Guilty Photographs

by S I Taylor

  The silence and his demeanor spoke louder to Barbara than his words.

  He cleared his throat and looked at Barbara. “Not really. I mean I can’t really piece together anything at this moment. I need the details of what happened.”

  “My mind went blank when I woke up. I didn’t see anything in that room. I had an open wound on my side that I sutured myself when I got home that morning. I didn’t want to recall what happened because it was an out-of-body experience. I didn’t know what I was doing or what was going on. A force stronger than rage took over my body. It’s hard to explain but the only thing I can come up with is that I was drugged.”

  “That makes sense but try to remember.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Just try. There must be more pieces to it. Did anything come back to you the day after?”

  “When I went home the next day, I wanted to remember but nothing came back to me. I told you everything I can.”

  Silent tears streamed down her face. She was frustrated that she’d lost control. She thought that the psychologist helped her. She’d thought that she was cured. The last time she lost control she was in high school in the girls’ locker room rocking herself in the shower as hot water pelted her back leaving red tattoo marks on her bare skin. Principal Mitchell, a short dark-skinned black woman who wore the same dark blue pant suit every day, wrapped her in white towels as Mrs. Hillsborough, the tall olive-skinned PE teacher, gathered Barbara’s clothing, handing them to her and instructing her to get dressed as they were going to take her home.

  She remembered the look of shock in her mother’s face when she stood at the doorway with her mother’s worst uninvited guests. Tina Wolf was tired of Principal Mitchell’s poor way of handling matters at the school. Barbara remembered how her body shivered even though the day was warm and humid. How her chattering teeth prevented her from speaking coherent words when her mother asked her if she was okay. Barbara cried into her mother’s arms and heard as Principal Mitchell and Mrs. Hillsborough explained the occurrence.

  “We had an incident at school today, Mrs. Wolf,” Principal Mitchell said to her mother.

  “What was it? What’s wrong with my daughter?” Mrs. Wolf asked, glaring at Principal Mitchell.

  “She was being bullied and she lost control,” Mrs. Hillsborough replied.

  “She slammed two girls into the wall and sent one to the hospital. Their parents wanted to press charges, but considering that their daughters instigated the encounter and there were several girls who could attest to it, they probably won’t proceed,” Principal Mitchell continued.

  “What did they do to her? This is the third time this week she’s been battling with these girls!” her mother said, upset.

  “We know and we have taken appropriate action for each separate offense. The other girls who witnessed the incident stated that the two girls started chanting ‘Barb Wire’ like witches do when they’re casting spells and that sent her into a frenzy. The girls added that the scene was like she had superhuman strength when she slammed the girls against the wall. The impact was so strong that their bodies cracked a small portion of the wall. We suggest she seek counseling, as this behavior is not common and she needs clearance before returning to school,” Principal Mitchell said.

  Gritting her teeth and making a fist at her side, her mother snarled, “There’s nothing wrong with her behavior. Those girls should be the ones in counseling!”

  “We understand your concern, Mrs. Wolf. However, two girls were hurt, and one is in the hospital for unexplained injuries,” Mrs. Hillsborough said.

  “I have names and numbers of several psychologists on this list. Discuss it with her and schedule an appointment. We’ll be in contact on Monday. She’s suspended for a week,” Principal Mitchell said.

  Her mother, clearly annoyed, snatched the list. She didn’t even bother to look at it and jammed it into her pocket. “A week? What about the other girls?”

  “They are also suspended, but their injuries will prevent them from returning to school for at least two weeks.”

  Mrs. Wolf nodded, not in agreement but aggravated with the way the school was handling things.

  Barbara watched as her mother slammed the door in their faces, grateful for her not letting them inside their home.

  Barbara’s mother walked her to her bedroom and Barbara lay on her bed motionless but with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mother pressed her lips to her forehead, leaving her red lipstick stamped there. Barbara would always wipe the red lipstick away leaving a smeared streak behind which she would scrub in the sink profusely, but this time, she left the stamp on her skin, not because she was exhausted but rather for the way she saw her mother for the first time. Barbara saw how her mother was a fighter. A woman who fought for her daughter’s safety and well-being. The woman who worked two jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over her head. Tina Wolf had stood by her side since she was eight years old when her father walked out on them. She finally realized that day that she too would be that ferocious fighter no matter what life threw at her.

  She saw a psychologist for her outburst and she learned to control it. That is, until recently. She thought about the many times she had probably lost control and could not remember but this time she killed someone.

  That thought alone brought her back to reality. She leaned forward, staring at nothing in particular, but her sight remained transfixed on that spot.

  She knew his expression was one of repulsion toward her. She was ashamed to look at him. But he brought her toward his body and held her there. For a brief moment she felt safe, able to relax, and able to lay her worries on to someone else. She’d never had the opportunity to rely on anyone other than herself.

  “I understand you were in a terrible situation, but why didn’t you seek police assistance?”

