The questions come and go, but I can see none of them believe that it was an accident, that I found him like that on the floor with all that… My claim on there being an intruder is taken for granted, and as the sunlight fades in, its ever warming rays lighting up this dead house of mine, comes a new day with several possibilities. I know I am innocent, and the law will prove me right.
But I can’t help but wish I was the one who did it. Would anyone blame me? Of course they would. I would be damned if I did and still damned if I don’t, just like now. If only my hands were the ones that took care of that asshole.
“Miss Turner…I’m going to ask you a few questions, just to clarify what happened here. I’m Officer Young.” The deep bass above me holds strong and fair. He’s not too old. Fair of skin and hair, and a set of radiant eyes that have seen more than this act of child’s play. I sigh out of frustration, and keep rubbing Spence’s hair as I go into detail what transpired last night, till now. I don’t need a lawyer. I know I’m innocent.
He stoops low, and takes notes in his pad-like thingy. I hate thinking that he might be doodling boobies he sucked on last night. That he is not paying attention to anything I might add or say. It’s the way of the world I suppose.
He then leaves and in that time that I am alone, I look around. Yellow tape surrounds the entire compound, and a bevy of confused neighbors line at the edge in their jammies. Even Mr. Edger, in his custom made pink PJs. Of all hating people, I am surprised to see him at all. The people I call ‘neighbors’ wouldn’t even blink if something like this ever happened to any other neighbor. Curiosity in this hood was ranked from the least hated going up. Carl had been a spectacular contender for number one for many years.
Spence is worried. I can tell. He has no idea why he’s been sitting outside for hours on end while his mom answers the same questions over and over again. His breathing is slow and shallow, and I worry he might be affected by Carl’s death. Sure, he never talked to him beyond yelling his name when he wanted to scold someone that wasn’t me, or even berate him for making no friends at school, but he was still the one father figure in his life. Hate or love, Spence knew Carl as his dad.
It’s just the two of us now. There’s no one else to care for us, well, there’s Henrietta, but she’s been here as my friend. I can’t even recall any family member of mine that was not Harvey, my soulless demon of a father. He made sure that he was the only man I could look to for help, and that must have really stung him not to be. With Spencer, I was complete, and now with Carl gone, I feel lost again.
Even from the grave, from the pits of wherever the wrongdoers go to when they do, you know, wrong, Carl Glenn is still smiling as his limbs are ripped off and his insides slowly gushing. Hell is cruel, but his presence just spiked the party. From all those souls away, I can still feel the chokehold on my neck, over my life. If the police haven’t found any evidence in the entire house, then I must be screwed.
Spence…my son, my love. I don’t want them to take me away. I can’t live without you close by, with the idea of you being taken and paced in another home, where you might meet another Harvey, or a worse Carl. No…I can’t go. They must prove I’m innocent, even if I’m the only one with enough motives to strangle the life out of him.
I’m going to get through this, and I must. There is a man in brown shoes and a long coat, who squats by my feet. I have the feeling he must be the last cop I talk to today before they escort me ‘downtown’. Our eyes do not meet, not just yet. I have to get my confidence right. I have to prove that I am innocent and get myself out of this nightmare.
Then, I breathe, and throw my gaze at him.
Chapter 13 – Spencer
Chance can be a cruel thing. The odds are always fair, but to the untrained eye, they might seem a bit favoring. We live in a world that rewards the corrupt and unruly, and punishes the sickly and divine. I see it every day by my desk, casing through the past files and wondering what could be done to make the world a little bit…fairer. But Chief is always right, especially in such matters. The universe gives an absolute zero of a fuck to anyone.
It’s always the little things that catch up with us when memories from yonder wash us. Like her smile when she was lying, or stressed. Even the quaint way she would look up at a film and eat away the popcorn with her mind occupied with thoughts of home. Or how she would cry when she remembered her mom on the yearly anniversary. The little things that catch up with us; memorable, and truly bitchy.
