by Zena Oliver
Before I had a chance to ask my next question, my cellphone rang. “Excuse me.” I retrieved it from my pocket and saw it was Larissa MacDonald. “I need to take this. Detective Johnson will continue talking to you.”
Once outside the room and with the door closed behind me, I answered. The conversation was cut short. She told me any further conversations or contact should be made with her lawyer.
“Oliver,” Patrol Officer Bates called to me. “Come here for a minute, please.”
“I really need to get back in to continue my questioning.”
“You’re really going to want to see what I have.”
I walked over, not exactly sure what I’d find. Bates was known for pranks, and I didn’t have time for that right now. When I was within a couple of feet from him, he held up a clear plastic evidence bag and waved it back and forth.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. My mouth hung open at the sight of the contents.
“We got a call earlier. A couple of kids were playing in an open field on the other side of town and spotted it. They swear they didn’t touch it. Should I send it to the lab for you?”
“Yes, please. Ask them to put a rush on it, too.”
Chapter 22
I returned to the room just in time to hear Johnson question Ms. Green on her whereabouts the Friday that Effridge was murdered.
“I went by to see him after my class.” Her eyes were glassy with tears that were pooling. “I saw someone running down the stairs and out the front door.”
“Do you know who it was?” he asked.
“No.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a good look at them.”
“Did you go see the professor?”
“No, I called him when I got outside his door, but he never answered the phone.”
“You never went in the apartment at all?”
“Um, no. I just wish I had gotten there sooner.” She began to sob. I reached for a couple of napkins on the table and set them in front of her. I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly why I’d felt like she wasn’t being honest, but I wasn’t believing everything she was telling us.
“Why do you think getting there sooner would have changed anything?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled.
The questioning went on for approximately another thirty minutes before I suggested we break. We weren’t getting anywhere, and I needed to have a conversation with Johnson. I showed Ms. Green where the restroom was, and made sure she knew how to get back to our interrogation room before I stepped a few feet from her earshot when she’d walk back.
“Bates sent a knife to the lab. A couple of kids were playing in a field and saw it. They ran home and told their parents. They swore they never touched it. Hopefully we get some information back on it soon,” I said.
“What makes you so sure it’s the one from this case?”
“I don’t know that it is, but it has a long skinny blade and I could see what looked like were possibly a couple of blood spots on it still. I just hope being outside that any DNA on it is still usable.”
“That’s for sure. And with even more luck, there’s a fingerprint we can use. Let’s keep our fingers crossed,” Johnson said.
“What’s your take on Green’s story? Do you believe her?”
“I believe she went to the apartment, and I believe she called Effridge, but after that, I don’t think she’s being honest at all,” Johnson said.
“Those are my sentiments exactly. She’s already lied to us, so who’s to say she isn’t lying now, too?”
“She’s on her way back. Let’s not keep her much longer; we need to get over to see Buckley.”
“Okay, I’m going to put some pressure on her and see if she cracks. If not, we’ll send her on her way,” I said.
We walked over to the room and arrived outside the door at the same time as Ms. Green. I opened the door for her to enter first, then we shut the door behind us and took our seats.
“Detectives, I don’t have anything else to tell you. I’m heartbroken about Chase,” she said through tears. “I loved him. We even talked about getting married one day.”
“Ms. Green, we’re having a little bit of a problem believing parts of your story. Why not just come clean and tell us everything? You can tell us the truth. You went into Effridge’s apartment when you got there, didn’t you? You found out that Larissa MacDonald wasn’t the ex-girlfriend he claimed she was and you got pissed. You were so angry because you felt like you’d been played for a fool by someone you’d fallen in love with and trusted. Isn’t that right?” I asked.
“No! That’s not true. I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.” The tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands wiped at them as fast as windshield wipers.
“Maybe you’d feel more comfortable coming clean if your mom was here with you. Should I call her?”
“You promised! You can’t tell her. She’ll be pissed forever.”
“Think how disappointed she’ll be when she finds out you’re a murderer. Or maybe it wasn’t you, but someone you know who did it.”
“No! I want to leave! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!” she screamed.
“You’re free to leave. You aren’t under arrest, yet. But before you go, if you want to clear your name we need to collect a DNA sample from you.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled. She sat in her chair and pouted like a small child again. Johnson left the room and retrieved the swabbing kit. When he returned, he swabbed the inside of her cheek then placed the swab in the sterile container to be sent to the lab.
Without a word, she stood and shoved the chair back, toppling it onto its side, then stormed out the door.
“Good job. You definitely got under her skin. Did you notice she never denied killing him? She’s involved somehow, I can feel it,” Johnson said. “Let’s go find Buckley.”
It didn’t take us long to arrive at the apartment building. I couldn’t help but feel like something wasn’t quite right. We walked up the stairs and I stopped right outside apartment seven. I thought I heard movement inside and knocked on the door.
“What are you doing?” Johnson asked.
