Against all laws of logic, instead of huddling inside under a pile of blankets, Diane Stanton was purposefully standing outside of her apartment in this freezing cold. If it wasn’t for this case, there would be no way I would be more than five feet away from my heater at home right now.
Diane was a different breed of woman than me—that was for sure. She stood on her front step taking a puff of a cigarette, which made me immediately question her sanity. It was one thing to smoke, knowing all the health risks that were associated with cigarettes. To me, the bigger mystery was, who smoked in this weather?
Clearly, the apartment complex had a “No Smoking” policy within their units, but that wasn’t what I was referring to. It was more that, if there was ever a good excuse to quit a nasty habit like smoking, a subzero temperature was it. Alas, that was the power of nicotine. It was so addictive that she was willing to brave the cold just for a few puffs.
While I thought she’d be better off quitting smoking, her actions played into my hands. Diane was already out in the open. The detective and I didn’t have to draw her out of her apartment. I didn’t want to squander that stroke of luck.
“How does weather like this not make you want to give up smoking?” I joked.
Diane looked up at Detective Stone and me. The mousey, petite, thirty-one-year-old’s frame was dwarfed by the puffiness of her parka. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which made her angular face stand out even more. She wore black-rimmed glasses and glanced at me with her chocolate-brown eyes.
I had always found it peculiar that she’d chosen to be a receptionist. That was typically the domain of outgoing, charismatic people—things she most certainly wasn’t. Her general demeanor was that of a librarian—bookish, reserved, and soft-spoken.
She was clearly surprised to see me, but in a way, she looked kind of happy as well. Then again, she had no idea why I was there. The smile she flashed my way would only make what was to come more awkward to delve into.
“Andrea, what are you doing here?” Diane asked.
“You didn’t answer my question. Is a cigarette really worth standing out in all of this cold for?” I replied.
Diane looked embarrassed to admit it, but the answer clearly was yes. “I wish I could say it wasn’t, but these things are real stress relievers.”
“What are you stressing over? Other than the obvious.”
Did she have a guilty conscience? Or, was I just projecting? I impatiently waited for her answer.
“What aren’t I stressing over? I mean, I still can’t believe Jake is gone. He was the best boss I’ve ever had. Now that he’s gone, though, I have another problem.”
“Which is?”
Once again, I wondered if any feelings of guilt would find their way into her reply. I was left disappointed.
“I’m out of a job.”
Instead of just hammering her with questions about the murder, I decided to slowly build my way up to them. “Oh. Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll find something.”
Diane wasn’t nearly as convinced. She turned her focus to the detective and raised her eyebrow at him. “Who is this with you?”
Detective Stone got ready to pull out his badge. I spoke up before he had the chance to.
“He’s a friend,” I replied.
Thankfully, Stone went along with my ruse without any argument. At the same time, I was so relieved that Stone was a plainclothes detective instead of an officer in uniform. If it was the other way around, the entire conversation would have unfolded much differently. Diane bought my explanation that the detective was “just a friend.”
She loosened up and moved on to a new line of thought. “By the way, what are you even doing here?”
I decided to broach the subject like a mourning girlfriend instead of a sleuth. “I’m here about Jake.”
Diane tensed up. “I’m really sorry for your loss. He was one of the good ones.”
“He most certainly was,” I replied.
The look of confusion on her face was as strong as ever. “I still don’t quite understand why you’re here.”
“The police still haven’t figured out who killed him.”
“That’s very unfortunate. But again, I’m at a loss as to why you’ve come to me.”
“I have a feeling you might know who did this,” I said.
Diane instantly went as stiff as a board. She tried to look befuddled, but I could tell it was just an act.
“Why would I?” Diane replied.
“You worked with Jake day in and day out, even the day he was murdered. Did you see or hear anything suspicious the day he was killed?”
Diane still didn’t seem to realize why I was really there. I wanted to keep that up as long as I could. If I could get some additional useful information along the way, that was just a bonus.
Luckily, it looked like she was going to give me something to work with.
“Actually, yes,” Diane said. “You should talk to Trevor Skelton.”
“Why him?”
“He stormed into Jake’s office completely drunk and just started going off on this long and rambling diatribe about how Jake had ruined his life.”
My eyes lit up. “When did this happen again?”
“Just a few hours before the murder occurred. Let me tell you, Trevor was out of control. Jake had to have him removed from the building,” Diane explained.
“Really?”
Diane nodded.
“Well, that’s definitely something that needs some following up on.”
Diane dropped what remained of her cigarette on the ground and crushed it with her boot. “Anyway, I’m going to head inside now. It’s freezing out here. But, I really hope you can find some peace.”
Freezing temperatures aside, Diane sure seemed to be in a hurry to head back into her apartment. The time for congenial conversation was over. I had to pull out the heavy artillery.
