on pretty things that most of them can’t afford.’

  ‘Why did you say her husband did it?’

  ‘About three years ago, this middle-aged guy comes into my store. Said he was looking for a birthday gift for his wife,’ Joelle said. ‘Based on his age, I showed him a few pieces in gold. After he looked at the price tags, he said he wanted something less expensive, so I showed him silver. He decided on a silver necklace with the letter “J” charm on it, and we added a large carved green bead to the chain for her birthstone.’

  ‘The letter “J”?’

  ‘He paid for it with Visa. When I ran the card, it said “Alec Roberts”, but I didn’t make the connection to Quinn at the time. Roberts is kind of a common name.’

  ‘Why did you say Alec Roberts killed his wife?’

  ‘I’m getting there. About a month later, Quinn comes into my shop to chit-chat,’ Joelle said, ‘and she tries on one of my hammered gold chains. She said she needed to get her husband, Alec, to come down to buy her something special. That she deserved it, after all she had to put up with.

  ‘That’s when I realized that Alec Roberts was Quinn’s husband and I thought to myself, uh-oh. Her husband bought a “J” charm necklace for his “wife’s” birthday,’ Joelle continued, making air quotes with her fingers. ‘Clearly, it wasn’t for his wife. Look for someone whose name starts with a “J”, Detective.’

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure. Wait, it gets better,’ Joelle said. ‘A few months after that little fiasco, this young blonde in her twenties comes into my shop to get the clasp fixed on that very same “J” necklace with the green charm. It was definitely the same one because I only had that one jade bead. I bought it from an
estate sale. It was one of a kind. The blonde said her “husband” bought it for her,’ Joelle said, making air quotes a second time. ‘When I heard about Quinn Roberts’ murder, all I could think of was that green bead.’

  The detective gave the woman his card as he considered what she had told him. It didn’t definitively nail Alec Roberts for the murder of his wife, just proved he was a cheater. McQuillan knew he had a lot more work to do.

  The next day, Crews and McQuillan drove six hours south to Cranbury, New Jersey, to interview people who had attended Quinn’s twenty-fifth high school reunion a few weeks earlier. The main person McQuillan wanted to talk to was Quinn’s old boyfriend, Mark Miller.

  ‘Let’s just say, we were old friends, that’s all. I hadn’t seen her in twenty years,’ Mark blurted out before either detective could ask a question.

  ‘You and Quinn Roberts dated all through high school?’ asked Detective Crews.

  ‘She was Quinn Delaney then. Yeah. We went out for a few years. Broke up when we went to college.’

  ‘Had you been in touch with Ms. Roberts?’ McQuillan asked.

  ‘We kind of had a bad break-up, and then I met someone, and she met someone. The one and only time I saw her was at the reunion.’

  ‘Your classmates told us that you two were inseparable at the party,’ said Crews, ‘that you were by her side the entire evening and you left together.’

  ‘We had a lot to catch up on after twenty-five years,’ Miller said.

  ‘People said you never took your eyes off her the whole night,’ McQuillan said.

  ‘She was still beautiful, what can I say?’

  ‘And you left the event with her?’ Crews asked again.

  ‘The lady needed a ride home. I’m a gentleman.’

  While McQuillan’s money was still on the husband, Mark Miller had emerged as the first runner-up. The two detectives remained silent, hoping Miller might meander his way into a confession.

  ‘Look, I’m married,’ he continued. ‘I gave her a ride to her parents’ house. Is that a crime? It was no big deal. Like I said, we were old friends.’

  ‘Except,’ McQuillan said, looking at his notes, ‘according to Ms. Roberts’ sister, that night you told the victim that you were still in love with her. You said you wanted to leave your wife and start up with her again. Her sister said she turned you down. That might make a guy get pissed off, going out on a limb like that and getting shot down.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Miller said indignantly. ‘That’s a total lie. I never said that. Everyone knew Quinn Delaney was damaged goods. People said she had a screw loose. She might have told her sister I said it but it never happened. She probably made it up to make herself feel important. She was always high up on her horse, even back in high school. I’m married. Quinn Delaney was attractive but she was delusional. I wouldn’t jeopardize my marriage for someone that unhinged.’

  Chapter 19

  QUINN

  Why, Mark Miller, I believe you just told those detectives a big fat lie. I’m glad you still found me attractive but ‘delusional’? I remember exactly what you said to me that night, Mark. You said you wanted to dump your fat wife and ride off into the sunset with me. Truthfully, I thought you were the crazy one, and I felt sorry for your wife. Don’t you know that a marriage built on lies is bound to unravel? Take it from one who knows. You’re in for a whole lot a pain.

  Chapter 20

  McQuillan had lost count of how many doors he had knocked on in Quinn Roberts’ old neighborhood in Newbridge. It was a quiet part of town. You could hear birds chirping and an occasional dog bark; everything was nice and peaceful. That’s why a woman being brutally murdered and no one seeing or hearing anything didn’t jive. If a person didn’t belong here, like a crazed drug addict, for instance, somebody would notice.

  Frustrated, he and Crews had gone house to house and talked to countless numbers of people. For all their effort, they still had nothing. An elderly lady who lived across the street from the murder scene said she saw a blue van parked there one day that same week.

