Remember Murder

by Linda Ladd

“Yes, sir,” Claire said. “It has his monogram on the right cuff. It’s specially made in Hong Kong. I’ve seen him wear one like it since I woke up. A lot more of them are hanging in his closet.”

  Charlie uttered a couple of colorful curses, the F-bomb among them, and then he said, “My God, can this look any worse for Nick?”

  She didn’t think so, but she didn’t admit that to Charlie and Bud.

  Bud spoke up and entered the fray. “Well, we’ve got fingerprints all over the murder weapon and the goblets. That could exonerate Nick.”

  “Or not,” she said.

  “So what the two of you are saying is that I’m going to have to call Nick and bring him in here for questioning, dadgummit. This is just great, just great.”

  They didn’t say a word.

  Charlie picked up the phone. “You got Nick’s private number, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Claire recited it to him, more than interested in hearing Black’s explanation for this one.

  Charlie punched it in, waited for several seconds, and then said, “Nick, this is Charlie Ramsay. Something’s come up and we need to talk to you. Can you come in?”

  He paused a few seconds, listening, and then said, “I’d rather get into that once you get here.” Again, he listened to what Black was saying, and then looked at her as he said, “No, she’s fine. She’s sitting right here.”

  “Okay, he’s in the air, and should land in Camdenton in fifteen or twenty minutes. He says he’ll get here as soon as he can after that.” He sighed again, and then sighed some more. Beside her, Bud sighed. Lots of sighing going on, oh, yeah, you bet.

  “Okay, detectives, let’s get on down to the interview room and decide how we’re going to approach this. Bud, get the evidence bags, and have Shaggy stand by to take Nick’s fingerprints. Dammit to hell, this is a pathetic state of affairs. First, Claire languishing in a coma for weeks and now Nick accused of murder. Good God.”

  Pathetic was a good word, to be sure. Especially for Monica Wheeler lying dead and strangled to death on Buck’s autopsy table. She and Bud trailed Charlie down to the interview room and waited. Almost an hour later, somebody rapped on the door. Claire tensed up, and they all looked at each other. Then Bud and Claire leaned against the back wall while Charlie got up and walked to the door, all three of them trying to look noncommittal.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hello, Nick, please, come on in and have a seat,” Charlie said, extending his hand.

  Nicholas Black took it, shook it, and then looked around the small interview room where an unknown deputy had led him. Claire was standing against the back wall. So was Bud. His major concern had been that she was hurt again, or dead in the line of duty, which was always his biggest fear when she worked a case, and that Charlie was waiting to tell him the bad news in person. Relieved, he looked at her and tried to keep his voice level. “You okay, Claire?”

  She nodded and looked away. Bud wouldn’t meet his eyes, either. Something was seriously wrong inside this room. They were hiding something from him, but he had a feeling he’d find out soon enough whatever it was. This was their interrogation room. Whatever followed was not going to be good for him. What the hell was going on?

  Black took the chair that Charlie pointed out, one facing Bud and Claire. Charlie sat down across from him and laid a manila file on the table.

  “So, what’s this all about, Charlie? Why am I getting some really ugly vibes all of a sudden?”

  Charlie didn’t pull any punches. Black knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his style. “We found your private nurse, Monica Wheeler, today. Dead, strangled to death.”

  Shocked, Black didn’t try to hide it, couldn’t, even if he wanted to. “What?”

  Silence. Too long, too ominous. Nobody seemed to want to answer that or say anything.

  “Why am I here?” Black asked, but he knew. He was nobody’s fool. They thought he did it, and they had a reason why they thought that.

  Charlie reached down and pulled a man’s white dress shirt out of a brown paper bag. Black recognized it at once as one of his. It was encased in a clear plastic evidence bag.

  “This your shirt, Nick?”

  At that point, Black knew exactly what was going down. They had physical evidence that pointed to him. For the first time, he felt a quick tide of anger rise up hard inside his chest, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “It looks like mine. The monogram’s right there, easy for anyone to see. So I guess it is. What’s going on, Charlie? You accusing me of murder? Is that it?”

