by Katie Moon
Seeing her look of uncertainty, Jared jumped in. “Just don’t give up trying to find the killer. I still think it could be Bruce. He sent that threatening voicemail, after all. Or maybe there was another student at your school who hated him. There has got to be someone else because I did not do it. Please!” he begged.
A long silence ensued as Brielle looked into Jared’s frantic, agitated eyes. Before fully realizing what was happening, Brielle’s head was bobbing up and down in a tentative nod. Jared let out another heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said fervently.
“This doesn’t mean I’m convinced you’re innocent,” she warned stubbornly. “If the police keep digging and keep finding proof that it was you, trust me when I say you are dead to me. But,” she conceded, “at this point, I’m also not convinced you’re guilty.”
“I understand, of course.” A broad grin split across Jared’s face, and for the first time, Brielle could see the resemblance Jared had to his brother. Why haven’t I noticed that before? she wondered. As she stood up to leave, she realized that she had hardly ever seen Jared smile because the only time she had interacted with him was around his parents.
He’s probably had such a miserable life, she thought. She bet that getting away to college had been a relief for Jared, even if he lived relatively close to his parents. Again, doubt tugged at her. Could being that miserable have been enough to motivate Jared to kill Eric? It seems like it could. But Jared had made good points. He had fought back against his parents’ opinions of him in a more constructive way, by working so hard in college. It didn’t seem likely that he would throw that away for a momentary, sadistic satisfaction.
As Brielle closed the door to the interrogation room behind her, she heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw Officer Corey advancing toward her quickly.
“Hey, I—”
“Come with me,” he interrupted tersely, cutting across her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with a mixture of surprise and confusion.
“We need to talk in my office, now.” His face was deadly serious. A little concerned, Brielle obediently followed behind him quickly, zigzagging through the halls, until they walked back into the room where they had first discussed the case. The room looked exactly the same, except now the desk and surrounding area was drowning in files. Pages were strewn every way with colored sticky notes dotting the paper edges, and several slightly worn papers were taped frenetically on the wall behind the desk. It looked like a tornado had torn through the office, leaving only paper casualties.
“What’s going on, Corey?” Brielle said nervously. Something was very wrong.
Officer Corey pulled out his seat from the carnage of paper and sat down, eyeing her. Finally, he answered, “We just heard back from forensics who were examining the area where Miss Claire Kunis turned up dead. You heard about that, I assume?”
“Yes, on the news.”
“Right. What the news didn’t tell you is that after discovering her body, we also found a mallet with her blood on it.”
Brielle’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “You—but—she was murdered? The news report said that it was an accident!”
Officer Corey nodded, a shrewd look in his eye. “That’s what we thought at first, but after examining the area, it was clear that the fall had to have been intentional. Finding the bloody weapon clinched it for us. It was definitely murder. Is that a surprise to you?”
Brielle stared at him, thrown by his question. “Of course. Should it not be?”
Not answering her question, Officer Corey leaned forward. “We also found prints on the murder weapon,” he said grimly.
“What? Whose?” Brielle exclaimed.
Squinting carefully at her, Officer Corey frowned deeply. “Eric’s.”
Brielle blinked. Robotically, she opened and closed her mouth, with no sound coming out. She was sure she had misheard. “Whose?”
“Eric Artimer’s,” Officer Corey repeated.
For a moment, Brielle was convinced that a circuit must’ve blown out in her brain. Eric’s prints? On a murder weapon? The words would not compute. It was impossible. No, it was lunacy. Wasn’t it? “There’s no way that can be true. It’s absurd. Eric wouldn’t do something like that. Maybe,” she added, her mind reeling, “someone put it there to frame him. It could’ve been the same person who killed him.” The nagging whisper hissed at Brielle in her mind. Is it crazy? Maybe this is who he really was. No. Maybe.
