Sidetracked-Kobo

by Brandilyn Collins

  “Did you comply with that request?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d moved him in the first place because I’d heard complaints from Sally of his behavior toward her.”

  Little by little Devlon extracted what that behavior was about. Asking Laura’s mom to meet him after work. Making comments about her looks. Getting too close to her as he reached for something. Laura felt her blood go hot. How dare some sicko treat her mother that way.

  According to Paula, other employees had noticed Weiner’s behavior too. It had gone on for about a month before she moved him to another floor. He was a good nurse, but he’d been warned—no interaction with Sally Denton at work. So he technically “obeyed” by talking to her in the parking lot before and after their shifts. He’d try to park close to her, make sure he was walking to his car at the same time she was.

  “Did Mrs. Denton make a final complaint about Mr. Weiner the day she was killed?” Devlon asked.

  “Yes. The previous day he had accosted her in the parking lot at the end of their shift—‘accosted’ was the word she used—and forced her up against her car with his body. He told her she was ‘going to be his’ soon.”

  “What did you do with Mrs. Denton’s complaint?”

  “I began the procedure for firing Roger based on sexual harassment. Sally’s previous complaints had already been filed and were on record. It would not take long until Roger was gone.”

  Laura’s fingers curled. Why hadn’t Detective Standish ever mentioned this man? Why wasn’t her dad upset about Roger Weiner’s actions?

  Apparently Weiner heard what Paula had done. He argued with her about it, claimed Laura’s mom was lying. He was so mad he quit on the spot and left the hospital. That was around one o’clock. Laura’s mom got off at two.

  By the time Laura got home from school around three-thirty, her mom was dead.

  As Paula Dewey left the stand, Laura could barely breathe. If she saw Roger Weiner right now she’d leap at the man. Tear at his throat. He’d done this murder, hadn’t he. Stomped out of work, mad enough to kill, and waited somewhere on their street until Laura’s mom got home.

  “But Detective Standish told you they didn’t even interview this guy!” Laura hissed to Devlon during a break. “Why’d they let him go?”

  “You heard what Standish said. The evidence already pointed to you. They got you in their crosshairs and never looked anywhere else.”

  “It’s reasonable doubt, right? I mean, enough to show the judge I didn’t do this?”

  Devlon raised a hand. “And I’m not done yet. I’ll raise plenty more. But the thing is, sometimes it’s not enough to say the defendant didn’t do it. You have to point the finger at someone else who could have.”

  Laura rubbed her arms. “Do you think he did it?”

  “I think he’s a strong possibility. And right now that’s all we need.”

  But what would happen when Laura got home? Wouldn’t the cops turn to Roger Weiner as their next suspect? Would he get mad again and come after her this time?

  “Listen, Laura.” Devlon put his hands on her shoulders. “Good news is, he’s not likely to come after you. Because bad news is, they won’t even talk to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’ll go on saying you did it. You just got away with it, that’s all. As far as they’re concerned, there are no other suspects.”

  No. This was too much. “So he’ll just get away with it?” No, this could never be. Her mom deserved to rest in peace. Her mom deserved justice.

  Her attorney looked away. Slowly nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  At lunch, once again Laura couldn’t eat. She could only think about what the prosecutor and Standish would say to the public after she was acquitted. She could imagine the newspaper articles. “The judge got it wrong. Justice was not done for Sally Denton.” Everybody would still say she was guilty. Everybody.

  She wouldn’t be able to stay in San Mateo. She’d have to go … who knew where? Some other state. Start over again. Maybe her dad would be so glad to see her go, he’d give her some money, tell her to be on her way. And why shouldn’t he? He’d inherited plenty from her mom.

  That afternoon Devlon called more of her mom’s coworkers to the stand. Each one told how Roger Weiner had acted toward Sally Denton. And two of them said, when they first heard her mother had been killed, they immediately thought Weiner had done it.

  Of course Cantor moved to strike their statements. The judge agreed.

