Truth and Consequences

by V. J. Chambers

  She bit down on her bottom lip. “I really thought that if you were my boyfriend, everything would be different. But it’s not. It’s all the same.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that.

  She looked at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Is it different for you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I feel like, now that we’re doing this relationship thing, you’re angry with me a lot more than you used to be.”

  “Oh,” she said sarcastically. “Well, great.” Her lower lip started to tremble again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You’re not happy with me?”

  He sighed. “You were just saying you weren’t happy.”

  “But I wanted you to reassure me that we were okay.”

  “How am I supposed to know that?”

  “Are we okay?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  And then she did start crying.

  “Damn it, Harley, don’t cry.” He wrapped his arms around her.

  She clung to him, and she sobbed.

  * * *

  “So,” said Frankie as she plopped down on the couch next to Rufus, “I’m now interviewing everyone.”

  “Everyone?” Rufus lifted the remote and paused what he was watching. “You can’t be interviewing everyone.”

  “You don’t have to pause it,” said Frankie. “I was just telling you that. I have to go over all the files again so that I’m prepared.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Rufus smiled at her. “You know how much I love hearing you bitch about your job.”

  She elbowed him. “I do not always bitch about it.”

  He considered. “Actually, yes. You do.”

  She grabbed the remote from him. “Just watch your show, and—”

  “Frankie.” He took the remote back. “I’m teasing you a little, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear.”

  “You don’t, though,” she said. “And that’s fine. I would be bored by me if I were you.”

  He chuckled. “Babe, I love you. And if you’ve got something to get off your chest, then I want to be there for you. It’s my job as your husband. So, come on, out with it.” He made a come here gesture with one hand.

  “Well, she had me digging up things on Noel Hughes,” she said. “So, now that I know about her creepy cheerleading coach fiance, I’ve got to interview her again. And then she put me on the Sanders thing, too, because she said that I was warm and easy to talk to.”

  “Which you are.”

  “And now, she said that I should go and talk to Tony Watson, who’s the guy who said Curtis called him and asked for a shovel.”

  “Yeah, I remember you telling me about that.”

  “So, basically, that’s everyone.”

  “Except the serial killer.”

  “Right,” said Frankie. “But they eliminated him today. So, no one’s interviewing him. Instead, I’m doing everything and they’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

  “You’re pretty bitter about this.”

  “My plate is incredibly full.”

  Rufus put his hands on Frankie’s shoulders and began to massage. “Well, you know what I think?”

  “Mmm, that’s nice. What do you think?”

  “I think that Lawrence obviously knows how much you’re worth. You’re definitely not getting fired.”

  Frankie turned to glare at him. “Oh, thanks, Rufus,” she said sarcastically.

  He grinned at her, continuing to massage her. “No, seriously, babe. This is good news. You are an integral part of the team. You thought she didn’t like you, but now she’s trusting you with everything. You’ve got a long, long future there. See the bright side.”

  She sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right. I’m always right. I thought we’d established that.”

  She leaned back against his chest.

  “This makes it hard to massage your neck.”

  “Put your damned show back on,” she said.

  He kissed the top of her head.

  * * *

  “I thought we were done,” said Noel, in the booth at the restaurant where she worked. “My manager isn’t cool with me taking all these breaks to talk. And where’s that other woman?”

  “She sent me instead. I’ll try to make it quick.”

  “Still,” said Noel, “I don’t see why you guys are back.”

  “Well,” said Frankie, “we did some looking, and there was no cheerleading practice the afternoon Allison died. She was a cheerleader too, and if she’d had practice that afternoon, she likely wouldn’t have been killed. So, you told us that’s where you were, but that’s not accurate.”

  “Oh, geez.” Noel folded her arms over her chest. “Well, I don’t know where I was. It was a long time ago.”

  “Sure, it was a long time ago, but it was a pretty significant day for you, wasn’t it? It was the day your best friend was killed. So, you probably remember it pretty well.”

  Noel shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  Frankie scrutinized the girl, wishing she could tell if she was lying or not just by looking at her, but she didn’t know Noel well enough to have any inkling. “All right, so that means you have no alibi for the murder.”

  “I knew you people thought I did it.” Noel was reproachful.

  “Did you?”

  “No.” Noel sighed heavily. “Am I going to have to get a lawyer or something?”

  “I want to ask you about something else. Vincent Richardson.”

  Noel sat up straight, dropping her arms to her side. “What about Vinnie?” Her voice was guarded now.

  “He was your high school cheerleading coach?”

  “Yeah,” said Noel.

  “And then you were engaged to him?”

  “How do you know that? We didn’t tell people about that.”

  “You posted it on Facebook.”

  “On my private Facebook. Only my friends could see that. Anyway, what does it matter? It’s not like we did anything wrong.”

  “When did your relationship with Mr. Richardson begin?”

  “Is that important?” Now, her voice was shrill.

  “Well, if you and he were having inappropriate relations at the time, it’s possible he was also involved with other girls your age, girls like Allison, and maybe—”

  “No.” Noel was vehement.