“This is Effridge’s place. I could have sworn I heard something inside.” I knocked again. When no one answered, I tried the door. It was unlocked. My heart began to race and my breaths became shallow. I could feel my throat tighten and the sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. I drew my weapon and slowly pressed the door open. Johnson drew his weapon and followed me. The living room was clear. We walked to the kitchen to find no one there. I laid the manila folder on the table. I didn’t want to worry about that while trying to figure out what was going on. We both heard a clunk like someone dropped something coming from one of the bedrooms, I guessed. We looked at each other, then I returned my gaze toward the hall. My heart felt like it had moved up into my throat and my blood thundered through my veins. I looked back at Johnson once again before stepping out of the kitchen and he signaled for me to go.
I eased down the hallway, being careful not to make any noise with my steps. I was silently hoping whoever was in here was on their way out the window, or at the very least unarmed. When I was within a step or two of the doorway, I stopped.
“I don’t know who’s in here, but this is the police. We’re coming in,” I said. I hoped that would be enough warning, because if someone had a gun pulled on me I was shooting to kill before they shot me. I ducked low, then skidded around the door and inside the room with my gun on the person standing there holding a garbage bag. Johnson quickly joined me in the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” I said as I stood up. “Why are you in here?”
Chapter 23
We made our way back into the kitchen before Ms. MacDonald reminded us that she can’t talk to us without her lawyer present.
“At least tell me what you’re doing. Does Mrs. Dupree know you’re in here?�
�� I asked.
“No, she doesn’t. I wanted a few of Chase’s things to remember him by,” she said.
I took the bag from her hand and looked inside. “Shoes? You wanted his shoes? Certainly a photo or piece of jewelry would have been a better memorial.”
“I just...” She stopped talking.
“We’ll hold onto these. If Mrs. Dupree says she’s okay with you having them, we’ll make sure you get them. Right now, you need to leave. And if you have a key, lock the door behind us so no one else comes in here.” I picked up my folder and held the bag of shoes. Who the hell takes shoes?
“Fine.”
She walked to the door and we walked out behind her, and she locked the door before leaving.
“I’ll be right back.” I left and took the bag of shoes to the car and put them in the trunk. When I returned, Johnson was leaning against the wall.
“When you die, can I have your shoes to remember you by?” he said, then laughed.
“Weird crap. Shoes,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
We walked up the stairs to Buckley’s apartment and knocked on the door. Within seconds he was at the door. I could hear him put the chain lock on and then he cracked it to see me standing there.
“Detective, what can I do for you?”
“We have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no. One sec,” he said. He closed the door and removed the chain, then let us in.
His apartment was no cleaner than the first time I’d been in it. I think it was worse. It smelled worse. The pile of clothes on the sofa had grown taller, too.
“You got a new partner?”
“Yes. Mr. Buckley, this is Detective Johnson.”
“Nice to meet you.” He stretched out his arm to shake Johnson’s hand. After they released hands, I watched Johnson wipe his hand on his pants.
“I’d offer you a seat, but it’s laundry day. I need to get folding.”
“That’s okay, we won’t take long. Remember you were looking for a picture of that cute girl who had been in the building when Effridge was murdered? I think we may have found her. Can you take a look at these pictures and tell me if you see her?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about her. Let me see the pictures.”
I would’ve loved to have been able to lay them down on the table, but it was covered in dirty dishes, newspapers, and knick-knacks, as my grandmother called the junk she collected. I looked around the apartment, wondering if a cat who owned the pissy pneumonia-smelling litterbox would appear.
“Do you have a cat?” I asked.
“Goodness no. I hate cats. I’m a dog person,” Buckley said. I handed him the manila folder and let him sift through the photos. He went through them three times, stopping to look long and hard at Ms. Green’s picture before flipping to the next. We’d mixed in three other photos of strawberry-blonde women that we knew had no connection to this case.
“This is her. She was definitely here,” he said. He picked Ms. Green out of the photos provided.
“You’re positive?”
“Yep. I told you, I wouldn’t forget her face. Her hair is lighter than I thought, but this is definitely her.
“Thank you, Mr. Buckley. I do have another question, if you don’t mind,” I asked.
“Not at all, ask away.”
“We didn’t see you at Mr. Effridge’s funeral. Did you go?”
“Nope, I didn’t. My back was hurting so bad I could barely get out of bed. I think I hurt it one night sleeping in my chair. I’m on a new pain medication now so I can get around better. I would have gone, if it hadn’t been for my back.”
“Thank you, again. You’ve been a big help.”
Chapter 24
“Oliver.” My phone rang as soon as I stepped out of the car at the precinct.
“It’s Skip. I have good news and bad news.”
“Hold that thought. I have something else I’d like you to do for me so I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“See you soon.”
“Hey, I’m going to take this bag of shoes to Skip. He said he also has some news for us,” I said to Johnson.
“Let’s go find out what it is.”