  Back in juvey that night, lying on her hard cot and staring at the ceiling, Laura thought about her new life after she was acquitted. Where she’d go. What she’d do. The thought of leaving her home town to live all by herself was petrifying.

  How do you start a new life alone, after you’ve lost everything?

  April 2013

  Chapter 16

  An hour after hearing the news of Billy King’s arrest, I drove away from the Crenshaws with thickened blood in my veins. Clara’s parents and family at first had been stunned and saddened by the news. Then, quickly, their feelings turned to anger. How could he have done it? Why? Nothing I could say would have persuaded them Chief Melcher was wrong. They’d lost Clara, now they wanted, needed justice for her. The faster that happened, the faster they could find some sort of closure, however frail. They were so wrapped in their pain I couldn’t bring myself to argue with them.

  “I’m so sorry,” was all I could say. Lame words spilling from me, again and again. “So very sorry.”

  Now my brain felt numb. Where should I go now? What could I possibly do?

  The overwhelming helplessness of my own arrest and trial came flailing back, threatening to choke me. This is what Billy was feeling now. Like me, he’d probably be stuck in prison until his trial. The thought of gentle Billy in jail for even one night was too much to bear.

  Something had to be done now.

  I pulled over to the curb and picked up my cell to call Andy. His thoughts would be clearer than mine. But before I could tap his name, the phone rang.

  Pete.

  I answered the call.

  “Del-Belle, you okay?” Pete’s gruff voice sounded scratchy with emotion. “I guess you heard.”

  A sob rolled up my throat. I wanted to hit something. Scream to the mountaintops. “Cops are terrible people, Pete! I hate them all.”

  Seconds ticked by. I gulped down air, trying to get hold of myself.

  “They’re not all like Melcher, Del-Belle. Had a few police in my own family. They were honorable men.”

  “I’m sorry. I just …”

  “I know. This ain’t goin’ well. But sounds like you’re thinkin’ about more than just Billy. You have a run-in with some other cop in the past?”

  Sickness spread through my stomach. Why had I said anything? My two worlds were about to collide, trains on the same track. And I couldn’t find the brakes.

  “It’s just Melcher.” I swiped at a tear. “I told him. He won’t listen.”

  “Yeah, well. Trouble is, he’s got louder voices to listen to than yours. Like Becky Myers, who wouldn’t lie about seein’ Billy on the street. And Cheryl King, who did lie about Billy bein’ home all night.”

  “How do you know that for sure? Just ’cause I told you?”

  “I was at her house when she heard about Billy’s arrest. She’d been tellin’ me the same thing she told you—he never left home. Until that call came. Then she just fell apart.”

  I could imagine. “Did she admit to you she lied?”

  “Didn’t have to. I could see it all over her face.”

  I’d seen the same thing. Just hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. The queasiness in my gut grew stronger. “Billy lied too, didn’t he. Told Melcher he was at home.”

  Cheryl’s words echoed in my ears. “Billy looked so guilty. He can be that way around authority.” Billy’s own fear would push him
into denying he was anywhere near Clara last night. And the more he lied, the guiltier he’d look to Melcher. To any cop.

  “Apparently that’s just what Billy did. After I heard the news I beat feet down to the station. Tried to get Hank Shire to talk to me.”

  Hank had been the first responder at the crime scene. Seemed like a nice man. Nothing like Melcher. Still, he was a policeman.

  “Turns out Hank was in the interrogation room with Melcher and Billy. All Hank would tell me was, ‘Nothing he said was the truth.’”

  I laid my head back against the seat rest, memories of the interrogation about my mother’s murder flashing through my head. I’d never lied to Detective Standish, not in the slightest. Yet he’d twisted the truth into his own sinister story. “Let me tell you how it happened, Laura.” How much more ammunition Melcher would have now, hearing Billy’s false statements. Added to that, my own account that I’d seen a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt. Billy had been on Brewer Street. Wearing a dark hoody.

  And Clara’s car had been at the curb, engine running, driver’s door open. She must have gotten out of her car quickly. Most likely for someone she knew.

