The Death of Alan Chandler (The Red Lake Series Book 1)

by Rich Foster

  Tanya Talbot, from channel 13 was ecstatic. It was a beautiful piece. Lilly was photogenic and her straight posture lent her a grace prisoners seldom bore.

  “Tell me you caught that,” she said to her cameraman.

  “Full color and up close. I zoomed in just as she turned around, you could count her eyelashes!”

  “Run it back.”

  The cameraman rewound and played the footage for her.

  “Absolutely fantastic! This will be tonight’s lead story. Okay, let’s tape the wrap up. We need to get into town. The D.A. has a press conference at the courthouse in an hour.”

  The print reporters had left. Tanya brushed her hair, pursed her lips and then tried to seduce the television audience with her words and smile. She really didn’t know anything about Lilly Chandler or the evidence against her but she winged it nicely. Tanya reported Lilly’s graceful movement, described her dress, and Lilly’s striking features. She might have been describing a model on a catwalk until she wrapped up with the accused murderer’s brave cry of innocence.

  “Did she or didn’t she kill her husband? Stay with Channel 13 news. This is Tanya Talbot reporting from County Jail” Tanya would gather more information in town. If there were glaring errors she could re-tape back at the studio. But the chain link and concertina wire made for a good backdrop. Plus, Tanya knew she filmed well in the natural light.

  They loaded up in the van and sped away. On the way to town Tanya considered the story and how to find a hook for it. She needed some human tragedy to make the story have legs. She had to background check the woman and her dead husband. If she played it carefully the public could be kept divided on the story. Nothing killed a story faster than the public’s certainty that an alleged murderer indeed was one.

  *

  Inside the jail, Lilly was escorted to the booking desk. She was fingerprinted for the second time in a week. When she was placed in front of the camera and told to put her toes on the line, she made an effort to smile. If her booking picture was used in the paper she did not want to look like a murderer. She tossed her hair slightly to smooth it out.

  “What a vain bitch!” one matron muttered to another under her breath. “She’ll be candy in there.”

  The one who spoke was extremely plain, tending to homely. Bitterness made her despise attractive people. Her uniform made her look like a dyke, but her instincts were more those of a sadist. She had the pallor and hardness of having spent too many years inside of the county jail, but unlike the prisoners, she carried the keys and the spite of someone with too much power.

  “Save the editorializing, Juanita!” chided the booking officer.

  Juanita closed her mouth but continued to stare at Lilly. Lilly returned her gaze with a deadpan stare, determinedly holding down the fear she felt. The matron let a smile sprawl across her face. It wasn’t friendly. Lilly had seen that same cruel smile on every bully she had ever known.

  “Let’s go sweetie.” The matron named Juanita gave her a light push toward the bars, which covered the doorway to a hall. They walked along a corridor, as Juanita slapped a rubber truncheon against the palm of her hand. They’re only trying to intimidate me, Lilly repeated over and over to herself.

  The floor was polished concrete, the walls painted cinder block. Overhead fluorescent lights had wire cages locked in place. It was purely functional and institutional. They turned right where an arrow and sign said, “WOMEN’S DETENTION.” They came to another locked door. A female guard looked out the small glass set in the steel door. Then it opened.

  The guard said, ‘they’re all in the yard for another twenty minutes.”

  “Doesn’t matter, I’m taking Cinderella to the showers. We’ll see if the little princess can scrub up to be a scullery maid.” Juanita laughed at her own joke. The other matron did not say a word. They entered a door on the left and Lilly found herself in a shower room. On one wall was a wire-caged counter behind which a clerk sat. On the other side was an open archway that let onto a tiled shower room.

  “On the line!” The matron had a voice like a drill sergeant. A hand pushed her forward. Lilly stumbled and then stood erect; her toes on the yellow line three feet in front of the cage. Inside the cage the female clerk stared at her vacantly and blew smoke rings with her cigarette.

  “Strip, bitch! Put it all on the counter!”

  The two matrons and clerk watched her undress. She felt like a hanging cut of beef. She placed her jewelry on the counter. Then she unzipped her dress and let it drop to the floor. She stepped back to pick it up. There was a loud smack as Juanita’s truncheon fell against Lilly’s panties. She sucked in a hard gasp.

  “I didn’t say you could move Princess. Now did I?”

  Lilly knew what she could expect so she snapped out a quick, “No, ma’am.”

  She took off her bra, put it on the counter and then let her panties slide to the floor. She felt another lighter slap of the truncheon on her bottom.

  “Pick 'em up girlie, I ain’t your maid.”

  This made the other two women snicker.

  Lilly stood naked on the line while they catalog her possessions. It seemed impossible that anyone could move so slowly. They were having their fun with her. It was payback for every girl who got a date they didn’t. Punishment for every party they missed. Pushback tenfold for every person they thought had gotten a better deal in life. Goosebumps crawled across her skin but Lilly maintained her composure.

  “One ring, gold with diamond. One pair small diamond earrings. One dress. One medium panty. One Bra 34C. Two brown leather shoes. Sign here.” The clerk had listed each item and quantity.

