A Master's in Murder

by Katie Moon

  As Mason lowered the phone to his side, a storm of emotions crashed within him. When she needed help, she had chosen him. The thought made him feel like he could fly miles high. But as quickly as he had taken off, her words echoed: “This is for Eric!”

  It was for Eric. It would always be for Eric. And as he walked out of the kitchen, committing inwardly to go to any lengths to help her, he couldn’t deny that for one fleeting moment, he had hoped that she simply wanted him for him.

  13

  Brielle started. A loud knock had just cracked through the hefty silence, waking from her reverie. Flinging herself at the door, she thrust it open to reveal a shivering Mason, pink-nosed and puffing out white clouds with every breath. He smiled a toothy grin, and Brielle hurriedly waved him inside.

  “Thanks so much for coming in this cold,” she said gratefully, helping him to take off his coat and hanging it by the door.

  Mason brushed the windswept hair out of his eyes. “It’s no problem at all,” he said breathlessly, staring avidly at Brielle.

  Without further preamble, Brielle grabbed Mason’s hand and shoved a silver rectangle into it. Mason turned it over between his fingers, frowning slightly. Nodding, he glanced up at Brielle’s hopeful face before beginning to tap the screen noiselessly, scanning the different app screens.

  Sounding slightly like she had just jogged a mile, Brielle said breathlessly, “Take a look. Do you think you could find what’s been deleted?”

  Immediately, Mason nodded confidently. “Oh yeah,” he assured her. “It looks as though whoever erased it only cleared those two apps, which means it wasn’t a very deep clean. I’ll need to hook it up to my computer, but getting the info back shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  A smile broke Brielle’s care-worn face, and her jaw felt stiff. She guessed it was the first time she had legitimately smiled since hearing the voicemail from Mrs. Artimer. Flinging her arms out, she pulled Mason into a tight hug before releasing him and whispering, “Thank you. You’re really a lifesaver.”

  Mason, who had turned a warm shade of fuchsia around his ears, opened his mouth soundlessly before finally just nodding. Unexpectedly, he stiffened. A loud rapping behind him brought both his and Brielle’s heads swiveling to face the door. Bemused, Brielle strode over and cracked open the door. Peeking through, Brielle’s posture relaxed as she recognized the tall, sturdy figure standing in front of her.

  “Randall!” Brielle exclaimed, throwing open the door. “Hey, come in! I’m so glad you’re here!”

  Randall looked surprised and stepped onto the welcome mat. “You seem to be doing better,” he said, glancing at Mason quizzically.

  Mason, clearing his throat uncomfortably, walked towards the door. “I’ll get out of your hair,” he mumbled, pulling on his black coat. “I’ll let you know what I find out.” Nodding awkwardly at Brielle and Randall, Mason closed the door behind him.

  Randall looked back at Brielle, eyebrows raised. “Find out about what? Are you okay?” he asked, confused at the unexpected scene he had walked in on.

  “Things aren’t okay at all, but Mason is going to help make it better,” Brielle said quickly. When Randall continued to look bewildered, Brielle grabbed his arm. “Randall, I need to tell you something, something… awful,” she whispered. Randall’s face filled with concern, and Brielle took a breath. “Randall… I think someone meant to kill Eric. I think it was murder.”

  All of the blood rushed out of Randall’s face, and his eyes grew so wide that for a moment he resembled a startled owl. “What?” he gasped, aghast.

  The words tumbled out of Brielle’s mouth as she swiftly explained everything about the video, the phone, and her conversation with Officer Corey. By the time she had finished, Randall had collapsed onto the sofa, hands palms against his forehead in astonishment.

  “This is unreal. This can’t be real,” Randall repeated again and again.

  Brielle sunk into the chair beside him. “I don’t know why yet, but I promise you I’m going to find out,” she assured him.

  Randall jumped to his feet and began pacing around the room. “But Brielle, this doesn’t make any sense,” he insisted. “What would the guy who hit him have against Eric? Did Eric even know him? Did either of us ever hear him talk about issues he had with anyone?”