  Who, if not Billy?

  “Pete.” My throat was tight. “What do we do now?”

  “We hunt around and find out who else would have wanted Clara dead.”

  “I was just with her family for a couple hours. No one there has any idea, other than Billy. I have no idea.”

  Pete grunted. “They’re probably glad the suspect’s been found so fast.”

  “Exactly. They’re clinging to it. How do you take that away from them?”

  For once Pete had no answer.

  I checked my watch. It was almost 3:00. Andy would be picking me up for dinner at 6:30. What great company I’d be.

  “Pete, I forgot to tell you I won’t be making dinner tonight. I’m going out with Andy.”

  “No worries there. We’ll rustle somethin’ up.”

  I ended the call and tossed down my phone. No point in calling Andy now. I’d be seeing him in a few hours.

  With a sigh I pulled back onto the street—and found myself heading toward Brewer, where Clara had been killed. I parked across the street from The Spot, eyeing the fluttering crime scene tape. The mound of flowers people had left was growing. I saw a small stuffed teddy bear. Some cards and candles.

  Something within me turned inside out. I slid from the car and crossed the street. Walked toward Clara’s shrine, a lump in my throat. My thoughts jumbled as I surveyed the scene. I pictured Clara sprawled on the sidewalk in the dark. The hooded figure in the Graysons’ yard. Those memories morphed to those of my mother. Her blood, her battered body. Yelling at Detective Standish in the interrogation room. Being hauled off to jail. Back then a murderer had walked the streets of my hometown and killed my mother. What murderer walked these streets, here in the quiet town of Redbud? Had he visited this spot where I now stood? Watched grieving friends and family bring Clara flowers?

  Vaguely I registered the sound of a vehicle pulling to the curb across the street. Two car doors opened and closed. Footsteps approached. I glanced in their direction and saw two men, one with a microphone and another with a TV camera. Behind them sat a WTVQ van—the ABC station in Lexington. The man with the camera swung it up and turned it on.

  I jerked my head away.

  “Ma’am, I’m Barlow Watkins.” The reporter stepped onto the sidewalk. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “No thanks.” The cameraman had come around and was filming me from the side. I turned my back to him.

  “It’ll just take a minute.” Watkins stepped in front of me once more. His voice was gentle, full of concern. “You’re Delanie Miller, aren’t you? The one who discovered Clara Crenshaw’s body? I’ve been hoping to speak with you. We stopped by your house, but no one was home.”

  Reporters. I should have known they’d come. I focused past Watkins to the flowers left for Clara. Suddenly it hit me what a story this would be for the local media. A beautiful young woman on the way home from her wedding shower. In small, typically safe Redbud.

  How fast would the media convict Billy King?

  “Miss Miller?” Watkins raised his eyebrows. “Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? I’m going to do a segment for tonight’s news from here. I hoped to include you.”

  “I don’t want to be on camera.” I worked to keep fear out of my voice. This was the last thing I needed. What if someone had moved here from the California Bay Area and recognized me?

  “You don’t have to be. I’d just like to understand from you what you saw last night.”

  What I saw. My gaze cut to the reporter. “Have you talked to the police?”

  “Just came from the station. I know they’ve arrested a man named Billy King. Apparently he had a crush on Miss Crenshaw. You know anything about that?”

  I stared at Watkins. It had already begun—the public molding of facts to fit Melcher’s scenario. The twisting of quiet, slow-minded Billy King into a hidden killer, a jealous bomb waiting to explode.

  In my mind I pictured Bruce Melcher’s rage-filled expression as he stood in my kitchen, his finger stuck in my face. “I’ll haul you off to jail!”

  Arrested. My background checked …

  I could not talk to this reporter.

  “Do you, Miss Miller?”

  “Yes.” The word popped from my mouth.

  Watkins waited but I said no more. “What do you know?”

  I pictured Billy in jail. Remembered how numb I’d felt in juvey all those years ago.

  “I know that Billy would have done anything for Clara. Chief Melcher arrested the wrong man.”