“Not so fast,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not quite done here.”
Diane wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you where you were on Tuesday night,” I said.
“But, I don’t get it.”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just tell me where you were between seven and seven fifteen on Tuesday,” I said.
Diane put her foot down. “I don’t have to tell you that.”
Detective Stone was done standing idly by. He pulled out his police badge and flashed it at Diane.
“You can either answer the question here or at the station,” the detective said.
Panic entered Diane’s voice. “Wait a minute. You’re a police detective?”
Detective Stone nodded. “Now, why don’t you answer the question?”
Diane stared me down, outraged. “So, that’s why you really came here, huh?” She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t believe you just pretended he was your friend while acting like you cared about my feelings.”
Detective Stone stopped her right there. “Ms. Stanton, do you really want to raise your voice in the presence of an officer of the law?”
Diane backed down momentarily.
Stone continued. “Now, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about. So, answer the question. Where were you between seven and seven fifteen on Tuesday?”
“I was at a nail appointment,” Diane replied.
Detective Stone immediately pulled out his cell phone. “What nail salon? I’ll give them a call to corroborate your story.”
Diane clearly hadn’t expected the detective to follow up on her alibi so quickly. She revised her story. “What I meant to say was that I was driving home from a nail appointment.”
The detective gave her a critical stare. “Driving home, huh? Did you happen to stop back at the office on the way?”
Diane became curt. “No.”
Stone didn’t buy that. “You’ve
already lied to us once. Why should we believe you now?”
She was vehement in her denial. “I didn’t lie. I just got the exact times mixed up a little. What you were asking about happened a few days ago, and a lot has happened since then.”
He still didn’t completely buy her story. “Was there anyone in the car with you when you were driving home who could verify your story?”
“No. But that’s what I was doing.”
We were getting nowhere with this line of questioning. I decided to take the conversation in a different direction. “If I remember correctly, you own a gun, don’t you?”
Diane became more argumentative. “That doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know anyone in this town who doesn’t.”
I stopped her cold with my answer. “I don’t.”
She changed her line of reasoning. “Last time I checked, this is still America, and I have a legal right to own a gun.”
Detective Stone jumped in. “Is it a thirty-eight caliber?”
Diane seemed more interested in evading questions than answering them. “I don’t see how any of this is your business.”
“I can run your registration papers, but I’m already pretty sure of the answer,” Detective Stone replied.
Diane quickly changed the subject. “This is ridiculous, anyway. Why would you think I had anything to do with Jake’s death?”
She could play dumb all she wanted, but I was too smart to fall for it.
I pulled out the last piece of incriminating information that was in my arsenal. “Diane, I know you had a crush on Jake.”
Diane stammered, blindsided by my words. “Wait, how did you--?”
I interrupted her. “A girlfriend always knows things like that.”
The detective stepped in. “Ms. Stanton, is that true? Did you have a crush on the victim?”
I watched the gears spin in Diane’s head as she tried to talk her way out of this. Ultimately, she came clean.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Detective Stone’s eyes opened wide. “Interesting.”
Once again, Diane tried to talk to her way out with some verbal gymnastics. “So, I liked him. That gives me less reason than ever to want him dead.”
I saw a major flaw in her logic. “Normally, I’d agree. The problem is, the only thing stronger than the power of love is the scorn of heartbreak. Your feelings for Jake were unrequited. He loved me, and you knew that. Maybe you figured if you couldn’t have him, then no one could.”
Diane was outraged. “That’s a big assumption, which you have no way of backing up.”
I fired right back at her. “Like you should talk. You don’t have any way of backing up your story.”
Diane changed the subject again. “I’m telling you, you’re talking to the wrong person.
Detective Stone called her out. “The problem is, you already lied to us once in this conversation. Why should we believe you now?”
“Because I’m telling you the truth,” Diane pleaded.
The detective looked at her sternly. “I wish I could believe that.”
Diane folded her arms in defiance, completely shutting down. “I have nothing else to say.”
That put Stone in a tough spot. He didn’t have enough to arrest her, but it was also clear that Diane wasn’t going to volunteer any further information.
He glared at her. “I do. Don’t think about leaving town.”
Chapter Twelve
After a rocky first interrogation with Diane, the detective and I moved on to the next suspect on our list. Diane hadn’t given us all that much to work with, but she did provide us with one solid lead worth checking up on.
We headed over to Trevor Skelton’s apartment to hear his side of the story. Trevor lived in Break Up Park. To most people, it was The Brea Park apartment complex, but in my experience, only recent divorced men ever moved there. I didn’t have the stats in front of me, but I was pretty sure it was home to the highest concentration of divorced men in the entire county.
In stark contrast to the Old West-themed complex that Diane Stanton lived in, Break Up Park was nothing more than slabs of concrete without even the slightest hint of personality. It was hard not to be struck by how soullessly utilitarian it was. It was so drab looking that if barbed wire were to be erected around it, the complex could easily be mistaken it for a prison.