We walked into the lab, and Skip was surprisingly at his desk. That was rare for him.
“Skip,” I said.
“Gentlemen, ready for the news now?” He glanced down and saw the bag in my hand. “What’s that?”
“It’s a bag of Effridge’s shoes. One of our persons of interest was in his place earlier like the tiptoe burglar. She said she was taking them as a remembrance of him. We aren’t buying it. Can you check them out for us?”
“Sure, no problem.” He picked up the plastic bag containing the knife. “Good news or bad news first?”
“Give us the good,” I said.
“Good news, this is the knife used in the stabbing of Effridge. It’s the perfect size for the cuts all over his chest. And you see this?” He pointed at a few brown spots on the knife. “This is his blood. Without a doubt, this ridiculous filet knife was used by your murderer.”
“Okay, so what’s the bad news?” Johnson asked.
“The bad news is I wasn’t able to get a good print from the handle. But, there was a small amount of blood that didn’t match Effridge.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It may be that of your killer. Maybe in their stabbing frenzy, they cut themselves. We tested it against Billy’s hair and it wasn’t a match. So, I’m pretty confident Billy at least wasn’t the stabber. However, when we compared the DNA to the other hair we got a match. Now the big question is, who does the blond hair belong to?”
“That’s a good question. We got a DNA sample from one of our persons of interest earlier. Any word on it yet?”
“Nothing yet. We’re still working on it,” Skip said.
“Great job, Skip. Every little bit helps. Keep up the good work,” I said.
“I’ll be in touch,” Skip said. We turned and left the room.
“I’m going to make a phone call to Larissa’s lawyer. We need her in here to talk to us today,” Johnson said.
“Sounds good. And if there’s any possible way to get a DNA sample from her, we need to get it.”
“I agree. I don’t think it’s going to be easy though.”
“All we can do is ask.”
We traveled back to the office and got situated at our desks. I could hear Johnson on the phone, but couldn’t make out everything he was saying. I pulled the murder binder on Effridge out of the box sitting on my desk, and began reviewing it again when Rodriguez sauntered over, breaking my concentration.
“Anything I can help out with?” she asked.
“Slow day?” I asked.
“I’m bored to tears. No calls, and all my reports are up-to-date. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks for the offer. I will. I’ve got to figure out how I’m going to get this woman’s DNA if she doesn’t agree when she comes in. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” She smiled, then turned and walked away.
My eyes followed her each step of the way back to her desk, and her swaying hips hypnotized me until she sat back down in her seat. I heard Johnson clear his throat. I smiled before I turned and looked at him. He shook his head, but didn’t say a word.
“The lawyer said he and MacDonald are going to come in,” Johnson said. “What can we use to try to get her to talk?”
“We have the knife. I wish we had the gun, too. And we have her caught red-handed in Effridge’s apartment without Dupree’s permission, which, since her name’s not on the lease, would be considered trespassing. And we have the bag of shoes.”
“We need something more solid that that. Any fingerprints?”
“Her fingerprints were everywhere in the place. She used to be Dupree’s administrative assistant, so she had a key. We really have nothing on her that ties her to the crime scene unless we can get a match to her DNA and the blood on the knife.”
“Okay, well, we still have our work cut out for us. This isn’t going to be easy, you know,” Johnson said.
“Yeah, I know.”
I’d almost given up on Ms. MacDonald coming in when she and her attorney, a tall well-dressed man with salt and pepper hair, arrived. She looked stunning and he looked determined. She pointed in our direction and the pair walked over.
“Good morning,” the attorney said. “I’m George Keyes, Ms. MacDonald’s attorney. Where are we going to talk?”
Normally I would have appreciated his brashness, but knowing he was representing our suspect left me feeling concerned. I had no idea what she was hiding, but was pretty sure there was something.
“We’re going into room one,” I said. I gathered my paperwork and my notepad, then Johnson and I walked behind them. I reached for the door to open it, then followed them in and closed it behind us.
“So, what’s going on, Detectives?” Keyes asked.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re investigating the murder of Professor Chase Effridge, your client’s boyfriend/fiancé,” I said.
“I am aware. And I believe you’ve already talked to her once, so I need to know why we’re here.”
“Honestly, I’m baffled at your presence. We haven’t charged Ms. MacDonald with anything, we just wanted to talk to her. But it’s her right to retain you. We’re here because we have a few more questions,” Johnson said.
He nodded, giving us his approval to proceed. What a cocky ambulance-chaser, I thought.
I asked questions from the first time we’d met, and again that day. Her answers didn’t change, but her level of emotion had. She no longer seemed anywhere near as distraught, whereas the first time she had been inconsolable and couldn’t stop crying.
“Do you mind if we take a short break?” Ms. MacDonald asked.
“No, that’s fine,” I replied.
“I remember where the restroom is. I’ll be right back.”
“Is there a plan to charge my client? Or is this all just a guessing game still?” Keyes asked with a smug look on his face.