“You read my mind,” Officer Corey replied, pulling Brielle away from her internal debate. Brielle felt unnerved by the intense way he was observing her. “It had to have been someone who had access to Eric’s belongings. Someone who could have gotten something with Eric’s prints easily.”
Brielle felt a sickening feeling wash over her. “What are you saying?” she asked slowly.
Again, Officer Corey did not answer her. “How well do you know Jared Artimer?” he asked abruptly.
Startled by the change of subject, Brielle stuttered, “Uh, um, not super well. We’ve met quite a few times, obviously, at family gatherings. Why do you ask?”
“Why did he ask to speak to you after being arrested, instead of his own family?”
Brielle shrugged. “He said his family probably wouldn’t talk to him. I thought it was strange too, but I think he was just desperate.”
“And where were you the night of Sunday, the 15th?”
Brielle’s nerves were mounting. She realized this wasn’t a conversation. It was an interrogation. “I was with Eric, in our apartment, the whole night.”
Officer Corey clicked his tongue softly. “I’ll be straight with you, Brielle. I told you before that Claire was involved in stealing student information from the school. Then Walters told us that Eric’s killer gave the names of those two missing girls to that trafficking group. So I had a hunch that killer might’ve gotten that information from Miss Kunis. Then Eric’s prints turned up on the weapon.”
Brielle watched Officer Corey as he leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of her. “So clearly, there is some connection between the two murders. And now we know that Jared Artimer was behind the hit on Eric,” he continued. “But that doesn’t explain what happened to Kunis. Jared didn’t even go to this school or live in this area, so how would he have known her?
“And even though his prints are on the weapon, I don’t think Eric was the one to bludgeon Claire Kunis. As far as we can tell, he would have no motive. Plus, by your own description, he was with you the night of the 15th, which is when the coroner approximated her time of death.”
Officer Corey gazed up at the ceiling, idly drumming a pen against his desk. “There is one suspect that I had not looked at through the entire investigation. I just didn’t think it was possible. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look at it from every angle,” he said heavily. “I think you know what I’m getting at.”
Brielle felt a cold sweat start to form along her hairline as he turned to look at her, his eyes locked on hers. “I think,” he said slowly, “I think that it is possible you were having an affair with Jared Artimer, and that’s why he wanted to talk to you today. As we saw with Rebecca and Bruce Artimer, that’s not improbable. Maybe you bonded over your mutual rejection from his parents. I think it’s possible you obtained that sensitive student information from Claire Kunis. I think it’s possible you and Jared hatched a plan using your illegal contacts to get Eric killed so you could be together. I think, however unlikely, it’s possible Claire Kunis found out and wanted out, so you had her killed too, making sure to supply a mallet covered in your boyfriend’s prints.”
He sighed. “If any of this is true, you’ll be a lot better off confessing to it now. Otherwise, we will keep digging, and we will find the evidence to put you away for a very long time.”
If he had stood up and fired his gun at her pointblank, it would have been less deafening than the silence that followed Officer Corey’s accusation. Brielle’s heart, which had been bea
ting rapidly only moments ago, felt like it had stopped cold.
“I swear,” Brielle whispered hoarsely, her voice shaking with emotion, “that none of that is true. You can ask the guards. There was nothing that suggested any connection other than acquaintances between Jared and me when we talked. I have never met Claire Kunis.” Even as Brielle said it, the irritating feeling that she had recognized Claire from somewhere flashed through her mind. “I did not have her or Eric killed. The killer attacked me! I’m the one who brought this case to you in the first place!”
“In which case you would effectively redirect any suspicion of yourself,” he countered promptly. “No one would suspect the person most committed to finding the killer. Add the assault, and you would be untouchable. It would definitely a reckless plan, but for a crafty killer, who made sure multiple other suspects would come to light, it would be a brilliant one.”
Brielle stared dumbfounded at the man sitting across from her. All this time, she had thought there was a trust forming between her and Officer Corey. And now this. “I loved Eric with all my heart, and losing him has been the worst hell I’ve ever been through,” she finished, tears of anguish now spilling freely down her cheeks.
