My Sister's Murderer

by Liv Bennett

“Yes. I know. Ruby was my sister. Well, she was actually not. Our parents lied to me. They’re not really my parents. But, I didn’t know it until recently,” I blurt out and immediately see my mistake when the detective arches his eyebrows, his handwriting quickening. My words almost sound like a confession to a crime. I’ll probably need a lawyer.

  Once he’s done recording every stupid, incriminating word I said, Detective Carlson looks at me. “Miss Elwood, where were you last night between midnight and five a.m. this morning?”

  Blood drains out of me. I realize at that moment how bad the situation looks for me. I provide a perfect connection between the two deaths, and my motives are clear in his eyes. I have blood stains on my dress, for Christ’s sake. How did they get there? I washed the dress last night.

  “I’d like to consult with a lawyer before answering any more questions.”

  “Of course. We’ll have to escort you to the police station.”

  My mouth falls open. “Why? Am I under arrest? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Signaling to an officer, the detective asks him to take me to the police station and confiscate my dress as evidence. The officer reads me my Miranda rights after handcuffing me and leads me through the hall.

  Some residents have their doors open to see what all the noise is about. When they notice me in handcuffs beside an officer, they whisper to each other, their eyes growing large, their glares accusatory.

  I didn’t wake up to the day thinking about being charged with a murder I didn’t commit. Yet here I am, walking to a police car while handcuffed and without a single friend or family member to ask for help.

  Ch 29

  An Alibi

  At the police station, another officer, a woman whose nametag says Officer Holland, searches me and collects the only thing I have in my possession, Ruth’s car keys. The poor woman will think twice before trusting her car to someone else next time.

  When Officer Holland asks me for my information, I feel like a liar while trying to remember Ruth’s home address and can’t come up with the exact house number. She asks me if I have a lawyer and assigns me one from their system when I say no.

  She makes me change into a shirt and a pair of jeans and slips my dress with the blood stain on it into a big Ziploc bag. My stomach sinks once I see what the note she puts on the bag says; arrest evidence. Would it make any difference if I’d called the police right away the moment I saw Fran’s door open? Maybe yes maybe no, but at least, I should have kept my mouth shut after I explained to the police how I’d found Fran.

  Officer Holland handcuffs me again before leading me to the interview room.

  “You’ll be interviewed once your lawyer arrives,” she says.

  It’s a room with a table and three chairs, nothing else. A mirror on one wall is probably a one-way glass, and someone is observing me from the other side. “Am I being charged with a crime?”

  “The prosecutor will decide that after the interview.” She closes the door on me, and I take a seat and re-play the entire morning in my head.

  The sight of Fran’s dead body is still fresh in my mind as if I’m looking at it right now. Who did it? Only a monster could kill a mother next door to her baby. The murderer must be someone she knew; someone both Ruby and Fran knew.

  Whoever he or she was, they were clever enough to pass the murder off as a suicide but foolish enough to repeat the same setup in the second murder. Didn’t they think the police might find that a little odd? After all, what’re the chances of two roommates committing suicide only weeks apart in the same place, in the same way?

  A sudden feeling of dizziness comes over me when it dawns on me why they could have repeated the same pattern in the second murder—to put the blame on someone else. On me. They couldn’t have found a better target than me with my connections to both Ruby and Fran.

  I can already see the headlines in the newspapers. Colorado Springs girl charged with the murder of her sister and her sister’s roommate.

  My father’s face appears amid my disturbing thoughts. I don’t even want to imagine the expression he will have when he sees me on the news channel as the potential murderer of his daughter. He’ll come down to the police station and kill me with his own hands before I can get a chance to appear before a judge.

  What feels like hours passes without any lawyer or officer coming to check on me. How long can they keep me here? As much as I prefer this room to a cell, I can’t help the feeling of restlessness. The handcuffs are heavier than I ever imagined them to be and cut into my skin. My eyes fly frequently to the window. I’m pretty sure someone is watching me, and my troubled appearance must erase the last ounce of doubt they have about my involvement in Fran’s and Ruby’s deaths.