  Brielle hesitated. “I don’t think it was him,” she stuttered, unsure how to say what was on her mind. Searching for a way to avoid saying the unthinkable, she crossed the room to a small teal lotion dispenser in the corner. Eric had given it to her during their last week of finals when the stress had put her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Brielle pressed down on the bottle and rubbed her hands together slowly. Immediately, the scent of lavender floated past her nostrils.

  Brielle turned back to face Randall. “I mean, it was him,” she began, “but I don’t think he was the one who wanted Eric gone. I think—I think it might have been someone close to Eric. Maybe someone we both know.”

  Randall stared at her, seemingly unable to process what she said. “Someone we know?” he asked blankly. “But who would do that?”

  Brielle rubbed her forehead, staring at the floor. “I don’t know, to be honest. But I’m not convinced that this guy would go to all this trouble to kill a stranger,” she said simply.

  Randall didn’t answer, but glanced around, looking concentrated. His eyes stopped on the door through which he had entered. “Hold on,” he said slowly. “How do we know who we can trust, then? I mean,” he continued, scrambling for words, “what about that guy, Mason? I know he seems like a nice guy and all, but—” Randall glanced at Brielle, looking a little uncomfortable—“I mean, we all knew he was crushing on you pretty hard. And he’s not the most, well, normal person. Maybe he—“ Randall broke off, making a significant face at Brielle.

  Brielle shook her head. “No way,” she said. “He wouldn’t do something like that. He may be a little, well, odd, but not to that extent.” Still, as the words left her mouth, she felt a twinge of doubt. Would anyone really look guilty to her? But someone was behind it.

  Randall seemed to read her mind. “Look, I’m not saying we need to call the police on him or anything yet,” he said gently. “But we also need to be careful. No one is above suspicion.”

  Brielle said nothing. How would she ever find out who killed Eric when anyone could be a suspect? And had she just given her biggest clue to the very person who wanted to bury it?

  ***

  Mason hurried down the street, digging his hands deeper into his pockets to escape the frigid air. Anxiously, he quickened his pace. Glancing back, he saw the shrinking figure of Brielle’s apartment building one more time before turning a corner that blocked it from his view.

  Did Randall recognize him? They had met a couple times before when he and Brielle had been working on projects at her apartment. Hopefully he knew him from those times and nothing more.

  Mason wanted to kick himself. I shouldn’t have gone there that night, he thought angrily. He had known better, but he had rationalized it so well that he just couldn’t stop himself. He hadn’t been able to tell if Randall had seen him when he had passed by. It had been so late and so dark, so Mason didn’t think so. It seemed like Randall had been pretty distracted at the time anyway. Still, facing him today had been agonizing, wondering if the memory would click and he would reveal what Mason had done.

  Mason wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead, urging himself to calm down. He would help Brielle recover the files on her phone and then keep his distance for a while, until this had all blown over. As long as he kept his nose clean from here on out, no one needed to know where he had been that night.

  14

  There was a light flashing somewhere. A bright white light. Brielle slowly cracked her eyes open, blinking them rapidly. The light was too bright. It was burning her eyes. Brielle smacked her lips and squinted. Her phone was lying next to her face, flashing brightly into her eyes, ringing silently.

  B
rielle leaned up, stretching. After Randall eventually left, Brielle had been lost as to what to do next and had eventually settled on her bed, falling into a fitful sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she could tell by the dark shadows that had fallen outside the window that the sun had set. She tried to make out the blurry name flashing on her phone: “Officer Corey.”

  With eyes wide as quarters, Brielle snatched up the phone. Any hint of sleep had disappeared. Slamming the phone up to her ear, Brielle answered. “Hello?”

  “Brielle, this is Corey,” Officer Corey said, sounding serious. “I got the information back on the man calling himself Kevin Trent. You need to get down to my office, right now.”

  Without waiting another second, Brielle bounced up and flew out the door.

