by Dana Monahan
"Why don't you save your theories, I’m only interested in any facts you might have," Joe said, turning his back on Doug, who felt the sting of his dismissal.
Joe called for the necessary back-up and walked into the kitchen where Doug was opening another beer.
“Did you touch anything?” Joe eyed the beer, but kept his remark to himself. The guy was a real cold S.O.B. Accusing his son of murder then helping himself to his beer.
“I just closed her eyes.” Doug looked out the window, his expression vacant as he replayed the moment in his mind. “She looked scared, you know, it was creepy.”
"Better put on a pot of coffee, it's going to be a long night. The ambulance is on its way, and we're going to have to tape off the house. Stay out of the way while I and my boys check the crime scene," he ordered over his shoulder as he left the room.
Later, after the scene of the crime had been inspected and two officers were sent to notify Pam Lock of her daughter’s death, an ambulance sped off with the body bag where a more thorough inspection could be made of the corpse. Joe had found the bloody knife on the floor beside the bed and had it bagged for prints. Joe knew deep in his gut that James was not responsible. It was in times like these that he would wish fervently for a different job. He only hoped that James had an air-tight alibi so that he wouldn't be put in the position of arresting him.
Chapter 9
James woke up with a start and realized he had fallen asleep on his blanket. For a moment he was disoriented, finding himself lying under the trees with the sound of the stream a short distance away. A slight breeze stirred through the trees as he rubbed at the tightness in the back of his neck.
After his little blow-out with Sierra, he’d decided to go calm his nerves with a little fishing and a lot of beer. He reeled in his empty line and stretched his weary muscles. The slight pain throbbing in his cheek reminded him of the raw scratches and he dipped his hand in the ice chest to splash cold water on his face. A quick glance at his watch informed him it way past midnight, too late to call Kel. With a muttered curse, he gathered his gear and walked up the rocky path to his truck. His engine sputtered to life and James drove down the dirt trail that ended in his front yard.
When he saw Sierra’s car parked next to his father’s in the driveway, James felt his temper surface. What the hell was she up to now? Why was Joe there? James parked next to Joe's patrol car and sprinted up his front steps. He found Joe sitting in his kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee with his father. “What the hell is going on here?”
Stunned, Joe stood up, almost knocking over his chair. James didn’t have a clue, or he was one hell of a good actor. “I have some bad news. Sierra Lock’s body was found in your bed. She was stabbed in the heart.” Joe watched as James’ mouth opened in surprise, as if he’d been hit in the head with a frying pan and was about to crumple to the floor.
James felt the cold fingers of apprehension knot in his stomach when Joe lowered his gaze to his cheek, then lower still to the blood on his shirtsleeve. Lifting a plastic bag off the kitchen table, Joe held it out in front of him.
“This knife is the murder weapon.” Joe set it back on the table. James followed the movement with a blank look. “It’s your knife. There were traces of skin and blood under her finger nails.” Joe looked pointedly at James. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be yours.”
James shook his head in a futile attempt to wake from a bad dream. “This can’t be. It’s just not happening.” Muttering to himself, he grabbed the kitchen table and lowered his head. When he straightened up, his eyes were cold and he spoke through clenched teeth. “This is some sick joke. That bitch attacked me. I left her in the parking lot. Alive! Where the hell is she?” When James turned to go to his room, Joe grabbed his arm. In one lithe move, James spun around. One hand pulled Joe forward by the collar, the other was raised in a fist.
James was ready to strike. His temper taunted him, urged him on, but when he saw Joe’s eyes widen in fear, he pulled back. He let go of Joe’s collar as if he’d been burned. “I’m sorry, Joe. You didn’t deserve that. You’ve always been cool to me. I don’t know what’s happening to me.” His fists clenched impotently at his side.
“They took the body away hours ago.” With a weary sigh, Joe leaned against the kitchen sink. He felt tired and the caffeine from the numerous cups of coffee seemed to be the only thing keeping him on his feet. “I want to help you. Do you have an alibi?”