  I’ll need a lawyer with a perfect success rate in court. The problem is I can’t afford one.

  The door opens suddenly when Officer Holland from earlier enters with Officer Nate Johnson, who helped me with Ruby.

  The last one to enter is a young woman whose every move screams inexperienced, from the apologetic way she glances at the officers to her shy smile at me. When she pulls out a chair for herself, the folder she’s holding slips from her hand, and the papers spill all over the floor. She panics looking at the mess she created within seconds of entering the room.

  It takes a while and Officer Johnson’s help to get the woman settled in her chair beside mine. Once she’s in her chair, she raises an eyebrow and levels her eyes at Officer Johnson pointedly. “My client isn’t under arrest. Please take the handcuffs off.” Her tone is surprisingly confident, and Officer Johnson doesn’t argue and releases my handcuffs.

  Once my wrists are free, the attorney offers her hand to me for a shake and introduces herself as Jordan Banks, my attorney.

  My stomach twists in fear. She looks so young; she could easily pass for a juvenile. I’m facing murder charges, and the only lawyer available to me is probably a recent graduate with me as her first client.

  Officer Holland remains on her feet, taking occasional walks around the table while Officer Johnson reads me the statement I gave to the detective at the crime scene. At the end, he asks me to sign and date it if I think everything is correct. Detective Carlson clearly didn’t miss a word from my statement, and everything in the statement is word for word as if transcribed from a recording device. I glance at Jordan before taking the pencil from Officer Johnson. She nods, and I have no other option but to sign. I can’t deny it anyway. For all I know, the detective had a recording device on him.

  My hand trembles as I write my signature as if I’m signing my death warrant.

  Officer Holland leaves with my signed and dated statement, and Officer Johnson gives me a restrained smile when he asks me, “Can you please tell me what happened yesterday evening?”

  Jordan leans in and whispers in my ear, “Talk as vaguely and generally as possible. Avoid details.”

  “I worked at Boulder Pizza on Pearl Street as a hostess until eleven p.m.”

  “Is that where Fran Becker worked?” Officer Johnson asks.

  When Jordan nods her approval, I answer, “Yes, that’s where I know her from.”

  “Did you know Ruby Evans worked at the same restaurant as well?” Officer Johnson asks.

  I swallow. “Yes, I knew it.”

  “Did Ruby Evans ever talk to you about Fran Becker?”

  “No, we weren’t that close.” I wince at my overstatement and glance at Jordan who gives her head a discreet shake.

  “My client is in custody only for Fran Becker’s death. Please state questions only related to the current investigation,” Jordan says matter-of-factly.

  “Let’s go back to the question about your evening yesterday,” Officer Johnson suggests in a friendly tone.

  “After work, Fran took me to her friend’s home a couple of blocks away from her condo. I was looking for a place to stay, and Fran’s friend, Ruth Roberts, offered me a room in her house. She and Fran helped each other out with their kid
s. Fran had her daughter at Ruth’s home. She stayed a little bit with us, then left with her daughter. Ruth gave her a ride back home. It was around midnight when she left.”

  “Did you see Ruth Roberts come back home after giving Fran Becker a ride?”

  I should just shut up before incriminating an innocent woman. “Yes, yes, immediately.”

  “How did she look when she came back? Was she agitated, in stress?”

  My mind goes back to last night, while I was looking out through the window. It feels like a year has passed since then. “I was up in my room when she returned. I only saw her car entering the driveway and the garage.”

  “So you didn’t see her return?”

  “No, I did see her. She was the one in the driver’s seat.”

  Officer Holland opens the door and asks Officer Johnson to step out.

  Jordan leans in my ear again. “Good job of drawing the attention to someone else. Keep at it, and relax! They haven’t charged you with a crime. They have no case against you.”