  “What about this? Do you recognize this belt?” Charlie pushed a second evidence bag toward him. This one held a black leather belt.

  Black was careful to maintain his calm, but it was difficult. “It looks like one of mine. I can’t say for sure that it is. Why? What’s going on here?”

  Instead of answering, Charlie handed him a stapled sheaf of papers. Black took it and started reading the first page. After two or three pages, he tossed it back across the table to Charlie. He was really furious now and didn’t care if they knew it, or not. “This is bullshit, every single word of it, and I think all three of you know it.”

  Black looked at Claire, who only stared at him without expression. He ascertained at that point that she wasn’t sure what to believe. As hard as it was for Black to believe, he was definitely suspect number one, and he had better calm down, collect his wits, and convince them otherwise.

  Charlie remained calm, too. “You had better read that through, Nick. It says some very incriminating things about you.”

  “I assume this is supposed to be Monica’s diary?”

  “That’s right. It says you two were lovers, that you had sex with Monica Wheeler while Claire was comatose. It says you dropped Monica and threatened her life after Claire woke up and you wanted to resume your life with her. She also says in there that you said if she told Claire about your relationship with her that you would kill her.”

  Black leaned back, crossed his arms, and yes, he had on his poker face now. Then he looked straight at Claire and said calmly, “And every bit of that is a goddamn lie, Claire. It’s totally absurd. I hope you don’t believe it. And, yeah, by the way, in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t in Monica’s handwriting. Anybody could have typed this up and left it for you to find.”

  Claire said nothing. Black forced himself to release his tight muscles and try to relax. Remain unperturbed. He was completely innocent. They couldn’t prove otherwise, no matter what they had on him. Charlie was a good interrogator; Black knew that, even when facing off with an old friend. He watched the sheriff clasp his big workman’s hands together on the tabletop, and say, “Nick, we found your shirt in the hamper at Monica Wheeler’s house. That belt lying right there is the murder weapon. It was cinched around her neck when we found her.”

  Repulsed and stunned by the revelations, Black frowned and shook his head. “That’s impossible. I’ve never set foot inside her house. I don’t even know where it is.”

  “Where have you been for the last few days, Nick?”

  “I’ve been in Miami.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Of course. I attended all the meetings. Spoke at the opening session.”

  “We’ll have to check it out. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Check out all you want. I wasn’t here. I didn’t do it.”

  Charlie stared straight into Black’s eyes. Black didn’t blink, either. Their gazes held for several seconds. “We also found latent fingerprints all over the belt and other objects retrieved at the scene. Are you willing to give us your fingerprints for analysis?”

  Black did not hesitate. “Absolutely. Hell, I’ll take a lie detector test, too, right here, right now, in front of all of you. Bring it on. I did not lay a finger on Monica. I don’t care what your evidence says.”

  Charlie stood up. “Okay, Nick, come with me. Shaggy’s waiting. While he’s taking your prints, I’ll call in the polygraph examiner
.”

  At the doorway, Black turned and looked back at Claire. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, and then she looked away again. So she feels guilty distrusting him, he thought, but in her detective’s mind, evidence was evidence. He knew her that well. True to form, she would remain neutral, and along with the loss of her memory, she’d lost any ability to judge whether he had it in him to kill that poor woman, or not. But his guess was she didn’t think he could and wouldn’t want to think so. But if she thought he’d done it and they could prove it, then he knew she’d go after him until she saw him looking out at her from behind prison bars.

  Outside the interrogation room in the deserted hallway, Charlie looked at Black. “This pretty much sucks, Nick. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you’re guilty of anything.”

  “You aren’t going to find my fingerprints on anything at that murder scene, Charlie. No way in hell.”

  “Good. This is not something I relish doing. Claire doesn’t, either.”

  “She thinks I’m innocent?”

  “She and Bud have considered that Monica might’ve stolen those items from your place.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, Nick. I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I never harmed Monica in any way. She was a friend. I’m as shocked by this as you are.”