  The cameraman eased in front of me, still filming.

  “How do you know he’s the wrong man?”

  No way for me to keep quiet now. I couldn’t. In a matter-of-fact tone I told Barlow Watkins what I’d seen the night Clara was killed. The figure that stood by the bush just down the street—a figure too short to be Billy. Barlow wanted to see the bush. I walked him down to the Graysons’ yard and pointed it out, the cameraman following. Told the reporter how Mr. Grayson and I had measured the bush.

  “Have you told all this to your police chief?” Watkins and I remained in front of the Graysons’ house.

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “What was his response?”

  I looked back up the street toward the yellow crime scene tape and Clara’s flowers. Dare I speak the answer ready to spring off my tongue? How incendiary it would be. How the media would eat up the controversy.

  But maybe that’s just what we needed here. If Chief Melcher was going to play his game in public, so could I.

  “Miss Miller?”

  My heart fluttered. I lifted my chin and stared directly at the camera. “Chief Melcher came to my house and told me flat out if I interfered anymore in his investigation he would ‘haul me off to jail.’”

  Chapter 17

  When I pulled into my driveway, exhausted and railing at myself for what I’d done, Colleen’s and Nicole’s cars were out front. Pete’s was gone.

  A chime from my cell phone signaled a message. It was from Andy. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Love you.

  I managed a tired smile and texted back. Love you too.

  You doing okay, Del?

  Hanging in there. :)

  I stared at the smiley face I’d added as a way to soften my answer. It looked ridiculous.

  With a sigh, I grabbed my purse and got out of the car.

  Inside the house I found Nicole on the couch, watching TV with a blank expression. I gave her a hug. “Where’s Colleen?”

  “In her room.”

  I surveyed her. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Been a hard day.”

  Tell me about it.

  I headed for the kitchen, hunger gnawing at my stomach. I hadn’t eaten all day. From the fridge I pulle
d a small container of yogurt. I slumped at the kitchen table and spooned it down, barely tasting. Over and over in my mind I relived the words I’d said to the Lexington reporter. Why had I done that? Even if the news was only local, I couldn’t afford to be seen on TV.

  Why had I done it? For Billy.

  Colleen appeared from the hallway. She’d traded the knee high hose and pumps she always wore to work for her Dr. Seuss socks. Her short brown hair looked only a little better than when she’d gotten out of bed. Colleen’s perpetually frazzled appearance was her trademark.

  She was full of news from her work at Granger’s Gift Store. People had come in and out all day talking about Clara’s murder—and then Billy’s arrest. “A lot of people pegged Billy even before he was taken in.” Colleen sat on the big couch next to Nicole and tucked her colorful feet beneath her. “They’re all saying how so many of those crazy people in the past who shot up schools or movie theaters or whatever were quiet and not right in the head.”

  I took a seat across from Colleen and Nicole on the smaller sofa. Would people like that change their minds after hearing my story on the news?

  What would Andy say about what I’d done?

  What would Chief Melcher do?

  Nicole turned off the TV. She focused on her lap, lacing and unlacing her hands. “I couldn’t concentrate in any of my classes today. All I could think of was Clara. I just still can’t believe it.” A tear rolled down her face.

  Colleen patted her on the leg. “None of us can, honey. This is just … too much.”

  “We’ll get through this together, Nicole.” I gave her a wan smile. She nodded.

  A headache had set in. I pressed a hand to my forehead. “You both need to know Billy didn’t kill Clara. I’m absolutely sure of that.”

  “It’s hard to believe he would.” Colleen waved a hand in the air. “But from what I’ve heard Chief Melcher thinks he’s got his guy. Still, I say no way Billy did this. He loved Clara. He told me so. I knew they’d never get together, but still … I felt so sorry for Billy. His heart ached over her.”

  My brain flashed to Billy standing next to me at the crime scene. “Either of you know a Susan in town? Blonde woman. Someone who’d tell Billy that Clara wanted to be more than a friend to him?”