  When Officer Nate walks back in, he’s holding a piece of paper. “We have a statement from someone who claims to be your alibi for the night of Fran Becker’s death.”

  My head jerks back to Jordan, who narrows her eyes in a glance of suspicion.

  Officer Johnson takes his seat and places the paper in front of him on the table. He doesn’t turn the page over or do anything else to hide it from my prying eyes.

  I don’t even try and pretend to look uninterested when I run my eyes over the several paragraphs. It may very well be a trick he’s using on me to get me to lie to him so he can keep me in jail for obstructing justice. With my connection to both Ruby and Fran, I may very well be cementing my way to prison if I get caught in a lie.

  The name written at the end of the statement, though, knocks the breath right out of me.

  Austin Knight.

  He must have heard about Fran’s death and about me being taken into custody, and as always, he’s trying to help.

  The memory of the black sedan parked close to Ruth’s home strikes me out of the blue. I had a strong suspicion the car could have been Austin’s Mazda. The word Mazda written on the statement jumps out at me. Maybe, the black sedan really was his Mazda and Austin was in it, watching over me to make sure I had a place to stay for the night. In a way, he was my alibi.

  “What happened after Ruth Roberts returned home?” Officer Johnson asks.

  “As I said, I was looking out of the window and saw Austin—Austin Knight—sitting in his car. He has several cars, but he was there outside in his Mazda. We had an argument earlier that night. I knew he wanted to talk. So, I left the house to hear what he had to say.” Lying is hard enough; lying to a police officer feels like a bucket of boiling hot water plopped over my head.

  I might as well come to terms with living permanently with the handcuffs on my wrists. I feel faint while waiting for Officer Johnson’s response. He’ll see through my lie. The officers on the other side of the window must be shaking their heads over the ease with which I fell into their trap.

  Officer Johnson nods. “It seems in line with Austin Knight’s statement about last night.”

  The next moments pass in a blur. He makes me sign and date a new statement and shows me out of the room, along with my lawyer. The blood stain on my dress and my connection with both deaths don’t seem to matter. Austin must have done more than give a statement establishing my alibi with him.

  Jordan directs me to the right desk to retrieve Ruth’s car keys the police confiscated when they took me in. Despite my forgetfulness of the voucher number, she manages to get a hold of the keys and leads me out of the building.

  Austin is waiting for me outside, hands in his pockets, a look of concern on his face. His eyes twinkle when he spots me walking out with Jordan, and he strides toward us, introducing himself to Jordan and then thanking her for representing me.

  I can’t let go of the feeling of suspicion creeping deeper into my heart. This was too convenient, too painless. Austin showed up magically at the most challenging time of my life, while I was facing criminal charges for two murders.

  Who’s so altruistic that they’d risk their own freedom for a girl they’ve known for a whopping week? Is it because he trusts the power of his family to keep him out of jail? Still, why does he care so much? I’m just another girl he fucked.

  After Jordan leaves, Austin takes my hand into his and leads me toward his car in the parking lot without asking me as if he has no doubt in his mind I’ll go with him. He knows I have nowhere else to go, no one else to trust.

  Like a pig going to a slaughterhouse, I follow him to his car, my head down, my lips trembling. When we stop by his car, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug, bringing my thoughts and suspicions to a screeching halt.

  With the whirlwind events of the morning and the possibility of facing prison time, I didn’t get a chance to let Fran’s death sink in. Now in Austin’s arms, the emotions come down on me like an avalanche, and I burst into tears I’ve been holding back since the morning.

  We stand there for long minutes, while I cry out my fears, my shock, my loss, and my loneliness into his shirt, without holding back my loud sobs. When I start feeling like myself again, he opens the car door for me and runs around the car to get behind the wheel. I can’t understand for the life of me how I can feel safe around him. My brain shuts off instantly, and I become easy prey.