  Lilly leaned forward the three feet to the counter. It was an intentionally awkward position but she managed to sign the form shoved at her.

  The matron who had not yet spoken nodded toward the showers and pointed to another yellow stripe on the floor in front of the shower. Lilly turned around and stepped over to it. Two valves on the outside of the shower controlled the water. Juanita turned on only the one marked cold. They water sprayed. Lilly got another shove from behind, only this time it was rougher. She stumbled and sprawled across the shower floor. Cold water poured down across her. She got up on her knees. A bar of soap came skidding in after her.

  “Wash! We don’t allow make-up in here.” Both matrons stood in the doorway and watched her shower. They derived pleasure from seeing people squirm. Lilly began to scrub. She suddenly felt very dirty. She washed and washed but mentally she never came clean. Long after she was done washing she was kept in the shower. The cold water rained down around her, hiding the warm tears, which streamed down her face. At last the water stopped and a towel was thrown at her feet. It became half sodden on the floor. Lilly dried off and stepped out to the line.

  Rather than handing her clothing they told her to turn. They walked her naked a short ways down the hall to another office. It was an examination room. One corner had a small counter. In the middle was an exam table with stirrups. They had one more indignity for her before they were done. The silent matron pulled on latex gloves and picked up a tube of lubricating gel.

  Juanita spoke up. “Full body cavity search for drugs. Face the table, spread your legs and bend over.”

  Lilly was prodded and poked and degraded. When she finally got her orange jumpsuit and white tennis shoes she had been broken. She hung her head and stared at her feet. Her walk had become a shuffle. She said yes ma’am when spoken to faster than it would seem possible. The two matrons walked her to the door of the common area and pushed her in. As it clang closed behind her, Lilly remembered she had not been permitted her call. Desperate to get out, she dared to call after them asking when she would be allowed to make a call. But the two matrons ignored her and walked away laughing. They were finished with their sport.

  *

  At the courthouse Joyce Denison was checking her notes and her make-up for the news conference. She wanted to play this right. The press had to have enough to run
with the story but she had to keep enough back that she could feed the story in days to come. Her intention was to play up the sudden disappearance of Alan Chandler without divulging too many facts. Redheads were known for their tempers, she thought. I think that might play well. For now it was a small group of local reporters that awaited her in the lobby. By the time it went to trial she had hopes of seeing network satellite trucks parked out front.

  She made her entrance by descending the marble staircase rather than using the elevator. The reporters fell silent. Cameras snapped. Portable floodlights lit her up. She waited until she saw the red light blinking on the television camera.

  “I know it is a holiday weekend, but I want to thank all of you for coming. I am pleased to announce that today the Beaumont Police, assisted by my office have made an arrest in the disappearance and suspected murder of Alan Walker Chandler. At this time his wife, Lilleth Chandler, is in custody. Mr. Chandler disappeared two week ago today. At this time he has not been located. The night previous to his disappearance a major altercation occurred at their residence. At this time the policy have witnesses to this fight. They have also recovered incriminating evidence from the Chandler house and property. Mrs. Chandler will be arraigned Tuesday morning. Thank you.”

  Reporters began to fire questions.

  “Have the police recovered a weapon?”

  “We are not certain what the weapon was but police are looking for a missing 9mm Glock registered to Mr. Chandler.”

  “What evidence did you recover?”

  Joyce couldn’t help but notice the reporter gave her credit for the “recovered evidence.” “We have DNA evidence found at the scene.”

  “But if they both lived there, their DNA would be all over the place.” piped -up Arnie Shultz of the Courier.

  Tanya Talbot took a stab in the dark; it seemed logical that blood was the most likely source of DNA in a murder case. “We at Channel 13 have had reports that an extensive amount of blood was found at the scene.” She suddenly appeared to know more about the missing husband than the other reporters who had never heard of him until moments before. Without intending to divulge more Joyce swallowed the bait. We have picked up wide spread traces of blood using the luminal test.

  Tanya ran with the ball. “Is it true that Mrs. Chandler has refused to cooperate with the police?” She figured anyone arrested for murder would refuse to cooperate. But Joyce Denison was getting rattled. There must be a leak somewhere. How could this reported know so much already? “The Police have interviewed Mrs. Chandler. I would characterize those interviews as unsatisfactory.”

  “Did she have an accomplice?” asked Arnie.

  “We are checking out all avenues. I will give you more information when it is available.” Joyce turned and ascended to her office. Once she entered her office her calm demeanor disappeared. She turned on Abe Carter. “I want to know how that little bimbo from 13 knew so much! Get on it! If the leak came from this office, fire the little snitch.” And with that she slammed her office door.

  *

  Watching the news at six Maddox groaned as he watched Denison’s news conference. He could recognize a politician at work and the D.A.’s performance made him nervous. He didn’t know what she was up to but this case was getting a different kind of treatment. The Assistant D.A. had all but solicited him to bring in charges. He traded his beer for the phone and dialed Delaney.

  “Hey Mick, it’s Ray. Listen, tomorrow run Alan Chandler through the computers. See if he’s either mob or politically connected. Somebody, somewhere, wants to see someone put away for this.”

  “I thought you thought she was guilty!”

