by Kari Fisher
The day feels as though it crawls by slowly. Renae is one of the last employees to leave the building and it’s much colder than it was this morning. Suddenly the sweater she wore isn’t enough, and she desperately hopes she doesn’t miss her bus, though she is already running late. The next one doesn’t come by for another forty-five minutes. She jogs to the bus stop and there isn’t any sign of the bus. It has already passed, or it’s behind schedule. She can see her breath and the cold is nipping at her toes.
A car slowly pulls up beside her and comes to a stop. It’s dark and Renae slowly backs away, but the car rolls down its window and reveals Scott in the driver’s seat. “Would you like a ride?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I think so. Maybe. Where are you going?” Renae manages, surprised at his offer.
“I don’t have anywhere to get to right now, so hop in. I’ll take you wherever you need to go. This weather is absolutely ridiculous and you’re going to get sick, which means I’ll catch it because we work in the same office.” Scott chuckles.
Renae obliges and climbs into the passenger seat of his black Jeep Wrangler. The radio is on a rock station but it’s barely audible.
“Where are you headed?” Scott asks.
“Home.”
“Okay, and where might home be?” He laughs.
“Oh, uh…sorry. Wellington Road South. The big apartment complex by the lake.”
“Oh, nice. That’s a beautiful building.”
“Oh, have you been in there?” Renae asks.
“No, but I’ve seen it from the outside. It must have a beautiful view of the water.”
“It does. I write by the window.”
“You write?” Scott asks.
“Yes, in my spare time. It’s nothing special. I mean, it’s definitely not professional quality work. It’s just for fun. I like writing.”
“I’d love to read some of your work sometime.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve never let anyone read anything I’ve written. I’m usually too embarrassed. A lot of it is very personal,” Renae explains.
“I’m certain I can change your mind.”
Renae is certain he can change her mind too. Perhaps after a glass of wine, or passionate sex. A lot of things can change Renae’s mind.
Scott reaches down and turns up the volume on the radio just a bit. Trying to act cool, Renae sits in silence and softly bobs her head along with the music.
“Right?” Scott asks.
“What?”
“Which side of the building—right or left?”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, right. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t realize we’re already here. Thanks for the ride; I really appreciate it. Taking the bus in this weather would have been pretty miserable. So, thank you,” Renae says, speaking slowly. She looks at Scott’s profile in the glow of the street lights, when he turns and his eyes meet hers. “Um, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yep, I’ll be there. Bright and early as usual. Okay, maybe not all that bright.” Scott grins.
“What’s with the suitcase?” Renae asks, as she reaches back for her purse.
“I packed in case we were sent away to that conference this week. I’m a procrastinator, normally, so when I have the motivation to not be lazy, I usually try to take advantage.”
“Oh.” Renae smiles. “Have a good night, Scott!”
“You too.”
***
Scott
She pushes the door closed and walks toward her building. Through the heavy glass door, Scott can see down the hallway of the first floor. He watches as Renae turns and heads up the flight of stairs. This leaves him curiously wondering what floor she actually lives on, since she doesn’t live on the first.
He stares at the empty hallway for another minute and then puts his vehicle back in drive. He pushes the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel, allowing him to dial a phone number hands free.
“Say the name or number you wish to call.”
“Cora James.”
“Calling Cora James.”
Ringing. More ringing. Part of him is almost surprised when the call goes to voicemail, although that makes sense—how would she be able to reach her phone when her hands are tied behind her back?
“You’ve reached Cor! Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can!”
“Hey, Cora. It’s Scott. I just finished up work and I’d like to get together. I haven’t seen you in a couple days. Are you free? I’m going to swing by, in case your ringer is off or something. See you soon.” Scott speaks slowly, enunciating his words. “End call.”
He parks in front of the older, two-story building that Cora James calls home. No one answers when he knocks at the door, so he knocks again. Still nothing.
“Cora?” he calls out. “Sweetheart, are you home?”
He listens by an open window in the living room and hears nothing. He wonders how long the window has been open and if there’s a puddle of water on the hardwood floor inside from the torrential downpour the city had been having for the last few days.
“Cor, answer the door,” Scott shouts. Nothing. Defeated and concerned, he returns to his Jeep and flips open his phone. He and Cora have only been dating for a short period of time, so he doesn’t know how to reach any of her local relatives. Instead, he dials 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“My girlfriend is missing,” Scott explains; his voice shaking. “Her name is Cora James. Her address is 3101 Victor Street.”
“Sir, how long has she been missing?”
“A few days. I haven’t heard from her in a few days. It’s not like her. I came by tonight to see if maybe she’s just avoiding me. Maybe I upset her. I keep knocking and there’s no answer, but there are lights on.”
“Do you have reason to believe there is foul play involved?”
“I don’t know. I looked in through the window and it looks like the door to the basement has been pried open, which is weird. It wasn’t like that before. She’s always kept it locked because there’s a safe down there with her grandmother’s jewelry. Maybe she’s been robbed.” Scott sounds more and more upset.
