Chapter Ten
With an officer on either side of me, I walked into the Freedom Police Department, wearing the same clothes I’d worn the night before and feeling I was on my way toward my own execution. I’d done nothing wrong, yet I felt I had. Then I remembered the water running rust-colored in the sink when I washed my hands before I left with the policemen. The stain under my nails was definitely blood and not mine. Maybe I wasn’t as innocent as I presumed.
Fuzz-face politely ordered me to take a seat in the waiting area, which was several metal chairs set against the outside wall.
I sat, noticing the empty squad room directly in front of me. It appeared a slow day for law enforcement.
I generally donated Sunday mornings to crossword puzzles and coffee in bed. Alone. Before my mind could wander to the ass I made of myself after waking up in bed with Trish, I turned my thoughts to my present predicament.
On the short drive here, I tried to trick the police officers into divulging the victim’s name, but they remained tight-lipped and professional. Whoever trained them, had taught them well. As with many police departments, Freedom’s finest didn’t always get a glowing recommendation. After this experience, I’d be the first to boast their proficiency.
My thoughts turned then to Detective Nathaniel Vail. He was new to this part of the country. Where he came from was known only by his superiors, and they weren’t talking. With the exception of his excellent investigative skills, everything about him remained a mystery. The secrecy piqued interest and curiosity, of course. Everyone had a story. Some more boring than others. But there were those who preferred no one knew their history. Vail, apparently, fell into that category. As a result, the town folk had speculated. The general belief, depending on whom you asked, was Vail was a single-married-divorced-separated academic turned lawman. He either had a brood of kids or none at all, which resulted from him being an only child or a childhood accident involving a steel bar and a free fall.
Myself, I didn’t care to speculate. The few times I had, led to disastrous consequences. Take my most recent debacle, for instance. I’d assumed Jackson Carlisle had been the schmuck who seduced and deceived my sister, a horrible misunderstanding which could have cost a good and decent man his manhood. My high school English teacher had been right. Assumptions were for asses.
I wondered how long Vail would keep me waiting. A ploy, no doubt, to make me anxious. His strategy was working. I couldn’t quiet my knees, and my fingers shook too much to tap.
If Vail considered me a suspect, I’d need to retain a lawyer. They cost plenty. I hated the thought of using any of my inheritance – one part my mother and stepfather’s insurance and the other part a civil suit settlement for their wrongful deaths. The money ensured me a financially independent retirement. It would bum me out no end to have to spend any part of it on legal fees. Maybe the Times & Transcript would provide assistance. I pictured the paper’s legal counsel and thought better of the idea. Clients placed their lives in the capability of their lawyers. I couldn’t see myself willingly surrendering my life to an attorney who should have had the good sense to retire long ago. No, if I needed a lawyer, he or she – I wasn’t gender biased – would be a hotshot in criminal law. Just as I wouldn’t employ a boy to do a man’s job, I’d hire a lawyer whose area of expertise met my legal requirement. Many made the mistake of hiring a lawyer who dabbled in all areas of law, thinking an attorney who did would provide exceptional representation.
My stomach recoiled at the odor of burnt coffee. Acid rose in my throat. I swallowed the rancid taste and, to keep my mind from my queasy stomach ran down the short list of competent criminal defense lawyers in Freedom. Any one of them would serve me well, but how would I choose?
Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.
Maybe this interview would not result in an arrest.
Better prepared than not, though.
A door opened on the opposite wall from where I sat. I could hear two men talking. Then Jackson strode from the room. Following behind was a stoop-shouldered forty-ish man who I assumed was Vail. I knew at once there was a good story tucked within the folds of his craggy skin. He appeared more history professor than homicide detective. I reminded myself that looks and first impressions could deceive the unsuspecting. I was hardly an innocent where matters concerned politics and bureaucracy, but those who didn’t know my new look, like Detective Vail, might think I was someone different from my image. A point to my advantage or not, I didn’t know.
I smiled, catching Jackson’s eye.
As he neared, he mimed zipping his lips. Oh crap. That meant the police considered me, and possibly Jackson as well, serious suspects in the murder. When I wasn’t writing for the newspaper, I was either doing research or writing my detective novel. From what I’d read, lawyers gave that precise advice to their clients, along with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers only, and not to, under any circumstances, elaborate or volunteer information.