  “Maybe she is. But if she’s not I don’t want to be a part of the railroad.” He hung up the phone, picked up his beer and settled down to the rest of the news.

  *

  At the jail, in the common room, Lilly saw herself on television. Someone had provided the local network with rough footage of her being led to a patrol car, in front of the church. It had the grainy, jerky movement of an amateur. With video cell phones everyone was a reporter. The film changed to production quality as they cut to her walking up the sidewalk to the jail.

  “We got ourselves a celebrity”, yelled one of the prisoners. A butch cut woman, whom Lilly would not choose to know if given the choice, came over and leaned in her face.

  “So how’d you kill him, Red? Did you knife him or shoot him?”

  Lilly didn’t answer.

  The woman swung her open hand and the crack across Lilly’s cheek snapped her head back. The woman grabbed Lilly’s hair, leaned in close and hissed, “I’m talking to you bitch.”

  Lilly looked avoided looking into the woman’s eyes. Her cheek burned from the slap. With the guards she had no choice but this was different. Lilly thought of the bullies she had known. Mentally, she rehearsed what he self-defense instructor had taught her. She might take a beating, but if she was a murderer she better act like one. Lilly’s arms hung slack at the side of her chair. She made a rigid fist and brought it up in a swift, hard undercut to the woman’s belly. The woman let out a grunt and doubled over with her face down in Lilly’s lap. Lilly brought both arms up and slammed her open palms across the woman’s ears. The compression blew out both eardrums and wiped out the woman’s equilibrium. Lilly grabbed the top of the prisoner’s jumpsuit and stood up. She pistol-whipped the woman’s face with her fist. Back and forth she whipped it smashing into the cheek and feeling the jaw shatter. Copious amounts of blood flowed from the woman’s ears, mouth and nose. Lilly let her go and the dyke fell limp, smashing her face on the concrete floor. When she stirred, Lilly let a couple of punishing kicks fly into her kidneys and ribs. Lilly wiped the blood off her hands on the woman’s back. She looked around slowly at the other prisoners. She then spit on the woman. “My name is not bitch!”

  A moment later the matrons rushed into the room. But when they asked what happened, everyone was mute. Undeterred, having seen it on the monitors, the guards took Lilly and put her into solitary. But this time they left her alone. Temporarily, she was the new yard boss.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was just before the four o’clock shift change when Lilly was permitted to call her attorney. But it was Sunday. A machine answered the phone. All she could do was leave a message and hope he would pick it up later. The deputy led her back to solitary.

  The fight had drained her. Lilly’s equanimity was washing away like a sand castle before the tide. Her defenses were being overwhelmed by life. Alone in her cell she craved to be held. She longed for a voice that would assure her everything would be all right. Emotionally she was searching for the fictitious parent of film who could sooth away all terrors. Her own mother had seldom touched her. As a baby, Lilly was tactilely deprived. What other people perceived as a contented baby was in fact an un-stimulated one. Later, as a child, when monsters lurked under the bed her mother had dismissed the thought and told her to grow up. But between her tears she was unable to tell her mother that not being held was the monster!

  Lilly held herself, leaned forward and began to rock. “This can’t be happening to me! I never hurt anyone,” she softly sobbed. She cried for herself and she cried because Alan had left her in this mess.

  Unfortunately, for Lilly, the next day was Memorial Day. Travis Parks, her lawyer, had taken off for the three-day weekend with a secretary from the D.A.’s office. He had no intention of anybody disturbing his tryst so he had intentionally left his cell phone at home to avoid the slightest temptation to pick up the phone. He also told no one where he was going. Thus while Lilly spent the weekend in solitary, confined to a six by ten foot cell, furnished with a metal cot and unscreened steel toilet, her attorney was enjoying double occupancy in a suite, with a king size bed, Jacuzzi tub, and room service.

  *

  On Memorial Day morning, Charles Blaine was reading the Beaumont Star, over coffee and croissants. The morning light filtered through the sheer drapes, leaving th
e room in a soft warm glow. He skimmed the sports page and the business section. Due to the holiday the business news was light so he soon turned to the front page. The top half of the page was taken up by yet another bombing in the Mid-East. Color photos showed the mayhem, while accompanying articles quoted politicians who verbally postured and spoke of peace. They talked of negotiations toward a final settlement while chaos continued in the streets.

  The futility of the news led him to drop the paper on the table when an item on the lower right caught his eye; “Local women arrested in disappearance of husband.” Below the caption was a photo of Lilly Chandler, clearly wearing handcuffs and being escorted by police. Charles picked the paper up and incredulously read the article.

  “Authorities announced an arrest in the disappearance of a local man. Lillith Chandler was booked into the county jail on suspicion of murdering her husband, Alan Chandler. Mr. Chandler disappeared two weeks ago following a domestic dispute. Police refused to comment on the case except to say that the investigation was ongoing. When asked what evidence they had against Ms. Chandler, police spokesmen referred all questions to the District Attorney’s office. However, reporters have been confirmed that a forensic unit present was when police made a search of the Chandler residence. Neighbors reported numerous items were removed by the police. However what specifically was seized has not been released at this time.