Microphones and Murder

by Erin Huss

  “And Jeremy met you there?”

  “Not right away. Carlos told him what happened and he found me.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “What was it like reconnecting?”

  “It was hard at first, but we managed.”

  “And now you’re married,” I said. “To be honest, I didn’t think this story would have a happy ending.”

  “Me either.”

  There was a lull in the conversation and I checked my notes. “Is it okay if I ask your opinion on Richard now?”

  “What am I supposed to say? He’s gone.”

  She was right. Thanks to a lifetime of cinnamon rolls (and two blocked coronary arties), Richard Clark was in fact gone. He’d died of a heart attack before he reached the hospital.

  “What did Richard say to you when he showed up at your house?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Understandable.” I crossed my legs and leaned in closer to the microphone. “Can I ask what you thought when you first heard about the podcast? Because knowing what I do now, I’m surprised Jeremy ever agreed to speak to us.”

  Amelia laughed. It was a pleasant, freeing sound. “When Carlos called me, he said you were two kids who were trying to do a podcast. I didn’t think it would turn into what it is today. And if Jeremy didn’t talk to you, he’d look suspicious.”

  She made a good point.

  “Is there anything you didn’t know that you learned from the podcast?”

  “Penny,” she said with a sigh. “I didn’t know Penny sent the video.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No, not really. But there’s no point on dwelling on that is there?”

  No. I guess there wasn’t.

  “Is there anything we got wrong?” I asked.

  Amelia clicked her tongue. “Carlos is the one who hacked Penny’s YouTube account to make sure the video wasn’t deleted.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I asked him to. I figured if everyone thought I was crazy, people would stop looking for me,” she said. “And there’s one big piece you missed entirely.”

  Camry rose to her knees, with both hands holding her headphones to her ears.

  “Leon,” Amelia said. “Six months ago, Leon found me.”

  I nearly fell out of my chair. “Th…wh…ho…” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Detective Leon Ramsey found you?”

  “I was at Jeremy’s office here in Vegas, and one day Leon showed up looking for me.”

  “But…he never said anything? Why wouldn’t he…I’m sorry, I am having a hard time processing this.”

  “He said I was his only case that hadn’t been closed, and he had recently been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. He asked me to press charges, but I refused. Even if Richard were found guilty, he would have served maybe eight years, if that. And I just wanted to stay hidden. There wasn’t really anything he could do at that point. Then I guess he thought if my story was out there then perhaps Richard would suffer the consequence of a public jury. Honestly, at first I was mad when Carlos told me that Leon had contacted you, but it seems to have worked out, I guess.”

  “But he acted like he had no idea where you were. He acted like this case was baffling to him. It’s part of the reason I wanted to tell the story.”

  “In his defense, there’s no way you would have touched my case if you thought I was alive and hiding from an egotistical narcissist maniac.”

  Not with a ten-foot pole.

  “So you’re in Vegas,” I said. “With your husband and your health is good?”

  “My health is great, actually. And my mom is here with us.”

  This I knew. Hazel told me. She’d gone over to Janet’s house to see how she was. Janet slammed the door in her face, but not before saying she was moving in with her daughter.

  “I’m happy you’re well,” I said. “Thank you for allowing me to tell your story, Amelia.”

  “No, Liv. Thank you. And you can call me Dori.”

  Bonus Episode

  True Crime Con

  Three Months Later

  We followed the producer to the stage. I could hear the audience chatting on the other side of the curtain and my stomach did a summersault.

  Austin pulled at his collar and filled his cheeks with air. He had on a black suit and a black tie. When the event director invited us to speak, he told us to dress casual. Austin looked ready for his own funeral.

  “Oh you sweet thing.” Hazel rubbed his back.

  “W-w-w-w-why did I agree to th-th-th-th-this?”

  “You’ll be fine. Just let us do all the talking.” Hazel flipped open a compact mirror, applied a layer of red lipstick and smacked her lips together. She looked quite fabulous in a layered blouse and gaucho pants.

  Camry looked ready to perform. She was in a sequenced short-sleeved shirt, shiny black pants and four-inch heels. She had fake lashes, fake hair, and enough makeup on to paint the room. Oliver looked quite dashing in dark jeans and a white dress shirt tucked in.

  Me? I was in black pants and a sleeveless green jersey tee. My hair fell below my shoulders in red curls and I was wearing my Converse wedges. I had a pair in every color.

  Today I was wearing black and I had found my oomph.

  “I’m so excited!” Camry glanced at me. “Are you excited? ’Cause you look excited. Are you excited?”

  “Heck yeah I’m excited!”

  Who wouldn’t be?

  We were at True Crime Con! This was the biggest conference for true crime in the world. Held in Raleigh, North Carolina at the convention center, over 100,000 people flocked here every year to listen to their favorite true crime podcasters, television hosts, and meet their favorite authors.

  I’d never been before, but Mara had been the keynote speaker for the last three years in a row. Her appearances were recorded, and I’d listened to them on playback during editing.