One sight I never thought I would get the opportunity to see was hers. All through college, Nicole and Bryce helped me pick up the pieces and move on. It wasn’t easy, considering my best friend was the fairest face on campus. But I held my own, and she later discovered her true sexuality. My mind has ever since been occupied with work and self-improvements. From the gym to rock climbing, I’ve chosen the path to discipline and mental strength. It got easier with each year not thinking about sexual gratification, but I never thought one glimpse of the passion of my past would bring it all back.
She sits deftly, huddled and worried. Her face cannot lie; she’s stressed. But this is different. Her worry is not fir her own, she never did worry about herself. She was selfless that way. I can see it’s for her boy. Her son.
Huh, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. We were lost in love a long time ago, and by my guess, the boy must be six or seven years old. He’s cute too, and has some striking features. I can’t waste time thinking of what we could have been. Blake is getting a tad impatient with me staring at our suspect. I have waited too long for this, many a month to get this promotion, and no one must know that the suspect in this case is in any way related to me.
She cannot recognize me. Maybe she’s blocked out any memory that was associated with my face, or my voice. Then again, I have changed. I got taller, fitter and cut my hair shorter. Even my chin got smoother. But for her, she still has that childish look of innocence on her forehead. Her aqua blue eyes linger a bit all around her, searching for something that can give her peace. The cheekbones I loved kissing as she slept are bruised, and her lips are drier with each passing second. She hasn’t been eating very well, but has managed to keep her curves in check. Her skin, paler than I remember, must mean she’s been in a place with no sun for quite some time. An inkling notions to me that she’s not my suspect, but more of a victim of abuse. And even if she was a suspect, who would Jasmine Turner kill? A house-fly? Perhaps a bug in her food? Even now, with all the distance and time shaping us into other people, I know how innocent her blood is.
Then, our eyes meet.
In that brief crack in reality, the love I had held back all that time back speeds up and catches onto me, like a leech it grabs on and sinks its teeth in. Talk about keeping a poker face. Training; I recommend it.
But, she’s more of looking through me. With so many cops asking her what happened here last night, she’s been shaken enough to just passively phase through it all until it is confirmed. Well, there was no murder weapon on the scene, but her fingerprints were everywhere. She is, was, the wife to the late body in the bag lying in the ambulance a few steps from her; there are bound to be fingerprints everywhere.
Maybe the time for questions is over, and I don’t want her to hear my voice anyway. I rise up and walk away. Towards the man smacking his lips over a bag of nuts he always keeps in his seams for moments like this.
“Really Blake? Here? There’s a dead guy right there,” I point out, nudging his face towards the silent ambulance. He sniffs and keeps on munching, giving me the satisfaction of a healthy smirk.
“You know Winters, all the dust you breathe? Yeah, that’s all dead people. Time to grow up buddy,” he swallows and spews. “Done asking the wife your questions?”
“Nah, I think this is better off at the station,” I reply, taking care not to glance at her a tad extra longer.
“You’re right, you’ll need a quiet room to talk to her, huh?” he asks, giving me the sharpest of h
eart attacks. Does he know?
“What?” I ask, swinging the car door open as he waves over a cop to bring her and her son into our vehicle. God, does he know?
“Ha-ha, who wouldn’t? She’s banging enough man. I would do her in a heartbeat. Wouldn’t you?”
“Oh,” I heave, calming down. I’d rather he kept thinking with his dick right now. It’s better than anyone figuring out what she truly is to me. But then again, who wouldn’t think with the blood draining down low? Guy escorts them into our car, and with her boy tucked away at the edge of the seat, Jasmine follows suit, and rests her eyes for a bit. Blake drives us off, and the silence in the beaten car is nerve racking.
She’s right behind me. After all this time, her body, her eyes, her smile, they are all behind me. Right here and now, fate has turned the tide just as I had asked and prayed and bled for. But…I have no idea what to do about it.