“Sir, I am sending an officer over to check it out. He’ll be there in a couple minutes. Please wait for him outside.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He hangs up the phone and holds it in the palm of his sweaty hand. He walks back to the front door and knocks once again. “Cora? Are you home? Did I upset you? Did I say something? Do something? Are you in love with someone else, Cora? Just answer me.”
His cell phone vibrates and he jumps. He opens his hand and sees that he has a text message.
Renae: Thanks again for the ride. See u tomorrow.
His phone is getting wet in his hand but he continues to stare at it. He stands, waiting, for what feels like forever. “Cora!”
***
“When is the last time you saw Cora James?” a short, chunky man in a police uniform asks. He holds a clipboard and jots down notes as he bombards Scott with questions he doesn’t know the answers to. “You said she was your girlfriend? Could she have been seeing anyone else? Did she have any enemies?”
“Not was my girlfriend. She is my girlfriend. No, she isn’t seeing anyone else. We’ve been together for a couple months, and we are definitely exclusive,” Scott replies calmly. He is sitting on the curb beside a police cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back. Several other police vehicles have shown up to the house in the last few minutes. The lights are almost blinding and the whole yard is being taped off with yellow caution tape. A forensic unit arrives and two men in suits get out. They speak with one of the uniformed cops and then make their way under the yellow tape and into the house.
“Sir, Miss James is dead,” the burly officer explains. His expression is serious and his eyes are cold. It seems he’s been doing this for a really long time.
“What?”
“We found her in her basement. She’s been murdered.”
; “No. I was just over here the other night.”
“Sir, she’s dead.”
“This can’t be happening. Who would do that?” Scott shouts. He stands suddenly and takes two steps toward the house that is swarming with police.
“Mr. Reed, you cannot go in there. We need you to come to the station.”
“I need to get home.”
“Mr. Reed, your girlfriend has been murdered. You need to come in and answer some questions,” the officer insists.
“Fine.” Scott is led into the back of the car.
The ride to the station is long. This is the first time Scott has ever been in a police vehicle and it’s far more uncomfortable than he thought it would be. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like this when Cora’s real killer is out there somewhere.
“Are we there yet?” Scott asks impatiently. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Almost,” the driver replies. He isn’t the same officer as the one who asked Scott the questions earlier.
“Why are you bringing me there?”
“It’s procedure, since you were the one who made the call.”
“I guess that makes sense.” The car is warm and Scott is sweating. He’s sure his light blue shirt is dark with sweat marks by now. He wishes he could just open the window and get some air but the officer doesn’t seem friendly enough to ask.
“Okay. We’re here. I’m going to walk you in to the front desk and another officer is going to be asking you some questions, Mr. Reed.”
“Okay. When can I go home?”
“I have no idea. That’s not up to me,” the officer replies. He exits the car and opens the back door to release Scott, who is still wearing handcuffs. His grasp on Scott’s arm is tight as he leads him into the busy building. Though it’s late, there are several people behind the desk who seem busy doing paperwork. One woman stands.
“Officer, bring Mr. Reed to Room C, please,” she instructs.
The officer walks Scott down a short hallway and unlocks a door. The room is almost empty, other than a table and two chairs. It’s like something you’d see in a movie—a good old interrogation room.
“Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Reed.”
Before Scott can reply, the officer is gone and the door is locked. Scott is alone in the room. The walls are plain white. The furniture is black. Comfortable? How exactly could one make themselves comfortable in a place like this? Scott takes a seat, but within seconds, he’s back up and pacing the room. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into almost an hour.
The door opens. An older man, with years marked across his face, walks in.
“When did you last speak with Cora James?”
“Aren’t you supposed to introduce yourself?” Scott asks.
“I’m Detective Hughes. When did you last speak with Cora James?” he repeats, visibly annoyed.
“A few days ago. We went out to a restaurant, we had a few drinks, and we went back to her place. She invited me in. We had sex. What do you want? Do you want the details? Why are you asking me this?”
“And that was the last time? You’ve had no contact since then?”
“No. She was busy. I texted her a couple times but she didn’t get a chance to reply,” Scott explains.
“We checked her phone records, Mr. Reed. You texted her two hundred and eight times in the last four days, and she didn’t reply to any of them. Doesn’t that seem a bit excessive? You said a couple times. I’d say that’s far more than a couple. I’d say that’s a problem,” the detective says sternly. He studies Scott’s reactions closely without taking his eyes off of him.
“You don’t know anything about our relationship,” Scott says defensively. He begins to squirm and sweats even more profusely than before. Beads are dripping down his forehead and landing on the front of his shirt. He looks as though he feels ill.
“No, I don’t know anything about your relationship, so please—enlighten me. You told an officer that you had been dating for a couple months but according to her phone records, you had never sent her a text message prior to last week. Can you tell me why this is? Why you were dating someone for a couple months, but only started sending her text messages recently?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Procedure.”
“I’m not into texting. I’d rather talk face to face, you know? So things don’t get misinterpreted,” Scott insists.
