by Unknown
Max and I talked about everything but Paul. We talked about Seth, Rachael, my parents, how they were all going to react to this latest incident. We talked about graduation, which was tomorrow, and finally our trip to nowhere special.
The doctor came back in to check on me and cleared me for release. When I asked Max if he was in trouble for not going back to work, he answered, “No, my boss started my leave of absence tonight instead of tomorrow. I’m done working until we come back from our trip.”
Max called my parents. He must have talked to my dad because the conversation was really short. “It’s Max. Before I say anything else, I want you to know Lauren’s okay. She was driving with a friend, Paul Stratford, tonight, and he was shot while she was in the car. She was brought to the hospital because she was in shock.” There was a pause where Dad must have asked Max a question, “No, she’s coherent, and the doctor said she’s fine for discharge. I was going to take her back to my apartment just so I can keep an eye on her tonight, if that’s okay?” Another long pause, “Yes, I’ll bring her by in the morning so she can get ready for graduation. I’ll see you then.” Max put his cell phone away and helped me to my feet, “I hope you don’t mind, but I would feel better if I was with you tonight.”
A uniformed police officer was standing at my door. “Ma’am, I’m Larry Phillips. Keith sent me as a protective detail.”
“That’s nice but not necessary. If the guy wanted me dead, he would have killed me a couple hours ago.”
Max held out his hand to the policeman, “Hi, Larry, I’m Max. She’s going to stay at my place tonight. You’re welcome to come along.”
I was so emotionally drained I didn’t even try to argue.
Chapter Twenty-five
Saturday morning the sun was shining brightly through the windows. I could hear birds chirping. I glanced over at the alarm clock: 8:00 a.m. My body felt heavy, like moving right now would require significant effort, nearly more than I possessed. Instead of fighting gravity, I lay there replaying last night.
I hadn’t even noticed the gray sedan until Paul pointed it out, probably the same gray sedan he had noticed several nights before. Hiding in the alleyway seemed like such a paranoid thing to do. Paul had to have known: he had to have felt that he was in some sort of danger. I felt it, but I still didn’t expect for anything so horrific to happen.
I should have looked at the man’s face. I should have willed myself to make a note of something about him. The only thing I got a clear view of were his hands. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and he didn’t have any tattoos on his knuckles like you see on people in prison. I closed my eyes and willed myself to return to that moment when I saw the barrel of the gun aimed at Paul. A tiny waft of smoke was released from the barrel. In that instant what did I see? The knuckle of his index finger was protruding from the rest of his interlocked fingers; his finger was on the trigger. In that same moment, I remembered a flash of metal, white gold, silver or platinum on his ring finger. I concentrated harder realizing it was his left hand that I was visualizing. The shooter was left-handed with a silver ring of some kind, so he most likely was married.
Excitement welled within me as I realized I remembered a detail that could help the police. I remained focused and replayed the moment he had walked up to the car. Paul wouldn’t roll the window down, which had infuriated the man. A real policeman wouldn’t have lost his cool like that. Police talk on radios; even when they’re in restaurants, you can always hear chatter on their radios. I don’t remember hearing any kind of chatter. I relived those few moments until just after the gun shot again when I reached over with my left foot and tromped on the gas pedal.
I didn’t think I looked in the rear-view mirror right away. When I finally did there was nothing at all behind us. What could I be sure of? When I looked out the window, I saw his torso. On a normal-sized man the window comes up to his waist, but this man’s waist wasn’t visible at all, meaning he had to be shorter than normal. He was a white male. His hands weren’t all weathered or wrinkly, so he had to be mid-twenties to mid-forties. He was wearing a white button down shirt, without a tie. I would have noticed a tie.
There was nothing peculiar about his voice, but as I remembered, there wasn’t a twinge of a southern accent. I don’t think there was anything Paul could have done to avoid this. Maybe drive back to the police station, but violating the terms of his bail would have been a huge problem if this had been a real cop.
I could sense the danger, and warning bells were going off in me, so why did I let Paul pull-over? Why hadn’t I seen this coming? I had asked Rewsna for help, but she’d been silent. Why would she ignore me? She told me if I ever needed her, she would be watching; I needed her and she ignored me. Her only advice: watch my surroundings after Paul was already dead. Like there was any danger at all by then.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, brushing away my hair, and I could feel Max’s lips on my neck. A warm glow consumed me. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. All I could manage was, “Hi.”
Concern was written in his expression. “You had nightmares last night.”
“I don’t remember any. Why do you think they were nightmares?”
Max continued to caress my shoulder and arm, “You were talking most of the night, and you screamed a few times. I knew waking you from your nightmare would be worse than letting it play itself out, but it was hard to watch.” He stared at me for a long moment with his beautiful green eyes. Except for Paul being dead, everything felt right with the world.
“I’m glad I stayed here last night. I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all at my house. Do you think we should go? I’m sure my parents are worried.”
Max nodded, stood up, and pulled me up out of his bed. The inertia of his pull landed me squarely in his arms. Had the last twelve hours not happened, this movement would have made me laugh. As it was, I wasn’t much in the mood for celebrating, nor was I feeling very pleased with myself for letting my friend die. I stepped aside and went to the bathroom to wash my face.