Pleased to see Jackson alive and apparently well, I stood to greet him, wanting to wrap my arms around him and aching for him to assure me that everything would be all right. As I leaned toward him, Vail moved in between us, offered his hand to Jackson and said, “I’ll be in touch.”
“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” Jackson said.
I hoped for some indication from Jackson’s face how difficult I’d find the interview, but he was unreadable.
Jackson looked at me and said, “I’ll call later.”
“Okay.” I watched him until he disappeared out the exit.
I sensed someone’s gaze on me and turned to find Vail evaluating me. If he’d looked up an old photograph of me, he was probably comparing this me to my Attila-the-Hun look-alike on file at the newspaper. “What do you say, Detective? Am I a killer or not?”
“Josie Fox, I presume,” he said.
If I were easily intimated by a look, his penetrating stare might make me fidget. I noticed he’d adeptly sidestepped my question.
“You presume correctly,” I said.
“Shall we go to my office?”
Vail made the suggestion sound like a question, but it was anything but. He was clever, a man no one should underestimate. I needed to remember that.
Rather than follow behind me, as most gentlemen would, Vail led the way. From that, I deduced he was a detective interested only in business and not a man to appreciate a woman from the rear. As for me, there was nothing to appreciate. That said, I was curious about Vail, but only in a story angle way.
He stood to one side of his office door. “After you,” he said.
I crossed the threshold into a space as sterile as a doctor’s examining room. Stretched before a credenza set against the far wall, sat Vail’s broad metal desk. The walls were as bare as the tops of the two pieces of furniture that comprised his office. Nothing littered the brown commercial carpet. Not a box, a speck of lint or a scrap of paper. Nothing.
Files on every available surface could either suggest a worker who couldn’t get any one thing done or a worker bearing a heavy workload. The absence of files and litter could speak to Vail’s efficiency. I’d bet he was a man who got things done.
“Sit,” he said, closing the door quietly. He walked behind his desk and took his seat.
I sat on one of the two metal chairs in front of him and watched him turn page over page in a file. He was purposely stalling. Intrigued by his performance, I continued to observe him, believing everything he did served a purpose. I wouldn’t let him daunt me. So, I made myself comfortable as best I could on the cold metal seat, which I was sure came direct from the gathering room of an asylum for the criminally insane, and focused my thoughts on last night.
All of the events still hadn’t surfaced in my mind yet, but I knew myself well enough to know I couldn’t murder anyone. Seduce them, yes. Kill them, no.
Five minutes went by before Vail turned his bluish-green eyes on me. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why I asked you he
re?”
His direct approach worried me, but I kept composed. “I’m sure you’ll get around to telling me.”
“Most people would ask.”
“I’m not most people.” I had a lot of questions – Who was the victim? Time of death? How? Where? Witnesses? Suspects? – but I wouldn’t ask one. He expected me to inquire. I’d at least thwart that part of his strategy.
“I’m beginning to realize it.” He sat back in his old wooden chair, twirled a HB pencil around his fingers and stared at me.
It took all my strength not to turn my gaze from his. He wanted to study me. I’d let him. Eighty-one heartbeats later, he spoke.
“You don’t look at all like your photo on file at the paper,” he said.
As I anticipated, he’d investigated me. Vail was a man who prepared himself. He probably didn’t like being outdone or the outspoken, either.
“I’m not photogenic.” I awaited his response.
“It’s more than that,” he said.
“Oh?” I put on my best innocent face.
“Yes.” He opened his mouth, then closed it, as though he reconsidered the thought.
If I were to guess, I’d say he was about to ask if I’d had a makeover. Vail was a gentleman, or at least, his mother taught him not to ask a woman certain questions. Age, for one. Weight, for another. I could see why he hesitated to ask. The question would appear rude, and he probably determined that before the question slipped out.
While he reviewed his notes again, I waited. Normally, I’d be losing patience about now and suggesting he move along, but I couldn’t do that. Not with Vail. He had the power. I shouldn’t upset him.
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses.
I held his gaze.
“Thomas Hayes was murdered last night,” he said.
“What?” I asked, knowing Vail wouldn’t make something like that up, but at the same time disbelieving him. Strange, how the mind worked. I remembered his kind looking face and how considerate he’d been. His soft-spoken voice played in my head. I could almost feel his tender touch taking my wrist and checking my pulse as he’d done last night.
“Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“I’m hoping you can help me with that,” he said. “What motive would someone have to kill him?