James chuckled sarcastically. “I was at the bar. We argued. You know I keep this knife in my tackle box. I found her slashing my seats. Dammit! I took the knife and threw it. She attacked me. I pushed her away and drove off to calm down. That’s the last time I saw her.” James pinched the bridge of his nose where a brutal headache had started drumming mercilessly behind his eyes. He looked up wearily. “No. I don’t have an alibi. I’ve been up at the creek. I fell asleep.”
“I believe you, but I still need to take you down for questioning. Maybe we’ll find prints on the knife that aren’t yours.” Joe pulled the cuffs from his back pocket. His tone was grim. “I’m sorry, James.”
It finally dawned on James that his father hadn’t said a word. Glancing over, he found his dad leaning back in the chair with arms crossed over his chest, his eyes lingering on him in disgust. “I didn’t do it, dad. You must know that.”
Doug turned his head in shame. “Don’t call me Dad. You’re no son of mine. I wash my hands of you. It’s no wonder your mother left.”
James visibly stiffened at the rebuke and the reference to his mother. His face looked as if it were carved in stone. He hooked his foot around the leg of the chair, and watched with humorless eyes as his father toppled backwards. The leg of the chair bumped against the table and the beer bottle teetered a few times before falling down. A small stream of beer trickled off the table onto Doug’s face. Turning with jaw clenched shut and with short, precise movements, James stuck his hands out and replied in a steely voice, "Do what you got to do and get me the hell out of here."
With a muttered curse, Doug wiped off his face and scrambled to his feet. “Who do you think you are?” He started to say more, but his tirade died instantly when James faced him with clenched fists at his sides and a crazy look in his eyes. Glancing down at his shoes, Doug cowered down. He kept a short distance behind as they stepped out of the house.
Joe looked at James, as they drove to the station, through his rear view mirror, "You know he didn't mean that, James."
But, before he could say anything more, James stopped him. "Cut the small talk. Just get me to the station, get me a lawyer, and leave me the fuck alone!"
The last time Joe had told him that, he had spent six months in juvenile hall. The memory still left a bitter taste in his mouth. His dad had been drinking all day. When he ordered James to grab him another beer, James had made the mistake of telling him to get it himself. The blow to his face had come quick and hard, sending him reeling backwards into the wall, and James had decided, for the first time, to fight back. A black and white police car happened to be cruising the area when the disturbance was called in. When a younger Joe showed up, his dad had accused James of attacking him for drug money. Joe had said he believed James then, too. He had told him not to worry, that the judge would believe the truth. He was still telling him it would work out, even as he drove him to the Hall.
James answered questions for hours. They were repetitive and personal. Did he like rough sex? Had he been intimate with Sierra? Why did he leave the bar after her? Did he take her to his home and then kill her in a rage after a lover’s quarrel? Did he hate all women because his mother had left him? They pushed and taunted him, hoping to make him lose his temper, wanting to break him. Fury boiled just below the surface, as these strangers probed into his life, his feelings, but James stayed cold and aloof, offering a curt yes or no to their invasion of questions.
A few hours later, it was done. The prints on the knife matched his own. Sierra had his blood under her na
ils and he had remnants of her blood on his shirt. Dawn's early glow peeked through the window as they took his picture, searched him, readying him for incarceration. Officer Yale, Joe, was tired and it showed with the slump of his shoulders as he walked James to his cell.
“Here we go again,” James remarked bitterly as they walked. “Why’d you bother with the interrogation? Nobody gave a shit what I had to say. Just put me away. Let the bastard that really did it go free. That’s some system.”
“Don’t give up hope.”
“Don’t lay that crap on me again! I’m not some snot-nosed kid anymore.” The old hurt surfaced and James stopped, bringing them both to a halt. “You didn’t do me any favors last time. Don’t coddle me this time, you bastard, give it to me straight.”