Then again, I was looking at it from a distinctively feminine point of view. The people that lived there didn’t care about things like décor. They just wanted a roof over their heads. To most of the residents, it was only a temporary stomping ground for them—a cheap place to sleep at night while they cobbled their lives back together after their breakup.
For Trevor Skelton, that rebuilding process had been going on surprisingly too long, with more bumps in the road than he expected. As Detective Stone knocked on the front door to his apartment, I fully expected Trevor to answer the door drunk, or at least slightly buzzed. The man treated beer like it was his best friend instead of his greatest adversary.
Sure enough, when Trevor swung the front door open, it didn’t take long for me to smell the alcohol on his breath. His oval face was beet red, his brown eyes were bloodshot, and his short brown hair had not been combed. He was a tall fifty-four-year-old man who, in his intoxicated state, looked as imposing as he was unpredictable. At that moment, I was glad that I wasn’t investigating this case alone.
It was hard to believe it was two p.m. on a weekday. Trevor had clearly hit the bottle early and often. That pretty much summed up the last year of his life. His ex-wife had taken him to the cleaners in divorce court, but I had assumed he was able to retain at least a shred of dignity. Looking at the beer stains on his white tank top, I realized that I’d overestimated him. To me, this looked like rock bottom, but did he still have a ways to fall yet?
As expected, Trevor did not give us a warm greeting.
“What are you doing back here?” he snapped.
Detective Stone wasn’t about to let himself be intimidated. “A little unfinished business.”
“I find that hard to believe. Didn’t you ask me enough questions the last time you were here?” Trevor barked.
“I’d watch my voice volume if I were you. I’m a police detective.”
I could tell that Trevor wanted to fire right back at the detective, but he thankfully found some restraint.
Stone continued. “Now, we need to ask you a few more questions.”
Trevor turned a critical eye to me. “Who is this?”
Luckily, he didn’t recognize me. If he knew I was Jake’s girlfriend, the conversation would devolve even quicker into chaos.
The detective stepped in. “We’re the ones asking the questions.”
Trevor glared at Stone. “I don’t see the point. My answers won’t be any different than the last time.”
“Who said we’re going to ask the same questions?” Stone replied.
By then, Trevor was annoyed beyond belief. “What haven’t you asked me?”
I went right after him. “Like how you stormed into Jake Talbot’s office the day of the murder and had a blowout fight with him.”
Trevor opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off, in no mood for nonsense.
“Don’t try to deny it. We have a source who told us all about the fight,” I continued.
The complexion of Trevor’s face changed. He paused before answering, looking like he was grasping for words that wouldn’t incriminate him. “All right. I was there. But that was hours before the murder occurred.”
“It’s interesting that you of all people would bring up time. There you were, almost a full year after your divorce, no closer to getting over your resentment for Jake. If anything, you seem just as bent out of shape as ever--”
This time, it was Trevor who cut me off. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“It doesn’t make you look innocent, either,” Detective Stone said.
While Trevor and the detective exchange
d glares, I dug deeper.
“What got you so worked up that made you storm into Jake’s office in the first place?” I asked.
Trevor tried to downplay things. “I just had a bad day. We all have those.”
“You mean the kind of day when you’re so angry that you feel like you could kill someone?” I replied.
That nearly threw Trevor over the edge. “You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“Oh, come on. That’s what you meant, wasn’t it? Why else would you get so worked up over a figure of speech?” I said.
Again, Trevor tried understating things. “It was just a bad day is all.”
Refusing to be discouraged, I kept pressing. “You still didn’t answer my question. What kind of bad day were you having?”
Trevor clammed up. He looked like he had no interest in giving me an answer.
I prodded him again. “You know, the more you avoid the questions, the guiltier you look.”
Trevor groaned and then finally gave me some details. “I had just seen my wife…” He stopped himself. “I mean, ex-wife, kissing her new boyfriend. She was as happy as could be. Her life was just how she wanted it--”
“And yours was anything but,” I said.
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Trevor barked.
Detective Stone took the lead again. “Are you still going to try and tell me that you had no part in this murder?”
Trevor nodded. “Yeah, because it’s the truth.”
The detective had a hard time believing that. “Why don’t you tell me where were you again between seven and seven fifteen on Tuesday?”
“I already told you that,” Trevor said.
“Tell me again,” Detective Stone replied.
“I was right here.”
“Watching TV, right?”
“Yeah. The game was on.”
“The game was on until ten o’clock. Just because you watched a part of the game doesn’t mean you were watching it around seven,” Detective Stone said.
“You wanted an answer, and I gave it to you,” Trevor replied.
“It would be easier to believe you if you have someone to corroborate your story. But you don’t, do you?” the detective said.
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