  Twenty minutes later, when she ran through the door at the police department, Officer Corey was standing in the lobby with a middle-aged couple. The man was a good-looking man in his late 40’s, with brown hair and just a hint of a belly developing. He had his arm wrapped tightly around an elegant, auburn haired woman who had tears running down her face. Officer Corey was speaking quietly to the couple, sympathy etched on his face. Giving a last goodbye to the officer, the man led his wife past Brielle and out the front door.

  Seeing Brielle, Officer Corey waved her over quickly. Obediently, she fell into step behind him, passing by a reception desk where a round, older woman with frizzy grey hair smiled kindly at her. Smiling quickly as she passed, Brielle followed Officer Corey back to a private office door. Hung next to the door was a silver plate displaying his name in bold lettering, along with the words, “78th Precinct”. Pulling out a navy chair politely, he waited for her to be seated before settling into the seat behind the desk and pulling out a folder.

  Glancing back at the lobby, Brielle asked, “What was that about?”

  Following her gaze, Officer Corey sighed. “Have you seen the news recently? There is a university student, a young woman named Claire Kunis, who hasn’t been seen in days,” he said sadly. “Those were her parents, asking if there were any updates.” Officer Corey suddenly looked as if he had aged 10 years. “I hate having nothing to offer them,” he murmured somberly.

  Brielle thought of the girl she had seen on the screen days before. “I did see that. Didn’t we have a couple girls go missing last year?” she recalled.

  Officer Corey nodded. “I had the same thought. But as far as I can tell, there’s no connection between any of them. No mutual friends, different races, different ages, different majors, different economic backgrounds. The only connection is that they all disappeared without a trace,” he said. “Pair that with the huge upsurge with students’ personal information being stolen and used fraudulently, and it’s clear that this area isn’t the happy, care-free place it used to be.” Officer Corey’s eyes stared unseeing across the room, deep in thought.

  After a moment, he seemed to awaken from his contemplation. “But that’s not why you’re here. I ran a background check on Mr. Kevin Trent. I found nothing,” he said, pushing the folder towards Brielle. Inside was a single slip of paper depicting a photocopy of a driver’s license and a few lines of text. “And I mean literally nothing. There is no record of him before six months ago. Since then, the only things we can find that are tied to him are a couple hotel receipts. He has no credit history. No social security number.” Officer Corey leaned back and stared intently at Brielle. “If I were to guess, this identity was fabricated, and I’ll bet it was only intended to be used for a short amount of time,” he said soberly.

  Brielle gawked at him. “Was he released from the hospital already? Do we have any idea where he is now?” she asked urgently.

  Officer Corey folded his hands on the desk and observed her. “He was released the day after the accident, and there has been no sign of him since. But we do have a couple things to go on,” he inserted quickly, seeing her crestfallen face. “First, we had two hotel receipts. One was from this week, here in town. The other was in Flint, Michigan, three months ago. I did some digging, and there was a girl who died in an accident up there under suspicious circumstances. It may be nothing, but I can reach out to the police department up there and see if we can get any further information about him. And second,” he continued, and Brielle was surprised to see a small smirk playing on his lips, “this Trent guy didn’t get away clean. I’m sure he was hoping we would have no reason to dig further, but in the accident, he got cut. The hospital has his blood on file.”

  It dawned on Brielle. “So we can find out who he actually is,” she gasped.

  Officer Corey nodded. “If he’s in the system, at least, we’ll be able to get his real identity. That testing will take around 48 hours, but I’ve already requested it. As soon as it’s submitted by the hospital, we’ll get him,” he said confidently.

  Brielle leaned back in her seat, stunned. It all overwhelmed her. But it still didn’t answer her deepest question. “Why?”

  Officer Corey understood. “We don’t know why yet, but we will figure this out. There’s always a motive.” Officer Corey sat back, a business-like expression settling on his face. “Now, since we have reasonable suspicion that Eric’s death was not accidental, I’ll be opening an official police investigation, which means I’ll be alerting his family immediately. We’ll also be contacting news stations to alert the public about this Kevin Trent. The more eyes that are looking for him, the faster we’ll find him.

