by Theo Baxter
Chapter Thirty
The next day, I was dumbfounded to see that Detective Michaels was calling me. When she told me she would be in touch, I wasn’t expecting this. Honestly, I was having nightmares of her bursting into my hotel room and dragging me back to jail in cuffs, all the while laughing at me for believing she would help me.
"Hello?" I answered, half expecting her to tell me she’d accidentally dialed the wrong number.
"Hello, Mr. Andros, am I interrupting you?"
Because my social calendar was so full these days. "Ah, no," I replied, somewhat confused.
As it turned out, she wanted to see me, so I invited her to come to my hotel room. I avoided going outside. It wasn't like the villagers were following me around, pointing fingers at me, yelling "Murderer!" But I still felt wary and uncomfortable. My father was a well-known businessman, so naturally, all TV networks reported his murder. And none of them had any issues with pointing at me as the main suspect. I was arrested, after all, so I was fair game. At some point, my phone rang so much, I had to get another.
Overall, that was why I preferred to stay put, but I still had regular visitors. Of course, my lawyer demanded to be present as well. The detective didn't mind, and I preferred it since I had a track record of doing stupid things when left alone with beautiful women. Dr. Blake was the only exception to that. It was true that I found her sexually attractive, but I managed to surpass that and regard her as my psychiatrist only. I wished I were able to transfer that to others. That attitude would have saved me a lot of trouble.
"Did she tell you why she requested this meeting?" My lawyer wanted to know, getting here a bit earlier.
"No. Just that we need to speak in person."
The look on Mr. Branson's face was not that easily deciphered.
"Do you think it's something big?" Or good? I dared not to add.
He shrugged. "There are many reasons to speak in private." As always, my lawyer advised caution.
And he was right. I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe Detective Michaels had new evidence. Maybe she'd found more evidence about Melissa? What if it was about me and not Melissa? What if she found concrete proof that I did it and she simply wanted to see my reaction?
As I stressed about all the possibilities, she arrived. Detective Michaels looked kind of excited, and I hoped and prayed that meant she had some good news to share with us.
Like Melissa confessing to everything. Yeah, right.
After we all greeted one another, my lawyer took the lead.
"Are there any breakthroughs regarding my client's case?" Mr. Branson asked officially.
"Yes, there is something that I wished to share with you."
"Please, sit down," I urged, remembering my manners, impatient to learn what she meant by that. Luckily, I didn't have to wait long.
"As you know," she spoke directly to me," your father died from stab wounds caused by a kitchen knife," she started.
Honestly, this intro confounded me. Of course, I already knew that. While I was in the hospital, one of the uniforms, not knowing I was awake, shared with the other how Carson Andros was hacked to death, which was a descriptive way of explaining things. So why did the detective feel the need to remind me of that?
"Our medical examiner deduced, based on the pattern of wounds, that the attacker had to be smaller than the victim."
"How much smaller?'" the lawyer interjected.
"Probably of medium height."
Did I hear that right? Based on the description, one thing became more than apparent. That can't be me, I shouted inside my head.
I exchanged a look with my lawyer. It was obvious he'd come to the same conclusion. Neither one of us felt the need to say anything out loud, not wanting to interrupt the detective's narrative. Since she was here, speaking to me, it was obvious she, too, came to the same conclusion.
Did that mean I would be cleared of all charges? Once again, I felt like I was getting ahead of myself. Stop and focus, I snapped. It somewhat worked.
"Also, the forensic team tried to examine the second set of fingerprints on the knife."
"I thought they were too corrupted to use," Mr. Branson said.
"They are completely unviable for identification, but after a closer look, they determined they belonged to a smaller person."
"Or a woman," my lawyer provided.
The detective nodded. "Possibly."
To me, that felt like good news. There was a good chance someone else, someone smaller than me, committed the crime then tried to frame me.
"It's Melissa, it has to be her," I exclaimed, unable to contain myself or the sudden surge of hope I started feeling.
I was innocent. This was proof. I didn't kill my father. A huge wave of relief washed over me. Thank you, God. I wasn't particularly a religious man, but after this I felt like I should go to church and thank the heavens properly for saving me.
"That is yet to be determined," Detective Michaels hedged.
I understood she needed to say that because her job was to collect real evidence that could lead her to killers, not make assumptions on partial evidence or act solely on hunches.
On the other hand, this was good enough for me.
"We did find the knife set the murder weapon belongs to," she continued, explaining. "We tested all the knives from the set and found only Mrs. Andros's fingerprints on them."
To that, I started laughing, and both the detective and my lawyer looked at me oddly. I wasn't crazy, simply happy.
I started explaining. "I am not surprised that's the case. You see, my father had this strict rule that the kitchen staff at all times had to wear gloves because he was kind of a germaphobe. Melissa apparently forgot all about that."
Nancy always wore them since Dad was terrified of germs getting into his food, so that was good news for her since now she could be removed from the suspect list, not that I ever doubted her, but that wasn't such good news for Melissa.