  ‘I keep a watch on this whole neighborhood. You can never be too careful. The guy driving the van looked strange, like he was on drugs or crack or something,’ the old woman said. ‘He had long hair in a ponytail and maybe a tattoo. I didn’t like the looks of him. I think he had Vermont plates.’

  ‘Where were you when you observed the vehicle?’ McQuillan asked.

  ‘I watch everything and everyone from the window in my dining room,’ said the old woman. ‘I’m pretty sure that van was parked out there last week.’

  After almost thirty years on the job, McQuillan had gotten pretty good at separating fact from fiction. The blue van and ponytail screamed fantasy and McQuillan didn’t have time to chase down false leads. He asked the woman a few more questions about the ‘drug addict’, and inconsistencies in her story made him confident there was nothing to it. He crossed it off his list. Seemed nobody knew nothing.

  Even the people who lived in the same building provided little. Scott Rubin, a middle-aged tax attorney and his wife, lived underneath the victim offered almost no help.

  ‘We’re private people,’ said Rubin. ‘We don’t want to know anything about our neighbors, and we don’t want them to know anything about us.’

  What a delightful guy, McQuillan thought.

  ‘I’ll say “hello” to you or lend you my snow shovel, but that’s about it,’ Rubin continued.

  ‘I get it, Mr. Rubin, you like your privacy,’ McQuillan said, jotting down a note. ‘Did you hear or see anything last week?’

  ‘Her damn footsteps on my ceiling,’ Rubin said. ‘That woman walked around at all hours of the night. This is an old building, the floors creak. Her pacing made our ceiling squeak all night long, every single night. I had to use earplugs. She drove my wife nuts. I’m sorry she died, Detective, but we don’t know anything.’

  ‘Do you remember what days you heard Ms. Roberts walking around?’

  ‘She did it every night. Definitely Sunday cause I was trying to watch a movie. And maybe Monday too. Not sure about Tuesday.’

  After the police interviewed all of her classmates, neighbors and family members, they determined that Quinn Roberts didn’t appear to have any enemies. She was close with her parents and sisters, and most everyone said complimentary things about her. She was a good mother, involved in the local schools and at least up until the past couple of years before she developed some emotional problems, she was well-liked and had a good sense of humor.

  In the three weeks since the murder happened, it had been front page news, and everyone had an opinion. McQuillan’s challenge was to determine what was speculation and what was reality. A lot of people reported their theory to the police as a fact.

  He entered a hair salon in the center of Newbridge and flashed his badge along with a dog-eared photo of Quinn Roberts.

  ‘I know her,’ said the hairdresser, her eyes tearing up. ‘I did her hair the week before she died.’

  McQuillan’s ears turned bright red and started to itch.

  ‘Really,’ he said, trying to stay calm. ‘When was that?’

  The hairdresser checked her book. ‘Three weeks ago, on a Wednesday,’ she said. ‘She came into my shop on Tuesday.’

  ‘You just said you did her hair on Wednesday.’

  ‘Stay with me. She first came in on Tuesday and told me she had passed my shop a hundred times. Said she wanted to do something new with her hair,’ said the stylist. ‘It looked like it hadn’t been cut in a while and it was flecked with strands of gray. She looked kind of lost. I knew I could make her look so much better, but my schedule was jammed.’

  ‘So, you didn’t do her hair?’ McQuillan asked.

  ‘I was about to tell her I couldn’t take her for at least a week when my empathy gene kicked into overdrive,’ said the woman. ‘I’m a very empathetic person, which is a blessing and a curse. I told her to come back the next day at eleven,
and I’d squeeze her in. She really needed a haircut, and I was dying to get rid of that gray.’

  ‘Did she come back?’

  ‘The next day, which was Wednesday, she shows up a few minutes before eleven. She looked more pulled together than the day before. I wrapped her in a plastic cape and took a hard look at her hair and face in the mirror. We were about the same age, and we both have black hair. Her skin was fair like white porcelain, and she had these pretty light blue eyes. I, on the other hand, am Sicilian, dark eyes, dark hair. In Disney princess speak, we were like Princess Jasmine and Snow White.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘I cut and colored while she talked. Something about my chair; they all tell me their secrets. She said she was getting divorced but that she didn’t want to and now it seemed her husband wanted to get back together. She said she had plans to have dinner with him for his birthday and wanted to look really good. Something about the way she said it made me wonder if she was telling the truth or if it was only magical thinking on her part. I kind of got the feeling she wanted to have dinner a lot more than he did. It didn’t sound like a firm date to me. Don’t ask me why, just a gut feeling. I’ll tell you what though, when I finished with her hair, she looked like a cover girl. That was the last time I ever saw her.’

  McQuillan wondered if the birthday dinner between Quinn Roberts and her husband ever took place and made a note to follow up on that. When he got back to the station, Crews was sorting through hefty bags of papers and other assorted items collected from Quinn Roberts’ apartment. Everything was in the process of being separated into organized piles.

  ‘From the looks of it, the lady didn’t throw anything out,’ said Detective Crews. ‘You think she was a hoarder like the people on that TV show? She saved gum wrappers, empty cereal boxes and old jars.’