  “How much longer until we start?” signed Austin. His face was stark white and his forehead glistened under the overhead lights.

  “About ten minutes.” signed Oliver.

  “Take a breath and picture everyone in their underwear,” Camry signed.

  “B-but my m-mom is in the audience.”

  Camry made a face. “Ew, then don’t do that.”

  A frazzled woman wearing a headset gathered us together. “You all look fabulous. Thank you again for coming. We’ve got a packed house.”

  Austin gulped loud enough for me to hear.

  The woman consulted her clipboard. “You’re on in five minutes. Did they tell you where you’d be sitting?”

  “They did,” I said. “And there’s an interpreter, right?”

  The woman gasped. “Sorry! I forgot one of you is deaf! We don’t get many deaf people at these con-ven-tions! Yes! There is an interpreter out there!”

  “You don’t have to yell,” Oliver said.

  The woman nodded, then shouted the last of our instructions and hurried back down the stairs.

  Yikes.

  Now I’m nervous.

  I’d never been a public speaker before.

  “Liv Olsen is that you?”

  I turned around and gazed up. I couldn’t believe it. Mara Lancer. She looked every bit as fabulous as she did the last time I saw her with her signature red-rimmed glasses and blonde hair streaked in blue.

  We hugged. It was good to see her again. In a way, she was the reason Missing or Murdered was the success that it had become.

  “Look at you?” She held me at arm’s length. “I feel like a proud Momma.”

  “Found my oomph.”

  “You sure did, kiddo. I had no doubt you would.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. If she genuinely thought I’d be a success, th
en she would have produced Missing or Murdered. But she didn’t.

  And now I was the keynote speaker.

  With the number one podcast in the country.

  Still, Mara’s seal of approval was the cherry on top of what had been an emotionally taxing and exhilarating sundae. I introduced her to the rest of the podcast posse. And we chatted about the business, like most podcasters do when they got together, until the lights went down and the host took the stage.

  Mara and I parted with plans to get together for lunch “one of these days.”

  Basically never, especially since I was living in Santa Maria and she was still in San Diego. But the sentiment was there.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the host settled the crowd. It was Ken Mathers, the producer and host of True Crime with Ken. He talked like he was from Brooklyn and looked like he was from Texas with cowboy boots and Wranglers on. “Thank you to everyone who has made this conference a smashing success.” The crowd erupted in applause and Ken playfully took a bow. I pulled back the curtain and peeked out. Dad, Camry’s mom Elena, my brother David and his wife were in the front row. Dad had his camcorder out and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  I’d never been more grateful for that kindhearted, fun-loving, honorable man I got to call my father. Not everyone was so blessed in the parent department.

  I called Camry over and showed her. “Is Dad seriously wearing socks with Crocs?” she asked.

  After further examination I realized yes, yes he was. But I found his misguided fashion attempts endearing.

  “And now, what you’ve all been waiting for,” Ken said. “Please direct your attention to the screen.” He waved his hand and the room went dark.

  Amelia’s face filled the back of the stage. Talking in the background was Hazel, in her slightly sultry voice, giving the details of Amelia’s disappearance. The picture of Amelia at her high school graduation—the one I took at CinnaMann’s—flashed across the screen along with photos of Amelia’s apartment, her car, the Clark’s apple tree, and footage from the press conference and the YouTube video. It ended with a photo of Leon, and a snippet from our interview, “the last case of mine still open...”

  Watching it brought back so many conflicting emotions to the surface.

  Sadness over the loss of Leon.

  Happiness that Amelia was free.

  I was mad Richard Clark never spent time in jail.

  And I was proud. Proud of what I’d done. What we had done.

  Most of all I felt grateful. Blessed to be part of something bigger than myself.

  “Are you ready to meet the minds behind this masterpiece?” Ken asked the crowd.

  Everyone cheered and clapped.

  “The wait is over. Here they are! First we have editorial advisor, Austin Mallor.”

  Austin rushed across the stage and took the seat closest to us. Per our detailed instructions, that was my seat, but I dared not move Austin.

  “Next we have director of operations and narrator, Hazel Lewis.”

  Hazel glided across the stage, waving her hand as if she’d just been crowned. She was met with stunned silence. This was the typical reaction she got when meeting fans. The voice didn’t match the person. Eventually the crowd erupted in loud cheers for the sultry Mrs. Claus.

  Ken helped her into the seat. “Next we have line producer, Oliver Lewis.”

  I told Oliver to go out and the crowd was on their feet, screams and whistles proceeded. That was the typical reaction he got when meeting fans—mostly female fans. He sat beside Hazel and waved to the crowd.

  And then there were two.

  I turned to Camry. “Let’s do this.”

  She gave me a hug. “Let’s do this!”

  “Please welcome, executive producer, Camry Lewis!”

  Camry stepped onto the stage and threw both hands in the air like she was running for office. She was in her element and the crowd loved her. As they should.