  “For the same reason witnesses won’t come forward to identify the other men. I pushed that scene away from my memories. Those photographs brought me back to that horrible night. I wanted to forget. I was a victim. I hate being the victim. I have fought a long time to keep composure, to gain control, to keep my reputation and going to the police would have tainted the image I created. When you grow up in the neighborhood I come from, there’s no law for playing fair. Everyone watches their own skin. We’re considered criminals before our side is even heard and we get locked up for years before we have representation. We don’t trust anyone, not even the shadow that follows us,” she said.

  She pushed away from him, creating distance between them.

  “This was all in self-defense,” he said.

  “Who’s going to believe me? You said Nicholas Trivaldi has wealth and that kind of money can buy the law. He has a reputation, while I stand on the opposite end of the law. My words are no match for his money.”

  “You can testify against him and his son about everything you saw at the restaurant. You hold the key to shutting this operation down.”

  “I hold nothing. No one will believe me. They will lock me up, don’t you understand? We live in two different worlds. You side with the law and I don’t. Justice is never on my side.”

  She stood from the couch, frustrated. He grabbed her arms, stopping her from leaving. Her eyes trailed from her arms up to meet his.

  “I promise you that I’ll help you, but all I’m asking is that you cooperate with me. Think about it.”

  She gazed at him. As much as she wanted to trust him, she knew that they were fighting the same beasts but on opposing teams. She walked away toward the bedroom, tired and deflated. She lay on the bed staring upward the entire night, connecting the dots of the popcorn ceiling with her mind. Trying to forget about the heated conversation and how she just implicated herself into telling him everything. Now she knew what really happened and those photographs would now haunt her if she closed her eyes to dream. The only thing that could soothe her was to sing but her mind couldn’t concentrate enough to form the words to her song. The melody has vanished
into a secret compartment in her mind not wanting to see the light. She was alone with her thoughts and the images of those men.

  She hadn’t given McKinley the specifics of the actual way she’d committed the crime. She claimed that she’d blanked out and woke up bloody and left the warehouse without noticing anything around her because her mind had erased everything. But there was more to that story, more to that scene—either she was omitting it to save herself years behind bars or she genuinely could not remember.

  He’d seen the way she’d reacted to those photographs. There was no way someone would go to such great lengths to put on a show like that. But she’d been there that night. She’d recounted her experience with details that only the people who’d been in the warehouse and the police knew about the case.

  McKinley was indecisive. He didn’t know how to best approach the situation. So he decided to keep the information to himself, as he needed time to process what she said and how he should approach this with his partners.

  If he reported to Bush and Coolidge, they would rule out the possibility that she was a victim in this ordeal. They’d say that she was hiding something, that she hadn’t mentioned the details so that she wouldn’t implicate herself.

  But he needed her to close the Trivaldi drug case as well. How could he best handle this situation?

  If he took her to jail, she would close off all leads that they had for the Trivaldi case. If he didn’t take her then he was withholding information—an accessory after the fact, even. He knew he was being dramatic with the latter but still. There had to be a way to solve both cases at once.

  He couldn’t side with a killer or suspect, and neither could he report anything—not just yet, anyway.

  This case was getting more complicated and he couldn’t see how he was going to solve one case, let alone two.

  Chapter 34

  Once again, she woke up to the sweet scent of breakfast. She didn’t know if she was being bribed or if this was genuine, but her growling stomach didn’t care. She eagerly ate her meal as she’d skipped lunch and dinner the day before.

  The previous night’s heated conversation had left her with a sour taste in her mouth and she didn’t want to relive that scene. The deadline to deliver the jewels was tomorrow night and she was stuck in this house with the fed. What before was a mere questioning for murder had transformed to a charge for murder. She was being chased for whatever reason, and by now the police should’ve been contacted about the missing jewels.

  But one thing that was certain was that she was in the middle of her death sentence, either from the law or from whoever who wanted her dead.

  She walked over to the living room and saw McKinley was on the phone.

  “Did you find out anything about the crashed red vehicle or its passengers? Okay. All right. I have attached a report to the email you sent me. Make an addendum to my report with this information. I’ll update you once I have anything to add.”

  McKinley hung up and she watched as the phone bounced on the couch when he threw it. She continued with her pace and placed the tray on the table.

  “I overheard you and I wanted to know if there’s an update on who was chasing us.”

  “Yeah, I know. I heard you coming.”

  “So?”

  “So what?” He raised an eyebrow, oblivious to what she was referring to.

  “I mean what did you find out about the red car and its passengers?”

  “Oh, yeah, that. My partner found out who was after you.”

  “Spill it.”

  He looked at her and her eagerness to know was suspicious, but considering that her life was at stake he dismissed it and continued.

  “The occupants were illegal immigrants and the vehicle registration didn’t have a name, but it did have an address. My partner informed the state police and they should be informing the owner about the investigation of the crash.”

  “How did they know the occupants were illegals?”