“I hear it’s from uptown – the murder that is. Did she do it in cold blood?” was more than I could choke down on. Everyone was excited to know if Jasmine had been at the scene with a knife or a broken bottle, but Blake and I held our tongues as we walked her past the officers sipping their coffee. It was weird and tense, trying to consolidate the reason for not cuffing her. Blake always has a policy on not donning the silver on the suspects in front of their kids. It keeps the parent’s integrity, even if they are the worst in the chum bucket.
She was quiet the whole way, and I would suppose, quite tired. Her son followed suit, only asking for a sip of water as his mom waited for her lawyer. I kept my distance, eyeing her from a far as we booked her in. It would be a while before those tired eyes would get any sleep, or at least an abundance of peace.
“How long’s it been with her lawyer friend?” quips Blake, sipping at his latte. For midday, he sure does have a high tolerance for the heat. “You gotta be that kinda guy, ya know? Gotta act like you can handle it. Plus, my gun’s kinda giving me a rash. Must be the leather. Should be under wraps, no?”
“Uh, sure thing Blake. You should keep some info as personal as that under wraps too man,” I answer. My fingers are swollen from the numbing warmth of this mid summer’s heat, and my forehead buzzing with sweat. I can’t believe how hot it’s been. It was just winter. And with it the lowly crime was a holiday for me and the rest of the force. The local criminals had calmed down and taken up as secret Santas wherever their daily haunts were at, and we at the department enjoyed our bootleg eggnog to the end of night. Murder is a crime not usually common in these parts, and so the tale of a murdering wife is something out of a far-away story. And they so want it to be juicy.
“I think he’s done,” Blake slithers. We turn around to see the asshole-in-chief of all lawyers waltz out of the last interrogation room like a boss. Ray Duncan never cared for much, only his wallet and how thin he could never let it get. In his poncho-like blue suit with thin laces sewn with his initials on, his brown cufflinks with the initial ‘F’ glow brightly in his fart-like aura. Even his middle-aged face that has a butt-chin at the edge screams mid-life crises, for with him I can tell there’s plenty wrong. I know; I must seem like a six-year-old craving for attention by pointing out the biggest and coolest looking kid in the yard. So what? This guy was bad news, and everyone knew it was in their best interest to stay away from him.
“Young, Winters, it’s so nice of you to withhold my client for hours in interrogation in your…chambers? I don’t know what to call a joint that wreaks of puke, but anyway, your job your choice, am I right boys?
See…asshole-in-chief.
“Duncan, still working the stiffs, I see,” I prod. He stands in attention, trying to exude confidence that I must admit, his life coach must have spent loads of time trying to imbue in the guy. Blake crouches on his desk, leaning in to get a slice of the conversation.
“Well, all in pursuit of justice Winters. I’m sure you of all people understand,” he relays. Young’s chewing some piece of gum, raspberry I believe. I can smell the sweet and raw chagrin of it mixed in some cheap whisky he must have sipped before Ray came to our direction.
“Sure thing Duncan. But where was justice when you locked up that sweet old grandmother for speeding last year? Bless her soul,” Young quickly romps. Miss Weatherbee was the kindest old lady in the old reserves of the town, and in her own madness, which we all assumed to have been road rage from all the tension and anger she must have pent up all those years ago from having lost her entire family in one of the world wars, she drove off in her old and rusty green Ford through the town like a mad woman. It took three squad cars and a team of six to stop her. Duncan was the lawyer in defense of the state, and a little girl, Amanda Self, who had been knocked over in the ensuing car chase. Miss Weatherbee got a plea deal, and spent that winter down in County. She never lasted a week.
“She got what was coming to her you gits. Now,” zero remorse from the asshole of course, “can you finally interrogate my client so that she can walk? There was clearly no murder weapon in the entire house or the vicinity. I’ve walked her through answering your questions without pinning shit on her. And…I know one of you was by the two-way window listening in on us. I’ll let that slide, but you owe me. We good?”