  Frankie just waited.

  “Look, Vinnie was only five years older than me,” said Noel. “We were both young, and we fell in love. And we tried, we really tried, not to let anything happen until after I graduated, but it was hard. So, okay, maybe we were… whatever you said. Inappropriate. But it didn’t feel inappropriate. It felt right and true and natural for us. But we always knew it was dangerous for him. Like if anyone found out, he could lose his job, so I kept it to myself. And, okay, the night when Allison was supposedly telling me she was afraid of Curtis, I was with Vinnie.”

  “Hold on a second. Are you saying that Allison didn’t tell you that she was afraid of Curtis, or that did she did it on another night?”

  Noel sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe she said it at some point. I don’t really remember, though.”

  “You testified she was in fear for her life from her boyfriend. Now, you don’t know if she ever said that?”

  Noel shrugged.

  “Have you considered the possibility that Curtis isn’t guilty?”

  “He is,” said Noel. “He was a big jerk to her. Even if she wasn’t afraid of him, she was always complaining about him, because he took her for granted. So, I never had any doubts about him. But I knew that I couldn’t let it come out what was happening between me and Vinnie. I had to keep that secret.”

  Frankie shook her head, her mind reeling. “But if Vinnie—if Mr. Richardson would have one illicit affair with a teenage
girl, then maybe—”

  “No.” Her voice was a screech. “He loved me. He adored me. He risked his entire career for me. He never cheated on me.”

  Frankie was quiet.

  “Oh, I get it,” said Noel. “You’re trying to pin this on Vinnie. Poor, dead Vinnie. You think he killed Allison? You are out of your mind.”

  “Why hide your relationship with him now? He’s gone, and you were engaged to him. It doesn’t matter now, unless you’re hiding something else.”

  “It’s his memory,” said Noel. “I don’t want people thinking the things about him that you think. He was a good man. He was not a pervert or anything else. I don’t want people thinking that about the man I loved.”

  “But there has to be something else—”

  “Vinnie did not kill Allison that afternoon. I know, because he and I were together. Okay? That’s my alibi. I never wanted anyone to know, but now you do.” She shook her head. “But so help me, if you drag Vinnie’s name through the mud, I will never forgive you. And I will find a way to make sure that you pay for that.”

  Frankie gave her a bland look. “I’d be careful if I were you. Threatening me isn’t a good idea.”

  Noel got up from the table. “You know, I don’t think I want to talk to you again unless I have a lawyer, after all.” She flounced off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “I don’t want to talk to you people,” said Tony Watson, glaring at her from the doorway of his apartment. “I told that other lady and that person who called me on the phone, and no one listens.”

  Frankie gave him a strained smile. It wasn’t even lunch time, and she’d already had two people yell at her that they didn’t want to talk to her.

  Be warm, she told herself. You’re warm and cuddly and good at getting people to talk, so work your magic. Then she wondered if maybe she failed, if Elke would consider giving her less people to interview. Maybe she should throw this one on purpose.

  But no. That wasn’t Frankie’s style.

  “Listen, Mr. Watson—”

  “Just call me Tony,” said Tony. “Actually, don’t call me anything. Go away.”

  “Tony.” She smiled again. This time, it felt more genuine. She hoped it looked that way. “I know that this is the last thing you want to talk about. But we’re not out to get you.” Unless, maybe, Tony was so cagey because he was hiding the fact he was Allison Ross’s murderer. But if that was the case, Frankie needed to be even more careful with him.

  “Look, I did what you people wanted. I told the jury what you wanted them to hear, and now I want to be left alone. And I don’t want anyone to be bringing up stuff about selling drugs. That was the deal. I help you out, you leave me alone.”

  Frankie shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Who are ‘you people’?”

  “The police,” he said. “You’re the police, right?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” said Frankie.

  Tony furrowed his brow. “You’re not the police?”

  “No,” said Frankie. “We’re trying to determine if Curtis is actually guilty or not. Your testimony was pretty key in putting him away. We just want to talk to you about that. Especially about that phone call you got from Curtis.”

  “Wait,” said Tony, the furrows on his brow growing even deeper. “Curtis is guilty. I mean, he has to be, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Frankie. “Maybe, if I could come in—”

  “No.” But Tony came out of his apartment and shut the door. It was cold out here and he wasn’t wearing a coat. He hunched in his sweatshirt. “When the police came to me before, they said they knew he did it. They said they just needed to find proof and that I could help them with that. They knew all about how I was selling a little weed at the school, and they told me if I helped them out, they’d make sure I never got in trouble for that. But now, you’re saying he didn’t do it?”

  “I’m saying that we’re investigating to see if he did or not.”

  “But the police knew.”

  “Well, I’m sure they thought that he was guilty, or they never would have arrested him.”