  “Because they didn’t have any records of entry to the United States. They didn’t have a driver’s license or ID in any of the fifty states. One of them had a Mexican passport—Jose Manuel Vicente Santa Maria. And when his information was given to Border Patrol, they said he was in custody several times for crossing, but he never officially made it over. So we didn’t have an actual arrest record for him or the other occupant for that matter.”

  “Well, he and his buddy were a long way from home, because they made it way over to Huntersville, which is not close to the Mexican border at all. They got here some other way.” She crossed her arms on her chest.

  “We don’t know if the other occupant was Mexican, since we still don’t know his identity. The FCCA has posted their pictures and information within the Interpol database. But any information will take a while since we have to run the report across different participating countries and hope that the two have some sort of criminal background somewhere.”

  She looked at him. McKinley busied himself revising his notes.

  “I’m curious about the address that the red car was registered to. It seems that it would tie up a lot of loose ends,” she said.

  “Maybe.”

  She looked over his shoulder and on the screen the address was displayed.

  2420 Hollywood Hills Drive, Pasa Del Mar City.

  Cold chills ran through her body and her blood drained to her toes. Her knees buckled and she grabbed the chair to keep herself steady. She gripped the back of the chair hard to the point where her fingers were turning white.

  The address that was displayed on the screen was the house the jewels belonged to. She had just realized that she had killed a Trivaldi and stolen from a Trivaldi.

  McKinley noticed her features and placed his notes down and stood. He didn’t want that episode from the previous night to reoccur.

  “Are you all right, Barbara?”

  “Yeah. I just felt dizzy for a second.” She noticed that he called her by her first name instead of her last name. Their relationship or whatever it was at this point was getting personal.

  He walked toward her, and his arms embraced her body.

  “When… um… when will you know the owner of the hou… car, the car? When will you find out that information?”

  “It should be a matter of minutes or hours. It depends on the state police’s response to the report that was sent to them. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good. I’m okay. I promise. I’m not dying.”

  Not yet anyway, she thought.

  She enjoyed the comfort of his touch but stepped back to keep at bay what her body craved.

  She thought for a moment. “Will it give us the identification of the person or persons responsible for the deadly chase?”

  “Yeah. It should. I’m eager to figure that out.” He was still looking at her trying to decipher if she was okay.

  “Yeah, me too,” she muttered.

  “You said something?”

  “No, no,” she said nervously.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I was just thinking that I’m grateful for your attentiveness. It’s been a long time since someone has done something for me without wanting anything in exchange,” she said to change the conversation and mood of the room.

  “It’s nothing. You’re in my care and it’s my duty to keep you safe.”

  “Right. Your duty. Well, to even the playing field, I’ll cook dinner.”

  “Sure. That’ll give me time to keep working. What’s on the menu?”

  “Not sure. What have you got in this kitchen?” she asked.

  “Well, there’s chicken, steak, pork chops, and frozen vegetables in the freezer, and there’s some ready-to-cook boxed meals in the pantry.”

  She wobbled over to the pantry and saw boxes of ready-to-eat mashed potatoes, potatoes au gratin, macaroni, spaghetti, and rice.

  “We’ll be having my favorite meal. Grilled chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy.” />
  “Sounds great. I’m used to cooking for myself and usually cook pasta. But I’m an expert when it comes to breakfast meals.”

  “I can tell.”

  They smiled as their eyes met, but she quickly averted her gaze and headed to the refrigerator to prep for dinner.

  They ate in silence, keeping their eyes on their food, but the tension between them was high.

  “Barbara?”

  “Yeah.” There he went again calling her by her first name. She wanted to put an end to it but she liked the sound of his voice as he said her name.

  “Dinner was delicious. I haven’t had company in a while. My job is demanding, and I appreciate this.”

  “No need to mention it. I used to cook for my mother before she died and since I live alone, I don’t cook as regularly as I’d like.”

  “Well, anyway. Thanks.”

  She smiled. She was surprised that for once he’d thanked her for something. With her dish in hand she walked over to the sink, almost slipping again.

  McKinley quickly stood and grabbed her by the waist before she tumbled. Their breaths came heavy and his gaze was transfixed on her lips.

  “Don’t worry about the dishes. I got it.”

  She nodded and stepped back.

  He took the dish from her and placed it on the table behind him. He turned and took one stride toward her. His lips collided with hers as desire and temptation took over them both. He scooped her up and his scent enveloped her senses. She lost herself in the moment.

  Her hands swam through his soft silky black hair. Her legs wrapped around his waist. His hand held the nape of her neck while the other held her upright. The sound of moans escaped them as their lips were lost in a savagely ravaged state.

  What am I doing? This is not the time for this nonsense, this foolishness needs to stop, Barbara, she told herself. She pushed away, panting, trying to catch her breath.

  But he held her close, searching her eyes. He knew it was wrong, but it felt so right. He placed her feet back on the floor, not breaking eye contact.