Max said nothing on the way back to my house. My mother was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. It struck me after we’d already walked into the house that there were no news reporters parked outside my parents’ home. I guess I needed to be thankful for the little things.
Max relayed the events of last night to my mother while I watched on. I felt her gaze on me a few times, but I felt a little disconnected, and I really wasn’t part of their conversation. I started to distance myself from their exchange, and my mind wandered a little. I could hear Rewsna’s voice quietly, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I tried to listen more closely, but I wasn’t able to understand. As I was listening to her quiet voice, I heard a booming one right next to me, “Lauren, Lauren are you okay?” It was Max, and he was shaking me.
I looked at him for a second, but he was out of focus; I squinted my eyes and looked again. He was clear, and I looked at Mom who was now standing just a foot or two away from me. I managed to get out, “I’m okay.” Max told my mother I was in shock last night and had nightmares; the nightmares were a symptom, and if she knew I was having one she should stay in the room with me but not try to awaken me. Nightmares were my subconscious mind’s way of dealing with the trauma. Max continued to give her advice on how best to take care of me, as if I wasn’t right there in the room. The phone rang; I got off the sofa and picked it up.
It was Officer Johnson. “Lauren, how are you?”
“How do you think?”
“I’m sure this won’t make you feel any better, but I thought it wise to share with you that Mr. Stratford was telling you the truth. Security cameras verify the route he gave us exactly where and when he said they would. I bounced his timeline off of the coroner’s report, where time of death was between 9:30 and 10:30. Paul’s been ruled out as a suspect in the McMasters’ murders. I’ve notified his mother and grandmother of his death. I shared with them both that he had been cl
eared of all wrong-doing in the double homicide.”
“Great, so who killed Paul?”
“Lauren, I don’t know, but I can tell you that we have all our resources trying to answer that question right now. Whoever did it impersonated a police officer in the process; we’ll find him.”
“Yeah, I was there. He was white, he was short, he was wearing a white button down shirt, driving a grey sedan, he’s left handed, he was wearing a ring and he doesn’t have a local accent. That description should narrow it down to like 30,000 people for you. I was right there, and that’s the best I can give you. How in the hell are you going to find him?”
“Lauren, did you see his face, or was there anything about him that you maybe forgot last night?”
I shook my head as if he could see me through the receiver, a tear welled up in my eye. I choked out in a whisper, “No.”
“Last night you told Detective Dixon that Paul said something to you right before he died. What did he say?”
“He said something about Ms. McMasters’ barber I think, but it was all garbled, and I couldn’t understand him very well.” Rewsna’s voice came booming through my mind and I heard, “No child, that is not what he conveyed. Think!” Renswa’s voice startled me so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
“He didn’t say anything else?”
A little shaken from Renswa’s voice, I could only respond with, “No, that was it, he died right after.”
Officer Johnson offered words of encouragement and we hung up. This was the first time I’d felt shaken since the shooting. I should have been getting ready for graduation, but I couldn’t think straight. I just wanted to lie down and let the world go by for a little while.
*****
I somehow made it through the commencement ceremony that afternoon, and thankfully Mom cancelled my graduation party. She told everyone that I wasn’t feeling well, and although not the result of an illness, her excuse wasn’t any less true. Max was on his hiatus from work, so this would be the opportune time to get away. Sunday morning I sprung on my parents that I was going camping with Max for a few weeks. It was obvious they had little idea what to do with me in my current state, so both thought it was a great idea.
Max was way more excited about the trip than I was, but I told myself I just needed to get away. As soon as the city was behind, us I could forget about voices, destinies, a friend I hadn’t been able to save, and everything else. We decided to leave Tuesday morning.
Monday late afternoon after I’d just returned from Paul’s funeral, the phone rang. I picked it up and it was Officer Johnson. “Hi, Lauren, how’re you feeling?”
I had struggled with this question every time someone asked it. I was alive, something that might not have been possible just three days ago. I was a college graduate, though I had no desire to celebrate. I felt like I was in my own little world and everyone I talked to believed the same. “I’m okay, getting ready to get out of town for a while.”
“Well, then I’m glad I caught you before your tires hit the pavement. I just wanted you to know in the course of investigating Paul’s murder, we made the assumption that the McMasters’ murders had to be tied to his. We believed the killer thought Paul knew more than he did and was trying to cover his tracks. You once told me you were a huge true crime fan, so what are motives for killing someone? C’mon this is Detective 101 stuff.”
Not wanting to play along with his game, I remained silent.
“Okay, it is love, money, impact, or mental illness. Meaning people kill out of passion, kill to receive money or compensation of some kind, or the kill will have a positive impact on the killer in some way. When we got back into the McMasters’ investigation, it was clear that Mrs. McMasters was very heavily insured - three million dollars heavily insured. When you told us that Paul said something about her barber we checked to see who the beneficiaries on her policy were. There wasn’t an individual: her business was the beneficiary. She was a co-owner of a business, and with her death the entire payout goes to her partner.” As Officer Johnson was talking, I heard Paul’s last words echo in my mind, “Not a cop, Mrs. McMasters’ partner.”