  As soon as I step out of his hold, my suspicion returns with a vengeance. My brain is going to explode with thoughts of speculation and mistrust. Why? Why would he have done it? Why did he try to rescue me yet another time?

  A whisper sounds from deep within.

  Maybe he’s the one who needed an alibi.

  Ch 30

  Seperation

  I stiffen in my seat, wondering if there may be any truth in my suspicion. Although Austin never gave me any direct bad vibes, a cloud of suspicion has always roamed at the back of my mind; his sudden appearance in my life, his immediate infatuation with me, the fact that his own girlfriend died of suicide.

  He’s probably the only one with a connection to all three deaths. He was outside of Ruth’s house last night, saw Ruth leaving with Fran.

  The more I think about it, the more frightened I get. He maneuvers into traffic without first asking me where I want to go. I can’t help the sheer sense of panic constricting my chest.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, the tremble in my voice giving away the fear I should be hiding. Just then, I notice the dark circles under his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept all night.

  He lifts his eyebrows with a look of surprise on his face. “Uh, home? Did you want to go somewhere else?” His voice is concerned, and I can see he wants to reach over and touch me but is resisting the urge.

  I hold up Ruth’s car keys. “I should return these to Ruth.”

  He makes a left turn at the next exit, clearly knowing the address, the person.

  Has he really been the one all along? The murderer of three young girls?

  How couldn’t I see his true colors sooner? Why did I let myself get involved with him despite the glaring red flags? I was out here with the purpose of finding my sister’s murderer, but let my emotions and urges dictate to me like a hormonal adolescent.

  The right thing to do is to turn around and confess to the police that I lied about last night and state all my suspicions about Austin. Will the officers take me seriously? My claims are just that, claims. Suspicions without any actual proof. I don’t have anything that’s even close to solid evidence. The police will laugh at me and show me to a cell for impeding an investigation. That won’t get me anywhere close to the truth.

  What should I do then? In theory, the police have enough proof to reopen Ruby’s case. I don’t need to be sneaking around in places Ruby had been to gather information anymore. The police should have the expertise to find the murderer. Unless it really is Austin. He and his family a
re influential enough to silence any doubts about his involvement in not one, not two, but three staged suicides of young women. The police will either lock up an innocent person behind bars or close the case without a thorough investigation.

  The responsibility still lies on my shoulders, whether it leads me to my own death or not. I have to stay close and continue with my plan, although Austin is aware of it, thanks to the fiasco of Tara spilling everything in front of him.

  I shouldn’t go into it blindly, either. I should record everything in a safe place just in case I end up in a bathtub with my wrist slashed. How I’m going to do it is another challenge. If only I had enough money to retain a lawyer. A bodyguard wouldn’t hurt either.

  Think, Ashley, think!

  Before I can come up with a solution, Austin pulls up in front of Ruth’s home. The woman must be terrified by the news. Although Austin stops the engine, I hesitate to reach for the door.

  Austin sees my struggle. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  Either he’s the perfect gentleman or a calculating and manipulative murderer. I can’t tell. My internal compass is completely off.

  “No.” I take in a deep breath of air and open the door, climbing out while trying to come up with the right words to explain to Ruth what happened in the least sensational and traumatic way.

  A part of me hopes she’s at work so I won’t have to talk to her today, of all days, when my emotions are at their rawest.

  My hand is jerky when I reach for the bell. I can hear her little one’s cry from behind the door. She must be at home, and I’ll have to have the talk now. Where will I even begin?

  Ruth opens the door with the chain on. “Yes,” she says without undoing the chain.

  Feeling tongue-tied, I lift up my hand holding her car keys. She sneaks her hand out to get them and moves back for a moment and returns with my purse. The chain still locked, she slides my purse out. “I’m sorry to say this, but given the recent circumstances, I decided to cancel your rental contract. I don’t know if you remember, but it had the three-day right of rescission rule.”