  Crap.

  It’s my turn.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Now, the person you’ve all been waiting for. The genius creator of Missing or Murdered, executive producer and host, Liv Olsen!”

  I stepped on to the stage and held my hand up to protect my eyes from the lights. The crowd was invisible, but I could hear their cheers and my dad’s “whoop-whoop-whoop.”

  I may burst.

  But before I did, I sat between Camry and Oliver.

  For the next hour we talked about Missing or Murdered, how we went about recording, the equipment used, how I chose the case. Every time Richard was mentioned the crowd booed.

  Then it was time for questions.

  The lights above the audience turned on, and I could see for the first time just how many people were there.

  Oh my…

  There were thousands and thousands. More than I could ever count. I didn’t have to look at Austin to know he was currently living his own personal nightmare.

  People lined up behind the microphones placed in the aisles. The first question came from a man named Brooks from Tennessee. “My question is for the entire cast. Do you still talk to Amelia Clark?”

  Camry started. “No, I think she’s still processing everything that’s happened, and we want to give her space.”

  The next question was from a woman who drove all the way from Oklahoma. This one was for Oliver and I cringed, waiting for the question I knew was coming.

  “Oliver, are you single?” she asked and the interpreter standing stage right, signed for him.

  Not the question I was afraid of.

  “Yes, I am,” he said and signed.

  What can I say?

  Camry changed my Facebook status to “it’s complicated” because it was.

  We were no longer playing baseball.

  For now.

  Next question: “Oliver, can you truly be an impartial participant if you knew Amelia Clark personally?”

  That was the question I was waiting for.

  “I met Millie briefly,” Oliver said. “As explained in the podcast, I didn’t know anything had happened until I saw the missing-person report.”

  Episode “A Complicated Discovery” was about Oliver’s involvement. It was our highest downloaded episode. I had not included our night of wine tasting. That footage no longer existed.

  “What ever happened to Dr. Deb Naidoo? And did you ever find out if Janet was in town the week of Amelia’s disappearance?” an audience member asked me.

  I held the microphone close to my mouth. “That’s a good question. Detective LeClare did eventually get a hold of Dr. Naidoo. But that was after we’d found Amelia and, yes, Janet was in town.”

  Next question: “What about season two?”

  “We are busy working on it now,” said Camry. “We’re looking into the murder of Brinkley Douglas.” Camry gave me a sideways glance. She was not happy about this. She wanted to find another Amelia, but we decided to focus our efforts in Santa Maria, and Brinkley Douglas was proving to be just as complicated as Amelia’s. Even though there was no chance she was holed up in Vegas.

  The one problem with Brinkley’s case: there was no doubt that there was a murderer out there.

  A murderer who had successfully remained hidden for almost twenty years.

  And we were about to uncover who that murderer was.

  The next question was for me: “What was the best part of doing this podcast, and what advice do you have for aspiring podcasters?”

  “Best advice is to be open to change,” I said. “What you hear is nothing like what I pictured in my head. And the best part is that I was able to do this with my sister.”

  The crowd did a collective “awe.”

  As did Camry.

  Next question was for me again: “You said that the podcast didn’t turn out l
ike you imagined it would in your head. Are you upset that Amelia was found alive?”

  Geez.

  I readjusted in the chair and took a moment to think about my response. “No, I’m ecstatic she’s alive. What I meant by that was, I didn’t set out to solve this case. I’m not a detective. I have no sleuthing experience. I set out to tell her story. And I did that. What drew me to Amelia was the public shaming she underwent. What was the point of it? What I see when I watch the video is a woman who is experiencing very real, very raw pain. I don’t see Aluminum Woman. I don’t see how this is entertaining either. Or how this is beneficial. It’s easy to shame people with modern digital platforms. And I do believe an argument can be made that it is effective. But what was effective about Amelia’s video? She didn’t make a racial slur. She didn’t take a grand political stand. She fell and had a panic attack. Her video was uploaded for the purpose of humiliation and look what ended up happening. I think what we can learn from Amelia is the need for empathy. If you see a person in distress, don’t film them. Help them. Yes, this may have been a happy ending, per se. But I am one hundred percent positive that if that video had not been shared Amelia wouldn’t have had to endure all that she has. She wouldn’t have had to go into hiding. Richard Clark might still be alive. Who knows? Just think about that the next time you’re tempted to snap a picture or share a video of someone without his or her knowledge. Think about Penny and the daily guilt she feels. Think about the job she lost, and think about the public bashing she’s received. Think about Blake Kirkland, the guilt that ended his life. Think about Amelia and realize you have no idea what happens behind closed doors.”

  About the Author

  Erin Huss is a blogger and a #1 Kindle bestselling author. She shares hilarious property management horror stories at The Apartment Manager’s Blog and her own horror stories at erinhuss.com. Erin currently resides in Southern California with her husband and five children, where she complains daily about the cost of living but will never do anything about it.