“Sometime this morning.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I clicked off after he mumbled a grouchy, welcome. I dialed Liz’s number and screamed a voicemail she couldn’t possibly understand. After hanging up I left a second, much more coherent one. Hung up. Raced out to my car and broke every speed limit in town to get to work on time.
Like I said, I follow the laws of the road most of the time.
Liz’s call came in at a little after ten. She shrieked in my ear. Being at work, I had to keep my celebration down to a low but excited whisper. We made plans to meet for dinner and ended the call.
Five o’clock came roughly ten years later, or so it seemed. Finally, I was free to see my best friend, to hug her, to cry with relief and rant about the unfairness of being accused of a crime she didn’t commit, of being held a prisoner, denied her freedom. Oh, and to give her back her dog, who had missed her something fierce--if the peeing was any indication.
When I saw her standing outside the restaurant, I was instantly startled by her appearance. It was Liz all right. She was still insanely tall, with the same long, flowing blond hair and statuesque runway model build. But she looked pale, tired, and weary. Her smile wasn’t as bright as I remember it being, her eyes not as full of sparkling joy. Her footsteps weren’t as bouncy and light either.
It was a startling change. And she’d only been in jail for a few days. I didn’t want to think of what a few years, or a few decades, would have done to her.
I flung myself at her, hauling her into a hug. We laughed and cried and held each other. People around us must have thought we were nuts. But we didn’t care. When we walked in the restaurant, we walked with our elbows locked like we had when we were in college. After being escorted to our table, we ordered the same thing.
Finally, I could ask, “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Now.” She didn’t look okay, but I wasn’t going to point that out to her. I doubt I’d look as good as she did if the roles had been reversed.
“I am so glad you’re out!” I said.
“So am I.”
“Did anyone tell you what happened?”
“No.”
“So you don’t know what--“
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather just forget about this whole thing and go back to my life.”
“I completely understand.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Things were a bit tense during the rest of the meal. I hated to admit it, but it was going to be damn impossible to forget about what had happened. For one thing, my best friend wasn’t quite the same. Surely she didn’t realize that yet. Or maybe she did, but she just didn’t know what to do about it. Whatever, I couldn’t stop wondering what had made the case change so dramatically, and so suddenly.
Being the good friend I was, I kept all my questions and speculations to myself. After our dinner, Liz came to my place to collect Twinkie. The reunion was sweet, heartwarming. Both dog and owner were very happy to see each other. But the happy scene dimmed fairly abruptly, and my best friend said goodbye. She was tired, ready to get back to her life, and wanted a shower and a good, long night’s sleep in her own bed.
The minute she was out of sight, I was on the phone with Rob.
“Did you hear anything? What happened to Liz’s case?” I asked when he answered.
“All I got was something came back from the lab.”
“DNA?”
“Don’t know.”
“Have they arrested anyone else?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Do you think it’s the other Lyz?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He sighed. “Why do you care? Liz has been cleared.”
“I know. But...now I’m kind of curious.”
“You know what they say about curiosity...”
* * * * *
Okay, so curiosity may have killed the cat. But the next morning, as I rushed through my morning routine, I decided I wasn’t ready to give up my new hobby--amateur sleuthing. Someone out there was killing innocent women. Someone who looked a lot like my best friend. And that person was responsible for my friend being in hell for several days.
When she’d said she wanted to forget about what had happened, I took that to mean she wanted me to stop talking about it. But she wouldn’t tell me to stop thinking about it, or stop wondering who the real killer was. And, if I had information that might help the police, stop helping track down the real killer.
And so I decided I would not drop the case.
There was only one problem. I had no clue where to go from this point.
I had a person of interest, as the police would say. But the only connection my suspect had to the case was her notable physical similarity to the police’s former suspect. I had a phone number, though. Perhaps the police didn’t know about Lyz Shoemaker? Perhaps I should mention her to them...?
I called Rob to ask him for advice. But before he answered I hung up.
No, there was no reason to get him involved anymore. I’d called him out of desperation after Liz had been arrested. I wasn’t desperate anymore, only curious. I would go this alone.
That was my plan.
Until I left work that night.
Rob was waiting for me in the parking lot.
Before I’d gotten even one word out of my mouth, he grabbed me, shoved me into the passenger seat of his car and roared away, tires squealing.
Six
“What the hell is going on?” I screeched as I flopped sideways, slamming into the door. He’d just taken a hairpin turn at a breakneck speed.
“We’re going to find somewhere quiet to talk.”
“Sure. Okay.” Recovered from that last impact, I fought to sit upright. But before I’d made it fully vertical, I was flopped sideways again. This time, he’d made a left. A hard left. The scent of burnt rubber hit the back of my throat. “What’s the hurry?”
“We’re being chased. Hold on!” This time, it felt like he’d turned a full three-sixty, heading back the way we’d come from. But, because I’d given up trying to sit upright, I couldn’t say for sure.