The man sure can huff.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I utter. Blake pats me on the shoulder and we stomp towards the room where she’s in. “How do you think he knew…”
“We always skank around the interrogation rooms Blake, even when we’re not supposed to, remember?” I ask, knowing full well what we had been doing before Duncan harassed us. We just had to know if she was innocent or not. Well, I wanted to know. “Oh fuck, he’s still coming.” Nothing gets past Blake.
Ray was not letting us go easy. “Walking faster than me doesn’t mean you get to interrogate my client without her lawyer present.” He struts behind us and holds his palm in front of his broad chest, a kind of a warning not to go through without him first. I sigh, and Blake just nods, chewing away. I gotta ask what gum that is; it really does smell good.
“Jasmine, this is the last cop of the day here to question you. They won’t budge until he’s done with you. Is that alright?”
It all comes back. I hate it when that happens. She just looks at me and bam! Just like that, it’s like all is forgiven. This time feels different though. Her face leans exhausted by her chin, and her chest is slightly loose. Even the color on her skin has faded. Inwardly, I am praying for a chance to talk to her alone, just to know what happened…all that time…
She nods.
“Officer Winters, you may proceed,” stalls Blake, as he walks out of the room with Duncan in tow, phone in hand. He never wanted to leave, but this situation between the strongest interrogator in the room and a ‘murderer’ whose timidity bleeds curiosity, they had to. I take my chair, squeeze some strength to carry it far back, and sit. My ass feels the cold. Her eyes are on me like blue on sky. The jaw drop is evident; she knows who I am.
Chapter 14 - Jasmine
“There’s one more cop who wants a word with you. The chief has specifically set it in stone that you finish this with him. I need you to promise me to speak the truth, and say everything that happened. Don’t mention what he did to you all those years ago, okay?”
The audacity in the man is staggering. What’s even more mind-blowing is the fact that he is only here for the fat paycheck he would collect. Ray Duncan, my late husband’s lawyer, was everything that cried law to Carl. He holds all financial statements and tax reports; he owns everything without his name written on it. It’s the arrangement they had with Carl long ago. If I ever got into trouble with the law, then Ray would be the only number I call. Then, after it’s all been cleared, he would call Carl. Then the music would roll.
It’s been a day, almost an eternity thinking in this room. The moment I got into the squad car with those two cops, who felt more like Starsky and Hutch to me, I closed my eyes to pray. I had never done it ever since dad locked me up in my room when I was t
en, and I cried myself to sleep asking Santa to come to my aid, just because I had run around his study through the kitchen and the dining area singing at the top of my lungs. It might be wise to mention I was naked, and he was at a meeting, and a serious one at that. It was hard letting go, and I felt being naked was the answer. He got the deal, but looking back I’m afraid there must have been one too many perverts in the room.
Spence was on my lap, and I felt him sob lightly. The car roared on, bustling through the dimming streets. All was well, but grim. Even the kids throwing rocks and balls at each other in the fun of the game didn’t howl or shout. The old man, I think his name is Forrest, from whom I once got a crate of milk from for free when Spence was hungry, in his old Magazine Deli in the middle of the entertainment block, sat in his long beach chair at the front of his store and smoked at his own leisure. No one looked through the meshed windows where I sat behind. The cop driver, the one with the almost brown hair, was considerate enough. I sensed he had a family, the way he coasted easily to let my boy sleep. I was grateful. The other one, the silent one who kept avoiding my gaze, looked on and kept to himself. He must have been gunning for my arrest, I suppose.
The first thing I did when we got off was to ask for a phone call, I needed Henrietta. She was kind enough to dash half the way across the city to take Spence off my hands while I waited for the reckoning to fall. They didn’t make it a big of a deal, seeing as how Spence was asleep the entire time. It was a female detective who interviewed him, and I breathed easier knowing his father wouldn’t. Time went by, and Ray was there all the way in one of his fancy suits, defending his check. I sat quietly, and took no joy or qualms with them checking me in, taking my prints. The quiet one watched me from the corner of his eye, but fell short of courage to look at me when I did. I wondered why.
Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance Page 46