Officer Corey watched as a tear fell from her cheek and landed with a silent splash onto his desk. Brielle thought she saw a hint of shame in his eyes as he looked away, as if it were indecent of him to see her in such a vulnerable state. “You’re free to go for now. But I’ll extend the same warning to you that I did to everyone else: don’t leave the area. You’re not off the hook.” He looked back at her with wide eyes. “I just can’t ignore any suspects anymore. The longer it takes to catch whoever did this, the more likely they get away. It’s nothing personal,” he added quickly, as if that would excuse him from the painful discomfort caused by his accusation.
Brielle stood up slowly, and she could feel her knees trembling beneath her. As she looked down at Officer Corey, even the tips of her clenched fingers seemed to cackle with electricity. “The person I loved more than anyone else in the world has been killed. He’s gone. His entire future has been obliterated. And you sat here across from me and had the gall to suggest that I stabbed him in the back and then had him run over for good measure.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm the scorching diatribes that longed to burst from her throat. “I know you’re doing your job. But your case file was my future before he was ripped away from me. Every bit of this is extremely personal.”
And as she turned and swept from the room, Officer Corey almost thought he heard the echo of thunder in her wake.
25
A loud screech cracked through the quiet evening sky as she slammed on her breaks in front of the apartment. She grimaced. Eric had always hated when she had been too sharp with the car. He was constantly telling her she was going to wear out her breaks way too quickly. But she had learned from her father, who had apparently missed his calling as a NASCAR driver, based on the way he drove.
Brielle rubbed her forehead guiltily. She knew she had overreacted to Officer Corey’s accusations. He was just covering his bases. Hadn’t Randall asked her similar questions? That had not bothered her nearly as much. And yet when Officer Corey had suggested her involvement, Brielle had flared up in fiery defensiveness. Brielle tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear as she slowly turned the keys and pulled them from the ignition. From Randall, the suggestion hadn’t seemed like a viable option. She had just assumed that anyone with more insight to the case would be able to see clearly that she had no involvement. But after being torn down to her most vulnerable and jabbed with accusations by Officer Corey, she had to admit the truth: as long as Eric’s killer roamed the streets undetected, trust was a luxury no one could afford. The thought made her feel very alone.
As she trudged up to the mahogany door that stood sentinel to her apartment, she couldn’t help but think of how many times she had made this same stroll cozied under Eric’s comforting arm. Closing her eyes, Brielle took a deep breath of the cool night air. She loved getting a whiff of cologne against his warm chest when he would wrap his arm around her and pull her into his embrace. She had never known quite what it smelled like. To her, smelling his cologne took her back to their first kiss, intertwined in front of this very door. It smelled like her heart drumming in her chest as she saw him lean in. It smelled like his soft, warm lips pressing against hers, first shyly, and then with fervor. It smelled like—
Brielle’s eyes flashed open, anguish carved in every line of her thin face. I can’t do this, she thought. I can’t be here. It would be too much to be alone in the apartment where they had shared so many cherished moments. She looked around wildly. Where do I go? There’s nowhere else to go. Her eyes darted to the cement stairs to the right of her door that crawled upwards to the second floor. It was the only option, the only place she would even remotely be able to keep herself from fracturing into a million broken pieces. Numbly, she stumbled to the stairs and began to climb, clinging to the handrail for balance. As she ascended the steps, a dark red door bloomed into view. Tripping unsteadily over the last step, Brielle caught herself against the handle and thudded her fist against the door. After a moment, she could hear brisk steps growing louder on the other side of the door.
“Brielle!” exclaimed Randall as he swung open the door. He was dressed in sweatpants and a UNC sweatshirt, and Brielle could hear quiet voices issuing from the TV behind him. His surprised smile swiftly flipped to bewildered concern upon seeing her tearstained face. “What’s wrong?”