“Where did you first meet her?”
“The café across from the accounting firm where I work.”
“What café?” the officer asks, still staring—still grilling Scott for answers.
“I can’t remember what it’s called,” Scott confesses. “Am I under arrest?”
“No,” Detective Hughes responds. The brightly lit room makes his wrinkles quite noticeable.
“I have to get home. I work early in the morning and I need to get to sleep. I might have to go to a conference and I’m really not prepared. I have a lot to do.”
“Please don’t leave the country, Mr. Reed. In fact, let us know if you’re going anywhere at all,” he orders, flipping his folder closed and getting up from his seat. “Just a precaution, in case we need to ask you anymore questions.”
“Oh, uh, okay. I’ll let you know.” Scott nods.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Three
Renae
Scott walks into the office building, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other. The lights hurt his eyes and aren’t helping his hangover. The bourbon he indulged in last night was perhaps not the best idea in the world, but he felt he needed it to relax and actually get a decent night’s sleep. His clothes reek. His breath still smells of the hard liquor. His brown eyes are glazed over and expressionless. He hasn’t felt like this since his first year of college, after a hard night of drinking in the bleachers at the football game.
“Whoa, you look like crap.” Renae giggles. “What happened to you after you dropped me off?”
“I had a drink.”
“Just one?”
“Just one.”
Renae takes the hint and backs off. It’s clear that Scott really doesn’t want to participate in any form of social interaction right now, so she leaves him alone and heads back to her desk with her dark roast coffee in hand. She has a considerable amount of paperwork to complete before lunch time, anyway. The boss decided it would be fine to just dump it on her, instead of distributing the workload fairly between everyone, and Renae was definitely not going to speak up—she’s new. The last one in. The lowest on the food chain. And so she’s about to complete enough work for three whole days in less than four hours. Other than Scott, she doesn’t really know anyone at the office that she’d feel comfortable asking for assistance, and Scott definitely doesn’t seem to be in any condition to actually get any work done.
I wish he had invited me for drinks. Her plans with Sophie had fallen through when Sophie ended up having to stay late at her work. Without anything exciting to do, Renae had gone home alone to her huge apartment and eaten ice cream by herself straight out of the carton over the kitchen sink.
Her stack of paperwork sits tall in front of her. Procrastinating as usual, she swipes through local news articles on her phone.
Local Woman Found Tortured And Murdered In Her Basement On Victor Street.
Renae is disturbed by this. It’s only a few blocks from where she lives and she doesn’t have an alarm system. She’s been considering having one installed but keeps putting it off. Getting written permission from her landlord that she never sees seems like too much of a hassle right now. With this news, she’s going to give it a bit more thought.
Also, some corporate dude was caught embezzling funds, and the construction at the Notre Dame and Lasalle intersection should be cleared up soon, which is nice because it’s really affecting traffic. Renae is getting annoyed with having to leave an extra fifteen minutes early for work every morning.
Watching the hands on t
he clock move painfully slow, Renae sighs. She unlocks the screen to her phone and dials Sophie’s number.
“I’m so over this place. Want to grab something to eat?” Renae asks.
“Already? It’s not even lunch time. And you just started working there. How are you over it already?”
“I need to get out of my office. It’s like prison. I just stare at these walls. There’s nothing to look at. It’d be better if I actually had an office with a window, or at least one across from Scott’s office. An office with a view, y’know?” She giggles.
“Who is Scott?”
“One of the senior account managers.”
“Sounds important. Does he have a window in his office?” Sophie asks, almost sarcastically.
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you at that little place across from where you work,” Sophie suggests.
Renae sits up from her seat and peers out of her office to see if anyone is around. She grabs her black and white striped dress jacket and throws it over her shirt. It’s a light jacket and won’t protect her from the harsh winds but thankfully she doesn’t have far to go. She briefly wishes she had worn a slightly longer jacket that would provide warmth to her bare legs and she sighs, wondering why she decided to wear a pencil skirt and knee high leather boots to work on such a cold day. She feels as though she may be overdressed for the office, but she’d rather make a good impression than have anyone think she’s too lazy to put on foundation and mascara in the morning. She did, however, skip out on the black eyeliner and dark purple shadow she normally wears—she’d like to still remain approachable without looking like she’s trying too hard.
The thirty second walk across the street feels much longer, with the cold air nipping at her ears. This reminds her Christmas is coming—that dreadful holiday where she’ll have to take several days off in order to drive home, hopefully not in a blizzard, to visit with her parents and her great aunt. Her aunt won’t even know that she’s visiting—she has dementia and was placed in a seniors home several years ago. If Renae doesn’t visit, the alternative might be even worse: she’d have to spend Christmas by herself. She’s only spent one Christmas alone in her life, and that was when the weather was so terrible, and visibility so poor, that the highways were closed. She stayed home, wore brand new pajamas decorated with penguins wearing Santa hats, sipped hot cocoa, and ate popcorn while watching Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer on television. While it was relaxing, it was also utterly depressing.