  “Well, if you’re innocent, we’ll know it soon enough.”

  After that, nothing else was said, and the stilted silence seemed odd and bizarre between two such good friends. They walked to a lab room, and Shaggy took Nick’s fingerprints, apologizing to him the whole time. Black was trying hard to remain unruffled, but calling him a murderer did not sit well, not at all. He didn’t like it, didn’t like these humiliating tests, but more than that, there was Claire. All he could think about was her, now distrusting him, blaming him for a murder, for Christ’s sake. Then he was taken into the polygraph examination room and told to wait there. He did so, composing himself, while every muscle in his body was rigid, every nerve on edge. He needed to get back to Claire, reason with her, make her understand, and call every goddamn doctor at the convention in Miami, if he had to. And there was Jose, too, who could alibi him, but that would be the last resort. Allying himself with Jose Rangos would do more harm than good. After what seemed an eternity, the polygraph examiner walked into the room, connected him to the machine, and Black answered all the questions firmly and truthfully.

  All in all, the whole process took almost an hour, and then a young female deputy led him back into the interrogation room. Charlie was sitting at the table again; Bud and Claire were standing against the wall where they’d been before. He sat down, and the four of them remained together there in complete and utter silence, awaiting the results of the tests. Wondering what Claire was thinking, Black stared at her the whole time. She studiously avoided his gaze the whole time. What the hell was taking so long? Finally, there came a knock on the door. Everybody tensed. Shaggy entered with a couple of reports in his hand. He looked at Nick with a hangdog, sorry-I-had-to-do-this-man expression, and Black knew then that the news was not good. But how could it not be?

  Charlie took his good sweet time reading through both reports and then looked at Black. “You passed your lie detector test with flying colors.”

  “I told you I didn’t do it.”

  A heavy sigh was Charlie’s answer. “But, I’m sorry to say, your fingerprints match the ones on the murder weapon as well as those on the goblet and the knife and fork. Good God, Nick, I hate to say this, but I think you better call your attorney.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “I’m afraid I have no choice. But I can call Judge Clarkson and try to get you bond tonight. I might be able to make that happen, if he’s available and willing. I can’t guarantee it.”

  “Then call him.” Black turned quickly to Claire. “I need to talk to you, Claire. Alone.”

  Charlie and Bud walked out of the room, and Claire didn’t move but she watched him. Black stood up. He didn’t take his eyes off her. She had to believe him. “Claire, it’s pretty obvious that I’ve been set up here. There’s no way any of my clothes could be in her house unless somebody planted them there. I was not there, I swear to God. I was never there. I never touched that girl while you were unconscious, or any other time. Monica and I were old friends, and that was it. You cannot believe I’d have sex with her while you were lying unconscious in the next room. Whether you remember me, or not, you can’t believe I’d do that to you.”

  Claire stared at him, apparently considering his heartfelt plea, and he had a feeling that she, too, was having trouble believing the ridiculous allegations. Still, she was looking at substantial evidence against him. She wouldn’t ignore it until it was proven false.

  “No, Black, I don’t think you’re capable of doing something like this, but I don’t know you well enough at the moment to know for sure. Rest assured that I’ll do everything in my power to prove your innocence. But until I do, don’t call me, don’t come around me, don’t contact me in any way. For now, we’re done. It’s over between us.”

  She walked out and left Black sitting there, staring after her, but he knew that she meant exactly what she’d said. Whether she liked it, or not, whether he liked it or not, they were finished. On the other hand, he sure as hell wasn’t ready to accept that little decree. They weren’t done, not by a long shot.

  Jesse’s Girl

  Right this minute

  Squatting in the thick tangled undergrowth behind Annie’s lakeside cabin, Jesse sat motionlessly, never moving a muscle. He listened to the buzzing, croaking, and rustling of nocturnal creatures that permeated the quiet late-night hour. He heard the sounds of crickets and tree frogs, all quite peaceful and normal and unaware of the man crouching among them. Jesse smiled to himself. He was going to take Annie back tonight, take her away from Nicholas Black forever. The time had come, and he was so delighted inside, so happy, that little thrills started expanding inside his stomach and cartwheeling all the way up to his heart. They were going to be together. Tonight. At last.