We interviewed him shortly after the double homicide and the subject of an insurance payout never came up. After Paul’s death, we re-interviewed him. We were already aware of the payout, but he denied that he would receive any financial gain from her death. His denial set off warning bells because that was not the case. Once we caught him in the lie, we just dug a little deeper. What kind of car do you suppose he drives?”
Not wanting to jinx whatever Officer Johnson was about to tell me, I stayed quiet. He was so excited he made a game show noise and announced, “Thank you for playing but too slow, yes he drives a gray Chrysler 300. Things were starting to add up, so we had a search warrant issued for his residence. Where do you suppose his residence is?”
This time I could feel the excitement from Officer Johnson, knowing he had solved it, so I chimed in, “Let me guess, the apartment building across the street from where the ambulance came?”
Not even trying to contain his excitement, he yelled, “Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, very good, Lauren! You mentioned that the unknown suspect was wearing a white button up shirt the night of the shooting. When we executed the search warrant, we found a white button up shirt in the laundry that had gunshot residue and blood on the sleeves.”
“So he killed Mrs. McMasters for the money. Why did he kill Paul?”
“Sorry, Lauren, he’s not talking right now. He’s lawyered up, but we think that he was under the impression that Paul had seen him there that morning, and it was only a matter of time before we stopped suspecting Paul for the McMasters’ murders. I guess he thought that if we had Paul as our main suspect, and he turned up dead, we would close the case.” Officer Johnson waited a few seconds and revealed in a more solemn voice, “If you and Paul hadn’t have come by to give his alibi evidence, I’m sorry to say that’s exactly what would have happened.”
I felt a huge weight lift off of me, “I know in my statement at the hospital I said Paul was talking about Mrs. McMasters’ barber, but that was just because I was in shock. I’m sure that he told me Mrs. McMaster’s partner. Is it too late to amend my statement? I remember hearing something about a ‘dying declaration’ being admitted as evidence.”
Officer Johnson chuckled into the phone, “If you really believe that, then yes we can amend your statement, but I really don’t think it’s necessary. I didn’t need anything from you. I just wanted you to know that we found Paul’s murderer, so you don’t have to look over your shoulder. It’s over.”
Chapter Twenty-six
My bags were packed, all two of them. I had a duffle bag with all my shower gear and shoes and a backpack with five changes of clothes. If this wasn’t roughing it, I don’t know what is. Mom and I were sitting on the front porch passing the time, waiting for Max to pick me up. I was still surprised that she hadn’t tried to talk me out of it, and only asked if I had spare batteries along for my cell phone. I caught myself looking at my watch for the fiftieth time. Max should be here in another ten minutes.
“You remembered to pack plenty of socks, right?”
Here I was taking off with the most amazing guy in the world, for who knows how long, and the only concern Mom voiced to me was that my cell have a charge and my feet stay warm. I kept from rolling my eyes and answered, “Yes, plenty of socks, and if I forgot anything, I’m sure there are stores in the middle of nowhere, right?”
Seth half opened his garage door and saw me on the porch. He gave a casual wave then stepped to go back inside. “Hey! You could at least yell goodbye or something!” I bellowed. He stepped out the door, then made his way to my front porch.
“That’s right, this is the big day. What do you think, Molly? Do you suppose she’ll last two days?” Seth was grinning from one ear to the other.
Mom gave a very smug smile in return, and it looked like this was some sort of joke that I wasn’t in on.
“Oh Seth, anyone can go two days. I bet she makes it until next Wednesday.”
“You two have no faith at all in my survival skills, do you?” I was thoroughly offended.
Seth didn’t let up, “Survival? Well, I imagine you are less likely to take a bullet in the wilderness. Hunting season isn’t going on now, is it? Besides, knowing how protective Max is of you, you’ll be fine.” Mom didn’t even flinch when Seth mentioned Max or bullets.
It’s amazing how much had changed in such a short period of time. Just a couple weeks ago, I didn’t think my mom would ever get over Seth and me breaking up. I was sure that Seth would hang on just as tightly. When I’m wrong, I am wrong. Since that night of the interview with Amanda, Max and Seth had become almost friends. If not friends, they were definitely friendly with one another. Each time I asked Max for more details on what Seth said to him that night, he told me, “just man stuff,” but whatever it was, it sure made my life easier.
Max’s black truck pulling a horse trailer drove up across the street, and Mom stood up to give me a quick hug.
Seth leaned in and told me, “I’ll see you two in a couple days.”
“No, you won’t!” as I bounded down the steps toward Max. Max left the truck running but came up to the porch to say quick goodbyes to both of them.
He walked around to the passenger side of the truck, carrying my backpack. He put it in the back seat as I climbed in the front. Max asked, “You’re packing pretty light. You’re not chickening out on me, are you?”
“You said we were only taking what we could carry on our backs - I’m not a pack mule!”
Max grinned at me, “No, you are definitely not a pack mule.”
We drove for about three hours without much conversation, just listening to the radio. We were nearly in North Carolina. Ten miles from the border, Max leaned over and kissed my forehead. “We’re almost there. Do you need to get anything before we leave civilization?”