“Chased?” I echoed, utterly confused as I stared down at the floor.
“Yes,” he snapped. “I’ll explain as soon as we shake these guys. Dammit, they’re on me like fat kids on cake.”
“To clarify, are they chasing you or me?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Later.”
Against my better judgment, I decided to see what was going on, rather than cowering like a chicken. What I saw made my stomach drop to my toes. Then it surged up my throat. “P-police?” I stammered. “The police are chasing me?”
“You see them, do you?”
I was being chased by the police. By several cars, lights flashing, sirens squealing. Why? Certainly it couldn’t be because of those few rolling stops I’d done on the way to work this morning. “There’s got to be a mistake. Maybe we should stop and talk to them.”
“If I thought there wasn’t a mistake, I wouldn’t be doing what I am now.” Rob cut across four lanes of traffic to turn off Michigan Avenue onto a two lane road heading south.
I gave a little sigh of relief when I watched two cop cars zoom by, continuing east. They’d been following too closely to make the turn. I watched a third car take the corner just as Rob pulled a hard right onto a residential road.
“We need to find somewhere to hide for a while. I’ve got an idea, but only if we can ditch the Canton PD.” Right, left, another right, Rob was zigging and zagging through quiet subdivisions, making his way back northbound.
I held on for dear life and prayed we’d make it wherever Rob had in mind without collecting a chest full of bullets. Gradually, his speed slowed, his driving returning to a normal smooth motion rather than herky jerky. As we rolled north, sticking to rural roads, I leaned forward.
“Now that it seems we’re out of immediate danger...?”
“I got a
call from a buddy at the Plymouth PD, informing me what the evidence was that had freed Liz.”
“What’s that have to do with me?”
“Just answer one question.” He pulled the car off the road, parking in the middle of a crowded Walmart parking lot.
“Sure. Of course.”
“When did you buy the gun?”
“I don’t own a gun.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
“I’m confused. Are you saying a gun that supposedly belongs to me was--“
“Found at the crime scene,” he finished for me. “Someone had tried to file off the serial numbers, or rather, had made a show at trying to file them off. They left enough numbers to allow the gun to be traced. It’s registered to you.”
I hyperventilated. “I swear I didn’t buy a gun.”
“I believe you. And there’s more.”
“More?”
“Are you, by any chance, missing your driver’s license?”
“I don’t think so.” Of course, I had to check. Immediately. My license wasn’t in my wallet. It was gone. “It’s not here. How? When? Someone stole it. I’m being framed?”
“It looks that way.”
I threw up a little.
“When was the last time you saw it?”
“I don’t know.” After dropping my head between my knees for a few seconds to get some blood flowing to my brain, I stuttered, “W-what am I going to do?”
“We’re going to find out who the killer is.”
“But the police are looking for me. We can’t just go trotting around town, playing amateur detective. My face will be all over the six o’clock news tonight. The minute I step out in public I’ll be swarmed by cops.”
“Then we have to act quickly.” He took my hand. “There’s no time to waste. Come on.”
“Where are we headed?”
“The hair care aisle.”
“Shopping? Now? Really?”
“Don’t argue. Let’s go.”
In we went, into Wallyworld.
* * * * *
A half hour later, I walked out of the store sporting hair as black as coal and a new set of clothes. I argued that neither would disguise me, but Rob said the changes were only a start. He had something else in mind. Back in the car we went. We headed east for a little more than a half hour, stopping outside of a store called Dearborn Islamic Fashions. I got where he was going with this. I hurried inside, found the first outfit that appealed, accepted some help with the hijab and left looking like a light-skinned Islamic woman. With the help of some self tanning lotion Rob had bought at Walmart, my disguise was looking even more convincing. The only thing I couldn’t change was my eye color. This was one time, however, that I was grateful for the fact that they were a dull gray shade, rather than the brilliant clear blue I’d always dreamed of having.
“Do I get a new name to match my new look?” I joked as we zoomed toward our next destination, wherever that might be. Before Rob could answer, he was interrupted by my cell phone. I checked it. Liz.
“Where are you?” she asked, sounding exasperated. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home from work. I was going to surprise you.”
“I’m on the lam,” I explained.
“Okay....what’re you running from?”
“The police.”
“Why?”
“Well, from what I’m gathering, they’ve decided you’re not the killer, I am.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“I’m...speechless.”
“Yeah, so was I when I found out.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure yet. Somehow I need to prove my innocence. Or I’ll end up taking your old room at the Plymouth PD Inn.”
“Can I help?”
“I don’t know. Outside of grabbing Einstein so he isn’t alone all night.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
I looked at Rob. “Liz wants to help. What should I tell her to do?”
Rob shrugged. “At this point, nothing. But tell her we’ll call her as soon as I have a plan.”