  “As for you,” he said, nodding at Brielle, “I want you to take extra precautions to stay safe. We still don’t know why Eric was targeted, and the more stones we flip over, the more you might be in danger too. And if you find anything else of value,” he added, “I’ll have my phone on at all times. Now, I really need to call the Artimers.”

  Officer Corey walked her out to the entrance and thanked her again for coming before hurrying back to his office, leaving Brielle standing alone, dazed.

  15

  Rebecca Artimer considered herself a very proper, elegant woman. She found great pride in always putting forth a calm, unshaken front, regardless of what was happening in her personal life. In the past few days, however, that façade had been shattered to reveal the crumbling woman within. Since Eric had passed, she had gotten out of bed only for the funeral and for very occasional trips to the bathroom. To Rebecca Artimer, life had collapsed around her, drowning her with it.

  She was shocked, therefore, when she and her husband received a call from Officer Ray Corey, the policeman who had been handling Eric’s accident. He had called with what he said was urgent news on Eric’s accident. Whatever Mrs. Artimer had expected, it was not what came next. She felt as if she were in a hazy blur, with words like “murder”, “kill”, “Trent”, and “Brielle” floating in and out of her muddled mind. With a small gasp, Mrs. Artimer had completely lost consciousness. When her husband was finally able to revive her, she called the officer and requested that Eric’s family and closest friends meet in the morning to discuss the news.

  Mrs. Artimer’s eyes darted around the room, surveying each person in attendance. They had decided to gather in Eric and Brielle’s apartment. Officer Corey stood against the wall next to the television set. Brielle, Eric’s mediocre girlfriend, was sitting across the room next to Eric’s best friend, Randall. On either side of her sat Jared and Mr. Artimer. Everyone’s eyes were directed to the TV screen where a grey-haired man with dark-rimmed glasses was speaking next to a still photo of Kevin Trent.

  “According to the Durham Police Department, Mr. Trent was last seen exiting the hospital parking lot in the same red Jeep from the car accident that claimed young Eric Artimer’s life. Any information on Mr. Kevin Trent should be reported to the Durham Police Department at the displayed number. This attack comes just days after a young woman went missing from the University of North Carolina, Miss Claire Kunis. Only 11 months ago, University students Becca Broadbent and Jenna Grant also went missing. These events, coupled with many recent reports of stolen UNC student informat
ion, including repeated fraudulent uses of funds and stolen identities, are causing many to call into question the security of the University—”

  The grave voice cut off as Officer Corey reached over and muted on the television, so that the smiling faces of three young women smiled up at the group in silence.

  “Now that there is a public alert out, I’ll be handling any tips that come in, and we will search for information anywhere we can,” Officer Corey said to the group. “We will make sure that we give justice to Eric’s killer.”

  Mrs. Artimer nodded gratefully along with everyone else, trying to keep a smooth face. She couldn’t believe it. Just when she thought she had avoided detection, everything was blowing up in her face. She tried to surreptitiously cling to the arm of her chair to stop her hands from shaking. Scratching her head, she tried to inconspicuously wipe away the cold sweat that was forming at her hairline.

  She had been reckless. They were going to find everything. She should have taken care of things months ago, but they had spiraled out of control. She had been so caught up in the secrets and the lies that, by the time Eric confronted her, there was no going back.

  It was the angriest she had ever seen him. Eric had always been so even-tempered, especially with the mother he admired so much. She had always doted on him and had adored him so completely that fighting between she and Eric hardly ever occurred. There were times where he got abrupt or short with her, usually in defense of his silly girlfriend, but he had never snapped at her.

  Until that day, at least. He had called her, accusing her of immoral misdeeds, demanding to know the truth. At first she had denied it, telling him that she would never do those things.

  “You know me, Eric,” she had said soothingly.

  But Eric interrupted, bringing her up short. “I saw a picture, Mom. I saw it, I know what you did, what you’ve been doing!” he had shouted angrily.