Taking her gently by the elbow, he guided her over the threshold into his small apartment. Brielle looked blurrily around the room as she vigorously wiped the tears that continued to pour down her face. She hadn’t been to Randall’s apartment in quite a while, but it was very different. His comfortable, slightly sagging couch lounged in front of the large television had been replaced with a pristine grey leather couch while a gigantic, dark green beanbag squatted on the couch’s left. Randall’s TV screen seemed to have doubled in size. Two windows behind the couch that had once been framed by hideous, floral drapes now were adorned with sleek, steel-grey curtains. Stuffed in the furthest corner was a black bookshelf that held several small, unorganized piles of books, notebooks, and papers. A closed door that Brielle knew led to a small kitchen stood to the left of the messy bookshelf.
“I’m sorry,” Brielle said tearfully, sounding like she had suddenly developed a very bad cold. “I just can’t be in that apartment without him. It’s all too much.”
“Of course, of course. Stay as long as you like,” Randall said soothingly, quickly turning off the television. “Can I get you anything to eat? To drink? I’ve got water, Dr. Pepper, beer, or if you need something harder, I can get that for you too,” he added, winking mischievously at her.
With a weak laugh, she shook her head and sunk into the middle seat of the couch. “No, that’s okay. I just needed to be with somebody else who could understand how much this all sucks,” she said, dabbing her now swollen eyes.
Randall stood there looking at her for a moment, apparently a little uncertain about how to handle her in such an emotional state, before sitting down gently in the seat next to her. “It does,” he agreed reassuringly. “I’m sure I don’t fully appreciate how awful it’s been for you, though.”
Brielle did not answer. Embarrassed that she had so impulsively barged into his apartment and started sobbing, she cast around for a subject to lighten the mood. “I see you finally got rid of those ridiculous curtains,” she said teasingly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
Randall looked back at the windows behind them and snickered. “Yeah, well, they were only a dollar, so it was time to retire them. Plus Eric always told me they belonged in a recently deceased grandmother’s home,” he chuckled.
Brielle snorted softly. “I remember that. He also said the grandmother would have to be partially blind,” she added, making Randall let out a hearty laugh. “But really, your place looks
amazing. When did you get it fixed up?”
Randall wore a look of satisfaction as he looked around the room. “Oh, you know, just over time,” he answered vaguely.
As she looked around, Brielle caught sight of something else that had not been there on her last visit. “Oh,” she said softly, standing up and crossing the room. Taped to the wall next to the kitchen door was a small photo of Randall smiling broadly next to a laughing Eric. Both were covered in splashes of vibrant color and held bulky paintball guns in their hands. Brielle smiled tenderly at the photo. “I always loved this picture.”
Randall got to his feet and moved to stand beside her. He grinned at the photo. “That was such a fun day.”
“You won, right?”
Randall laughed. “Yeah. We worked as a team to wipe out the other opponents, but once the rest of them were down, I shot Eric and won,” he recalled.
Brielle giggled. “He was so upset with you for turning on him, but I told him in a game where there can only be one man standing, you can’t trust anyone,” she said. Pausing to think, she asked, “Didn’t he keep shouting something at you when you won?”
Randall laughed harder now. “We had been studying Julius Caesar in the history class we took together. He just kept saying, ‘Et tu, Brute?’ over and over again. That became a long standing joke for us after that,” he replied, smiling happily at the memory. Suddenly, he started blinking rapidly and cleared his throat. “I figured I wanted to do my part to remember him and celebrate his life. It feels unfair that he should just be gone, so I decided to keep a part of him around,” he said huskily, shrugging at the photo.
Brielle nodded. Every happy moment ended with a painful crash back into reality. But something was bugging her. As she stared at Eric’s laughing face, she had the nagging feeling that she had missed something important. Shrugging and turning away from the photo, Brielle sank back into the couch cushions. “They think I did it, Randall.”