“You have no plan?” I asked, disappointed. It seemed, since the moment he’d thrown me in his car, that he’d had everything all planned out. “You have no plan?” I repeated, my panic rising.
“No. But your disguise should buy us some time.”
“Sure, but how much time?”
“We need to ditch this car. It sticks out too much.”
“Where?”
“I have a friend I can trust. I can store it in his garage for a few days and borrow his. He collects them.” Still keeping to mostly smaller, less traveled roads, he drove west, back toward home, back toward the police who wanted to put me in their jail. “The trick may be getting there. We’re going to be driving within a half mile of your place. I’m guessing the whole area will be crawling with police.”
“Maybe we should come up with Plan B.”
“There is no other plan. We’re just going to have to be cautious.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. By the way, I’m sure by now the police know who is driving your car...”
“It’s okay.”
“Will you lose clients if this gets out?”
“If I do, I do. I wasn’t going to just stand by and watch you get arrested for a crime you didn’t commit.”
That was the kindest, most generous thing he’d ever said to me. It brought tears to my eyes. And once those tears started flowing, they didn’t stop for a while. I couldn’t hold them back. I sniffled and sobbed. My face was a wet mess. My life was a hot mess. And all I could think at this moment was, thank God I’m not alone.
Rob made a phone call when we were maybe ten miles away from my house. Naturally, I listened to his end of the conversation. There was no need to fill me in when he hung up. He just returned his phone to his pocket and warned me, “I’m going to do my damned best to get in and out of here as quickly as I can. But if we’re spotted, it could get ugly fast. Make sure that seatbelt is tight.
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I pulled it so tight I could barely breathe. Then I closed my eyes and said a prayer.
Seven
So far it seemed my prayers had been heard. I’d seen no police cars. Not one.
“Almost there,” Rob murmured, his eyes darting this way and that as we rolled past brick and vinyl sided colonial houses in my neighborhood. “This has almost been too easy.”
“I’ve been praying.”
“Keep it up. It seems Someone upstairs is looking out for us.”
“Will do.” I said another prayer, and added a promise to live the celibate life of a nun if we made it through this without being caught. Or killed.
We turned at a stop sign, heading west.
I saw the black car with the big white letters parked at the end of the street after Rob did. He said, “Oh fucking hell.” I thought it.
He turned into a driveway.
“What are we doing?” I whispered.
“Trying to avoid driving past him. Or catching his attention.”
The police car inched out of its spot, turning toward us.
“Fuck,” Rob snapped. “Get out.”
I got out. So did Rob. I looked at him over the roof of the car.
“Walk toward the house,” he said.
“Okay.” I walked up the driveway, toward the house. Behind me, I could hear the hum of the police car’s motor. It was slowing down. I made myself act nonchalant, fighting the temptation to look at him.
Rob fell into step beside me. He caught my hand in his, wove his fingers between mine. “He’s checking the plate. We don’t have much time. On the count of three, we’re going to run that way, into the backyard. One. Two.”
“Hey! You!”
Rob ran, dragging me along. I tripped, fighting to get my feet under myself. We dashed into the back
yard, which--thank God--was not fenced in, took a sharp right and raced through the long stretch of landscaped lawns running behind the houses.
My heart thudded.
My lungs burned.
My legs ached.
Still I kept running.
Even when I heard the policeman’s footfalls coming closer. Even when I was so winded I felt like I was going to throw up.
“This way!” Rob jerked me hard, pulling me between two houses. We zigged and zagged around houses and parked cars. In the distance I heard sirens. They were coming for me. I knew it.
Terror and desperation drove me on. Faster I ran, despite the pain. Harder I pushed. I followed Rob’s lead through a neighborhood I had known for years. My gaze jumped from one potential hiding place to another.
“Hide?” I said between gasps.
“No way. They’ll trap us. Come on. He’s not following. Waiting for backup.”
We ran several more blocks, cut through a wooded park and walked, not ran, down a main road.
“Take off the hijab,” he whispered, pulling me behind a CVS Pharmacy.
Off it went. I wadded it up, stuffed it under my shirt, and started waddling like I was pregnant. I caught a few passersby giving me a strange look, but it seemed to work. As we walked, several police cars roared by, lights flashing, sirens squealing.
But I didn’t start breathing easier until we were safely hidden inside Rob’s friend’s garage.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded then puked in a garbage can. Then I cried.
He held me while I fell apart for a while. His hand gently rubbed my back. Eventually, as my sobs eased up, he asked, “Better now?”
“Better.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “I’m going to get our car and get us as far away from here as I can.”
I nodded.
He disappeared into the house, leaving me in a hot garage that stank like gasoline and throw up. Outside, I heard a kid riding by on one of those plastic bikes. The wheel went thunk, thunk, thunk down the sidewalk. How I longed to be out there with that kid, roaming free, carefree, without a worry.
Pretty Little Killer Page 4