We got her! I thought victoriously. It wasn't necessarily a smoking gun, but it was a good start.
Then I remembered to mention how I'd found Melissa in my room a few times, but especially the time where she was by my desk. "She looked like I interrupted her in something," I theorized.
Detective Michaels looked intrigued. "Could you elaborate on that?"
I tried to remember the scene exactly, although I hadn't seen much. "She stood by my desk. At the time, I didn't think much about it."
"How long ago was that?"
It took me a moment to recall. "Maybe three or four days before my father was murdered."
"What do you keep at your desk?"
I started listing all the usual stuff. "Papers for my classes, some supplies, things like that." Basically, nothing of importance, which made her behavior all the stranger. "And I keep an extra bottle of medications in my drawer as well," I added as an afterthought. The other was always in my pocket.
"Is it possible she planted something?" my lawyer asked.
"I will look into it," the detective replied.
"She had the biggest motive to frame my client for murder," he continued in the same manner.
"Why do you say that?" she asked like she didn't know already herself.
Was that some kind of tactic to see what he knew? Without a doubt.
"Carson Andros had beaten and threatened her repeatedly."
"Do you have any evidence to support that?" she asked, looking at me before refocusing on Mr. Branson.
"My client was a witness to that."
"So, according to Mr. Andros, his father was abusive, but Mrs. Andros denies everything."
I wasn't that surprised to hear that. Melissa never went to get treated or saw a doctor after Carson beat her up. She didn't want it to be public knowledge that he was abusive. Now I completely understood why. She was clearly trying to cover the fact that she too had a lot of reasons to want him dead.
"How did she explain the bruises then?" I asked, enraged.
&nb
sp; "She said you did that."
"What?" I exclaimed.
"She ended the affair, and you got angry and assaulted her."
"She's lying, I never laid a finger on her." Although there were times I really wanted to.
"Nancy and Stan can verify that my father mistreated her. Him, not me," I defended.
"I already have their statements."
"So, then you know Melissa is lying."
She nodded. "There's one more thing I have to share with you. And it's pretty big."
I was at the edge of my seat and couldn't wait to hear what else she had for us.
"What is it?" Mr. Branson and I said practically at the same time.
Detective Michaels dropped the bomb that pretty much changed everything. "I believe Melissa is a suspect in at least one other murder."
Chapter Thirty-One
"What?" I exclaimed.
Holly fuck, Melissa was a suspect in another murder case, according to Detective Michaels. That was big news, huge, beyond measure.
"Detective Michaels, you really should have started with that," I only half-joked.
She started to smile in return but recovered quickly. "I needed to tell you all the relevant discoveries regarding your case first before sharing my suspicions."
And this is not relevant to my case?
"If you believe she is your gal then why aren't you arresting her?"
"I can't do that."
"Why not?" I couldn't understand her logic.
If Melissa had a track record of murdering people, didn't she belong in prison? I thought prisons were built for such purposes, for such people.
"I still need a little thing called evidence before proceeding," she pointed out.
"Right."
"Detective Michaels, what made you suspect Mrs. Andros regarding this other case in the first place?" My lawyer had enough sense to ask because apparently, I was too excited to think rationally and ask logical questions.
I tried to calm down, not wanting to get too ahead of myself, because even if she was responsible for said murder, that didn't automatically make her guilty of killing my father.
"That is kind of a long story."
"Good," I said to her, remembering how not so long ago, she told me the same thing.
By her expression, she remembered that moment as well. I settled, prepared to listen, calming further.
Holy hell, I still couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Melissa is a potential killer. Whoever said life was full of surprises was dead on.
"When I passed my detective's exam and started working in the new department, me and my partner got assigned to a murder case. It was a spousal murder like this one, but the wife of the deceased was nowhere to be found."
What did she mean by that? Was she dead too? No, that didn't make any sense.
"The victim's name was John Trent. He and his wife were newlyweds, and since he was estranged from the rest of his family, no one had met her."
That's strange. All the same, I couldn't help seeing some similarities. I too wouldn't have even known my father married Melissa if I hadn't had that accident, lost my job, and had to come to live with them.
"What happened then?" I urged.
"I followed protocol, talked to everyone, and tried to find witnesses as my partner tried to find the wife, Margaret Trent."
"Did she run away?" Mr. Branson grew invested in the story as well.
"At first, we couldn't rule out it was a kidnapping gone wrong, so we waited for the phone call, but then we discovered how all the joined accounts were completely emptied."
"By the wife?"
"Yes. You see, Mr. Trent was a wealthy man, and he was so enamored with his new wife that he shared everything with her."
Killed off for his money, so typical. Poor schmuck. "Did you find her?"
"Never. She was good at covering her tracks. There wasn't a single photo of her, but I managed to get a description from the neighbors."
"Let me guess," Mr. Branson interjected. "She looks like Melissa Andros."