  “If they hadn’t known for sure, I never would have said that stuff.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned back against the door to his place. “So, every time the cops would show up, we’d have to go to the station for two, maybe three hours and they’d just talk me in circles, you know? On and on, going over the same stuff. It was horrible. I’d get all…” He gestured, fingers in front of his eyes. “Turned around and confused.”

  “Really? How did they confuse you?”

  “Well, so, first time we talk, they’re like, ‘We know Curtis called you that afternoon, and we know he told you something about Allison. What’d he tell you?’ I said, ‘No, he didn’t,’ because all he wanted to know was if I had some weed, and I actually didn’t at the time, so I told him he’d have to wait until the next week.”

  “Wait, are you saying that Curtis didn’t ask you about a shovel?” Frankie was thrown. It was a morning of revelations, apparently.

  Tony hesitated. “I don’t think so. I mean, we went over it so much that I started to get really confused about it.”

  Frankie knew a bit about police interrogations. She’d defended people who’d felt barraged by the length and intensity of them. Police were allowed to hold a person for seventy-two hours without charging them with a crime, and often they would use that time to do their best to illicit a confession. They’d play mind games with the suspect, pretending to be on their side, saying things like even if they had committed a crime, it was justified, or that they understood why they’d done what they did.

  Now, Tony hadn’t been charged with anything, as far as she understood, but it did sound as if he was worried about being charged with a crime, the drug selling. She didn’t think the police had wanted Tony to lie in exchange for their not charging him with drugs. In fact, she figured that the cops who’d questioned him couldn’t have cared less about his tiny little weed business. They were homicide cops, after all, and they didn’t care about drug charges. They’d probably used his fear to try to get him to be cooperative.

  Frankie was sure that they’d thought he was withholding information that could hurt a friend and that they were getting him to tell the truth.

  But she could understand how that hadn’t been quite communicated to Tony.

  It was all in the fact that the interrogators assumed certain things. They assumed that Curtis was guilty and that Tony was helping to cover up his guilt. They framed their questions with those assumptions in mind, and they crafted their interrogation to get the result they assumed they’d get.

  Frankie thought she could fill in the gaps in Tony’s story, but she didn’t want to do that for him. There had been far too much assuming done with the guy. So, she took a step back and tried to ask questions that only got to the truth.

  “How did going over and over the story make you confused?”

  “I don’t know, it just did.”

  She bit her lip. She didn’t want to lead him too much. “Weren’t you telling the same story each time?”

  “I was trying,” said Tony, “but they didn’t believe me.”

  Frankie nodded. “Okay. So, they wanted you to give them a different story. They thought a different story would be the true one, but what you were telling them was true.”

  “Yeah,” said Tony, nodding furiously. “One of the guys, he said, ‘Let’s just imagine that Curtis really did kill his girlfriend and he called you for help. What’s a thing he might have needed?’”

  “They asked you a hypothetical question.”

  “Uh huh.” Tony nodded. “At first, I was like, ‘No, that’s not what happened.’ But they kept pushing. ‘If it did happen that way, what might he have asked for?’ They wouldn’t shut up with that, just kept saying, you know, that it was just if Curtis had done it. Anyway, finally, I was like, ‘I don’t know. A shovel.’ And they jumped on that.�
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  “So, somehow from that it became real, not hypothetical.”

  “Yeah, they made it out like I was hiding this conversation, and they told me it was safe to admit that Curtis really had called and asked for a shovel. And they were like, ‘Come on, you want to help us out, right? You want to be a friend to the department, don’t you?’”

  “And a friend to the department wouldn’t be arrested for selling weed.”

  “Yeah, but only if I stayed clean and stopped right away. Which I did. And I haven’t touched it since.” He shook his head.

  Frankie sighed. “I’m really sorry that you had to go through that, Tony. That must have been tough for you, being confused over what really happened.”

  “Well, I knew I wasn’t telling the truth when I testified,” said Tony, “but the cops had told me that they knew that Curtis was guilty, so I figured he was going away anyhow. And besides, sometimes I’d wonder if maybe he had asked me for that shovel.”

  “But the body wasn’t buried,” said Frankie.

  Tony furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I didn’t think of that.” He stroked his chin. “Look, you aren’t telling me that Curtis is innocent, are you? Because if he is, then I helped send him to jail, and I don’t know if—”

  “You were young,” said Frankie. “And you were confused, like you said. Don’t blame yourself. As for whether Curtis is innocent or not, we can’t be sure at this point. But we’re looking into it. If he is innocent, we’ll get him out of jail. And you will have helped with that.”

  * * *

  “Fisher’s innocent,” Frankie said from the front of the conference room.

  Elke was eating a donut, and she was surprised to hear such a definitive statement coming from Frankie. She knew that the other lawyer had been coming around to that point of view, but she hadn’t thought she was so sure of it. Heck, Elke herself wasn’t that sure.

  “How do you know?” said Iain, who had just come into the conference room. He headed over to the donuts.

  “That stuff with the shovel?” said Frankie. “Total invention by the police.”

  Elke did a double take. “The police invented it?”