“It’s fine.” Joe felt his own temper rise from frustration, and yes, guilt. He knew exactly when James had turned from a snot-nosed, scared kid to the cynical man he was today. His mother’s desertion and father’s abuse hadn’t broken his spirit, but the system had. “It looks bad, real fucking bad.” Joe was not one to curse, but this situation was tearing him apart. He would not offer false hope this time. Not again. “Unless a witness comes forward or the killer decides to confess, you’re in deep shit.”
For a second, James relaxed his shoulders and faced the man who had been kind, when he had needed a mentor. A grim smile touched his lips. “The truth hurts, but thanks for being straight.”
With a sigh, Joe pointed to the pay phone, "You've got one call before I put you in the cell."
Without pause, James kept walking. "I've got no one to call."
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Ben heard about it on the morning news. He paced back and forth in his large room. A bed lay unmade in the corner and dishes sat unwashed in the sink along the adjacent wall. His room was directly above the store room at Leroy's Bar. Walking over to the kitchen cabinet, he took out a half empty-bottle of whiskey and poured a healthy dose into his morning coffee. Floor boards creaked and a well-worn chair strained to hold his weight as he plopped down. Absently, he rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes. He would never see Sierra again. There was no doubt in his mind that a babe like Sierra only gave him the time of day for drugs. But that didn’t matter to Ben. He loved the envious looks turned his way when she walked upstairs with him. He would never forget what it felt like to touch her, taste her. He loved her.
Years of neglect and abuse had turned a once caring and innocent heart to one that was cold and distant. There had been one person in his life who had loved him, and he had let her down. When they were young, Ben had held his little sister close to soothe her fears when the sound of screaming and fighting had filled the air. If Ben knew his mother was occupied with one of her many boyfriends, or drunk, he would find Laurie and take her discreetly outside. As she grew older, Laurie had turned to him, even though he was a child himself, to tend to her pains, to rock her to sleep after a bad dream, or just to cuddle in his protective embrace. She loved him, counted on him, and he had never regretted the responsibility; that is, until the day he couldn’t live up to it. He had not been able to look her in the eyes since. Someday he would make it up to her.
Tired of his self-pity, Ben pushed himself out of his chair and poured another glass of whiskey, not bothering to add the coffee. Picking up an envelope from the counter top, he stared at it, and then pulled out the photos. Sierra’s face stared back at him from where she had posed on his bed, naked. They had partied hard and the drugs had made her wild with abandon. The mood had turned sexual, making this a night for fantasies. The pictures were explicit, crude, and he felt himself harden. Ben dropped the incriminating pictures in his desk drawer for safe keeping and, with shaky hands, lit a cigarette. Idly, he wondered if James had murdered her. James was his only friend, the only one who knew his terrible shame. He was someone who didn’t judge him. He was someone who was his friend and didn’t expect anything in return.
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Miles away, the high school was atwitter in rumor and gossip. Candy Palm overheard the news at cheerleading practice. Minutes later, she was on the way to the football field in search of Trent. Her long muscular legs carried her forward with determined strides, and a pert blond ponytail whipped back and forth. With large blue eyes squinting and her kewpie-doll lips puckered in anger, she halted just inches in front of Trent who had just stepped out of the locker room. His hair was still wet from a recent shower and he raised a curious brow at her determined expression.
"Did you hear the news? That bimbo I caught you with the other night bit the dust." At his blank look, she hesitated, "You know, she was murdered." As she waited for his reply his face contorted in pain and he turned on his heel and stalked off the school grounds.
Trent peeled his car out of the parking lot and drove home. Ignoring his mother’s startled expression, he went straight to his room, slammed the door, and threw himself face down on his big feather pillow. Rolling over, he stared into space for what seemed to be several hours and, then with a shake, snapped out of his trance. Picking up the phone, he punched out Brad's number.
Brad answered on the first ring. His voice sounded husky and tinged with grief.