Vail took a different approach to an interrogation by soliciting my help. He probably used several different techniques and applied the one best suited to the interviewee. Obviously, he’d recognized my willingness to please and chose the direct, no-nonsense approach.
“I’ll do what I can to assist you in your investigation,” I said.
“Great. Why don’t we start with you answering a few questions and taking it from there?”
“Okay.” I suspected Vail already knew the answers to the questions he was about to ask. He was on a fishing trip, hoping to reel in the big one, the one from which yarns were spun and convictions made.
“How well did you know Dr. Hayes?”
“I only met him last night.”
“Where?”
“At Jackson Carlisle’s camp.”
“Where’s that?”
I realized a couple of things, then. One, I didn’t know the precise location of Jackson’s camp. On the motorcycle ride there I was too busy being scared to take notice. Two, I couldn’t answer Vail’s questions with a single word response, like defense lawyers advised their clients to do. “In the woods off 130. Detective – ”
“Lieutenant.”
I tired of Vail’s act. He was shrewd, but I wouldn’t lose momentum. “Lieutenant Vail, if I didn’t miss my guess, you already know the answers to all of the questions you have on that legal foolscap you keep fiddling with. Ask me something you don’t know.”
“Did you kill Dr. Thomas Hayes?”
I yelled my response. “No.”
“Do you know you did?”
“No.” A quick, sharp answer.
“Where were you between the hours of three and five o’clock this morning?”
“At my sister’s. Sleeping.” A definite response.
“Alone?”
“No.”
Vail expected a different answer. His pause gave him away.
“Who were you in bed with?” he asked.
“Didn’t your momma tell you it’s impolite to ask a lady that question?” I hedged, and Vail knew I did. I could see the truth in his eyes.
“If you can provide me with an alibi, I’ll cross you from my suspect list and this might be the last time we’ll meet like this.”
“An offer too good to refuse. Trish. Her name’s Trish.”
“Does she have a last name?”
“I’m sure she does, but I don’t know it.”
“Do you always take women you don’t know into your bed?”
“No.”
He cocked a brow and shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I didn’t see that one coming.”
I took offence. “You don’t think I’m gay?”
Vail held a finger in the air. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Vail’s questions reminded me I didn’t know how Trish and I ended up in bed together. I didn’t know, either, how she and I met up last night, or how I got home. Things moved too quickly for me to ask once the police arrived at Amy’s door this morning. Even sloshed, as Trish said I was last night, I should remember driving back to Freedom on the back of Jackson’s Harley. Maybe Jackson felt sorry for me and decided not to subject me to the terror of the return trip and called Trish, asked her to come to his camp to take me home. I couldn’t remember seeing her car parked on the street, but then again, I didn’t look for it.
My thoughts focused then on Jackson. I enjoyed his kiss. Not that I remembered clearly, but I sensed we shared more than one heated moment. A memory surfaced in my mind, then vanished before I could grab hold. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. The recollection came again, but plainly this time. I envisioned hands fondling breasts – my breasts – then hot, passionate kisses, Jackson’s heavy, labored breathing... Did I? Did we?
I groaned.
Vail looked up from the murder file. “Is something wrong?”
Nothing other than I might have had sex with a man I barely knew. “I’m fine.” Jackson apparently thought so too.
Maybe this was a seduction, one better devised than mine on Jackson.
Maybe I shouldn’t trust either Jackson or Trish.
“Earth to Josie Fox.”
Dimly, I could hear a masculine voice. I looked at Vail. “I’m sorry. My mind fell asleep. Did you say something?”
He turned photographs toward me.
Instinctively, I looked at them. When what I peered at registered in my mind, bile rushed into my throat. Poor dear Thomas. Slaughtered like a boar, he’d inhaled his final breaths laying in a pool of his blood. His face, what I could see of it, grotesquely contorted by the pain he’d endured the moments before his death. I turned away, stuttered and coughed, my eyes watering. What Vail had done was a typical police maneuver. He wanted to see my reaction to gauge my guilt.
Angered, I looked at him sternly. “I hope you have what you wanted.”
“Yes. That’s it for now. Don’t leave town.”
“You don’t want to ask me more questions?”
“Most people would jump at the chance to leave.”
“I want to get this over and done with and never return.”
Vail stood. “You might not have a choice.”
An Equal Measure Page 13