"In the most general sense," Detective Michaels hedged. "Margaret Trent was the same height, build, and had the same eye color as Melissa Andros. The hairstyle was different, but that's the easiest thing to change."
"And you believe that they are the same person?"
Is it possible Melissa had another husband before my father that she murdered?
"Margaret Trent is currently on the run so I can’t know for sure."
"But you think so," I insisted, needing to get a straight answer.
"Yes. My gut is telling me that. Now I just have to prove it."
Simple as that.
"How did he die, Mr. Trent?" Mr. Branson asked what I wanted to know as well. Did Margaret kill her husband with a kitchen knife?
"Since he was an older man, Mr. Trent took a lot of medications. We discovered some of them were tampered with."
"Tampered?" I repeated like a parrot.
"We found traces of poison. During the prolonged exposure to it, Mr. Trent suffered from a cardiac arrest, but before that, he was in serious pain."
I could only gawk at Detective Michaels. That was nowhere near what happened to my father. So why suspect Melissa? Not that I minded. All the same, if the detective had a feeling, that was good enough for me since that same feeling told her I was innocent.
Is it possible that Melissa, Margaret, or whatever her real name is, was an actual serial killer? I shuddered at that thought.
It was true that after hearing what the detective had to say, a lot of things started to fit. It was too eerie to be a coincidence.
You're only saying that because if Melissa did it, you're off the hook, part of me pointed out not so subtly.
That was true, but it didn't change the notion that there might be a chance she had done this routine before. Kill the husband, get his money, run away, only to repeat the process.
I looked at the similarities again. Like Melissa, Margaret married a wealthy man who wasn't in contact with his family. I bet that was a mitigating circumstance. It was much easier to poison someone where there were no children or cousins around. Assuming Melissa was Margaret, then I truly had gotten in her way just like she told me that one time.
Or did I? I was arrested, after all, not her.
Once she got rid of Mr. Trent, Margaret got all his money and vanished. Until she found another mark. The question was why? Why did she have to go and find another wealthy husband if she killed one and was loaded?
Maybe she has a gambling addiction, I suddenly thought, then instantly banished it. Melissa didn't look the type.
Maybe she simply liked to kill. That was a terrifying notion, that I’d lived with a murderer. That I’d had sex with one as well. I stopped myself there. I was already too freaked out as it was.
Unlike Detective Michaels, I was certain Melissa and Margaret were the same person. For whatever reason she married Carson, she’d made a terrible mistake. He was a miserable bastard who liked to cause pain in others so they would be miserable as well.
Maybe that was the real reason she stabbed him to death and didn't wait for him to die of poisoning, assuming that was her original plan. She didn't want to wait that long.
"Did you check my father's pills?" I asked abruptly.
"Well, there was no point for such tests since the cause of death was pretty clear."
That was a good point.
"But his toxicology results came back clean."
"Maybe we should check, just in case," I advised. It would help us greatly if we discovered she did try to poison him then changed her mind, improvising on the account of my seizures.
"I don't know how to justify that to my bosses," Detective Michaels said honestly. And I understood why. They thought they’d already caught the guilty party, me.
"I know a laboratory that can examine Mr. Andros's medications quickly," Mr. Branson offered.
I was so immersed in the detective's story for a second that I'
d completely forgotten he was even there.
"Thank you, that would be great," I replied as my lawyer started to text someone in haste. I liked how he was a man of action.
"So, what's our next course of action, how to prove Melissa is Margaret?" I asked, getting excited all over again.
"Before we get into that, I have something else to tell you," the detective countered.
We both waited for her to continue. This detective was full of surprises. I was amazed and impressed.
"I did a little digging, went through some cold cases, unsolved murderers that fit this general description—dead wealthy husbands with wives who had the motive and things like that."
"And?"
"I found a couple of cases that caught my eye in the last couple of decades."
Decades? I was horrified. "Excuse me?"
She nodded. "There was one case where the husband was drowned in a tub and two others where bereaved widows got massive payouts in cases of suspicious accidents, only to disappear from the public eye soon after."
I couldn't believe it. This was even more horrifying than I’d originally thought.
"And you think Melissa is the culprit in all of them?" I was dumbfounded.
She simply nodded in return.
"That is a shocking theory, Detective," I said eventually.
"I agree," Mr. Branson added.
Only then did I notice how Detective Michaels had a folder in her hand. She opened it and pulled out a sheet of paper. On it was a printed black and white picture.
"I found this picture in Mr. Goldberg’s case. I'm sure the only reason it exists is that it was found in his wallet."
"Who is Mr. Goldberg?"
"I believe the first victim. He died in a car accident. His wife Maya collected the insurance money. The police officer in charge of the case suspected she was in the car with her husband on the day of the accident, but they couldn't prove it."
The detective handed me the photo. On it was a pretty-looking girl of around twenty years old. I examined it closely. The girl had light curly hair and was slim. The eyes looked remarkably familiar to me. Could it be? I wondered.