"I heard the news,” Trent said. “Tell me all you know,"
"It's all true. Sierra was murdered. Dude, I can't believe she was actually murdered and I'll never see her again. James is in jail. He stabbed her with a hunting knife.”
“James? You mean Kelly’s James? That bastard.” Trent threw his hand over his eyes and sighed. "How's Kelly taking it?"
"I don’t know. I haven't seen her. Billie and Kel never showed up at school today. I'll let you know as soon as I find out." They said their good-byes and promised to talk later.
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Honking twice, Kelly waited impatiently for Billie. If she didn't hurry, they'd be late for first period. Finally, Billie appeared rushing through her front door, taking the front steps three at a time in her haste to get to the car.
"I heard the news on my radio this morning," Billie said breathlessly, her eyes were puffy and still damp from tears. "Are we going straight to the police station?" She frowned at Kelly's blank response.
"What are you blabbering about?" asked Kelly. “We don't have time to go anywhere; we're already going to be late. Are you okay?"
Reaching down, Billie ejected the tape playing in the recorder. She pushed the palm of her hand against her forehead as if warding off an oncoming headache, then covered her eyes to stop the fresh flow of tears.
"We have to talk, Kel. It's not good. Scoot over and let me drive. I'll tell you on the way to the police station."
After telling Kelly the news, they drove the short distance in silence. Every so often Billie would cast a worried glance her way, but Kelly continued to stare unseeingly out the window as the tears flowed down her cheeks.
Kelly burst into the sheriff's office without preamble and started to beg. "I need to see James now. It’s urgent. I have to know what’s going on. I’m his fiancée."
"I'm sorry, Kelly, he said he doesn't want to see anyone," Joe responded sadly, knowing how this was making her feel. He had gone to school with Kelly’s parents and had known her since she was a baby. Her anguish unsettled him as the unshed tears reddened her eyes and, in a hoarse whisper, she continued to plead shamelessly.
"Please Joe, I need to see him. I won't leave until I do."
Joe rubbed at his temples, trying to soothe his nerves. His eyes burned from lack of sleep and he closed them for a moment.
"Okay. You stay here, Billie.” He gave in. “And, Kelly, you follow me."
They walked down a long corridor, and then Joe unlocked the door, leading her into James' cell.
When James saw Kelly, he stood erect and carefully restrained his impulse to go to her. For a moment, his features softened and then just as quickly they turned hard and cold.
"I know you didn't do it,” she told him with a sob. “I want to be here
for you. You can lean on me. Don't look at me like that. Please, just talk to me."
"Get out of here.” James hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't want you to be a part of this. I knew you were too good to be true. The fact is you're too good for me. Get the hell out of here." With that said, James turned his back to her.
Standing still, she stared at his rigid back. Kelly was stunned and hurt to the core of her being. "But"
"I said out! Don't you get it? It was fun, babe, but now it’s over." He spat it out without ever turning to face her.
Sobbing in her hand, she raced from the room.
"You were a little hard on her, weren't you? She just wants to be here for you," Joe said stiffly.
James shot a lethal look over his shoulder and with both hands extended on the wall in front of him; he hung his head low in defeat. He heard the click of the door behind him, signaling Joe's departure and with a force carrying all his pent up rage, he punched the solid wall. Blood from his knuckles stained the wall crimson, dripping down unnoticed to the floor.
Flinging himself on his cot, James found solace in his self- inflicted pain. He'd found love and lost and nothing, absolutely nothing, mattered anymore except sparing Kelly the grief of this ordeal.
Joe came in later with the handcuffs. "Hey, kid. It's time to go to the city jail. You'll stay there until your trial next month. Since your Dad fired you, you'll be receiving legal aid."
When James stuck out his hands, Joe winced. “What are you doing to yourself?”
James ignored him. As Joe led him to his office and pulled out a first aid kit, he sat mutely as Joe ministered to his hand. The antiseptic stung, but he welcomed the pain. With his cuts clean and an ace bandage wrapped firmly around his hand, he moved along with Joe as if in a trance.