  The first part of his plan was going great. He couldn’t be more proud of himself. Everything was falling into place in the most excellent way. Earlier that day, he had concealed himself in the woods across the road from Monica Wheeler’s house and waited for the cops to show up. The patrol car had roared up within minutes after Jesse had put in the anonymous call to the sheriff’s department, and not too long after that, Annie and her partner swerved into Monica’s driveway. He waited for hours until they all left, except for a lone patrol car. Then he trekked back to Miss Rosie’s blue Caprice where he’d hidden it in the tree cover and followed Annie back to the sheriff’s office. Sometime later, he nearly shouted in triumph when Nicholas Black showed up in his great big chrome-and-black Hummer. The cops had plenty enough evidence to arrest him, and that meant Annie would be coming home alone.

  The time was at hand to snatch her and tie her up. And Nicholas Black would be rotting in jail. They might not keep him there long, but it would take time to figure out if his alibi could prove him innocent, if he even had an alibi. Whatever, Jesse would have time to get to Annie. Hell, they’d probably be hundreds of miles away by the time Black was released, no matter how clever his attorneys were.

  There was a light on in Annie’s house, the one over her kitchen sink. Gripping the Remington rifle he’d stolen from Miss Rosie’s house, he crept down closer to the backyard. All was still and deserted, so he stepped quickly around front and climbed onto the front porch. He waited again, listening. Nothing. Nobody around. The alarm system was activated, so he punched in the appropriate numbers, just as he had watched Monica do when Nicholas Black had sent her to pick up some of Annie’s personal things, bed pillows and such, to make her feel comfortable when she was in her coma at Cedar Bend. Luckily, he had been able to convince Monica to let him come along. Yes, he couldn’t have done this without good old Monica. It was a shame that she had to die
, that she was lying on an autopsy table waiting to be cut up, but she probably didn’t mind. She seemed to like Annie and him. She would want them to be together with Miss Rosie in a sweet, loving family.

  Jesse had the key to the front door as well, had Monica’s whole keychain, in fact, just in case he needed her house or car for anything in the future. Her home would be shut down behind police tape for quite some time. It would be a perfect place to hide. The minute he inserted the key, a shrill yapping started up inside the living room. His little friend, Jules Verne. He grinned. He really did love that little dog. He could come with them, if he didn’t try to eat Miss Rosie’s head.

  “Hiya, lil’ fella,” he whispered, going down on one knee and hugging the dog. Jules Verne stopped barking and wagged his tail. Jesse got out the bacon he had in his pocket and fed it to the tiny dog. He loved on the poodle for a while, and then he made a slow and methodical search of Annie’s house. Once he had Annie under his power, he would have to pack a bag for her with all her favorite things because they’d never come back. He would take her far away, but he’d just about decided on the high sierra in Old Mexico. No one could find them there. Or perhaps they’d keep driving, all the way down to Belize. He had seen that little Central American country on the Discovery Channel, and found it to be a beautiful place with lush verdant vegetation and lovely sandy beaches.

  Upstairs in Annie’s loft, he lay on her bed for a time, waiting for her to return, burying his face in her pillow, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and her skin. Oh, God, he had waited so long for this moment. He almost went to sleep; he was so content there among her things, and was actually dozing, when he heard a car approaching the house. Jumping up, he ran to the window. It was her partner’s white Bronco, all right. He heard her get out and slam the door, and then the Bronco crunched the gravel as it turned around and headed back up the road. Then the front door opened amid Jules Verne’s barking, and Annie walked into her house. She stopped long enough to reset the alarm, and he tiptoed across the upstairs bedroom and concealed himself behind the long window draperies. He peeked out and watched over the loft railing as she picked up Jules Verne and cuddled him.