Inspired by Murder

by Audrey J. Cole

  A shirtless, muscular man a few years older than Stephenson stood inside Serena's doorway squinting from the morning sun.

  “It's a little early to be ringing people's doorbells, don't you think?” The man ran his hand through his bedhead of dark hair.

  Serena appeared behind him, wrapped in a towel with wet hair dripping down her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she saw who was at the door. She nearly dropped her towel but managed to recover it before it fell to the floor.

  “Blake! What are you doing here?” She saw the flowers and latte in his hands. “I mean...um...look, I'm sorry. I meant to tell you.” She pushed herself in between her male guest and Stephenson. “Shawn and I met through work. I never meant for any of this to happen, but one thing just led to another. We've been seeing each other for the last few weeks.”

  “Few weeks?” Stephenson was in shock. He thought they were in love, that they'd spend the rest of their lives together.

  “I was just trying to find the right time to tell you.”

  She laid her hand on Stephenson's arm, but he shook it off.

  Shawn remained in the doorway behind Serena, as if he were part of the conversation.

  “That would've been before you decided to start cheating on me.”

  Stephenson's cell rang from inside his pocket. He tossed Serena's bouquet of flowers onto her front lawn before he answered. His fingers rubbed against the leather jewelry box inside his pocket when he pulled out his phone and he fought the urge to throw it out alongside the flowers.

  “This is Stephenson.” He stayed on Serena's front porch as he took the call.

  “Hey, it's Adams. We're up. A jogger found the body of a young woman just off one of the trails at Discovery Park this morning. So, looks like you and I get to spend some quality time together this weekend. I'm already on my way to the scene.”

  “I'll be right there.”

  Stephenson hung up and put his phone back in his pocket.

  “Happy birthday,” he said before taking a drink from her latte and turning back toward his car.

  “Blake, wait!” Serena ran out onto the porch in her bath towel.

  He ignored her and took another swig from the artificially-sweetened coffee. He needed a shot or two of whiskey, but it would have to do for the moment.

  Serena continued to holler at him from her front lawn as he peeled out and headed for the crime scene.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning, Eric stared out his apartment window while he breathed through chair pose. In the distance, he watched a sailboat glide across the sound. He took a deep breath and could almost smell the fresh sea air.

  He wore an almost identical outfit to what he had worn to kill Patricia. Since he practiced yoga seven days a week, nearly half his closet was active wear. He had already laundered everything he wore last night, including his running shoes, just in case they had picked up anything that could link him to the crime scene.

  He decided not to do any novel writing last night when he got home from killing Patricia and her husband. He thought it would be best to let the night's events sink in. He jotted down some notes and made a few sketches while he enjoyed a glass of merlot before going to bed. He wished he could've taken pictures of their dead bodies, but he couldn't afford to have that kind of evidence on his phone.

  He surprised himself by sleeping like a baby. He had thought he might have trouble sleeping after committing murder, but he was totally at peace. When his alarm woke him at seven that morning, he felt refreshed and ready to dive into his soon-to-be bestseller.

  The sailboat disappeared behind a skyscraper and he moved into humble warrior. He wondered how long it would be before Patricia and her husband's bodies were found.

  He liked to do yoga before he started writing. It helped clear his head and get the juices flowing. He focused on his breath entering and leaving his lungs.

  He was three breaths into bird of paradise when there was a hard knock at his door. He took one more deep breath before going to answer it. He opened the door to find a man with pale blond hair and gray-blue eyes dressed in business casual. He was clearly of Nordic descent. He flashed his police badge at chest level.

  Eric hadn't expected to be questioned so soon. Patricia's murder investigation seemed to be moving much faster than he had anticipated.

  The detective was young. That was good. Probably hadn't been solving murders for too long. Eric smiled inwardly, thinking to himself that these were two he wouldn't solve.

  A shorter, brown-haired man stood behind him. He looked to be closer to Eric’s own age, probably in his forties. He reminded him of Mark Wahlberg, only more muscled. The buttons of his shirt barely contained his pectoral muscles, and his biceps protruded out of his leather jacket. No one was naturally built like that, Eric thought. It was a clear sign of a man who was trying too hard. Surely, he spent hours in the gym every week trying to boost his self-esteem.

  “I'm Detective Stephenson, and this is Detective Adams,” the blond one said. “Are you Dr. Eric Leroy?”

  Eric felt a tinge of nervous tension run through his bowels. He knew this was probably just routine to ask if he knew what kind of relationship Patricia had with her husband, but he suddenly feared they somehow knew what he had done.

  “I am,” he said, hoping to sound as if he had no idea why the police would be knocking on his door on a Saturday morning.

  “We need to ask you a few questions. Just routine. Do you mind if we come in?”

  “Not at all.” He opened the door wide.

  “Thank you.”

  He led them into his living room and motioned toward the couch. “Would you like to have a seat?”

  They followed in single file. “Thanks,” Blondie said before they both took a seat.

  Eric moved his yoga mat out of the way and sat down across from them. He decided to let them speak first. It was utterly important he not seem as though he knew why they had come knocking on his door. He crossed his legs and felt himself relax. He had planned his reaction to Patricia's murder to the tee. They didn't know what he had done, he reminded himself. The ball was in his court.

  The Marky Mark lookalike cleared his throat before speaking. “I'm afraid we have some bad news.”

  Eric relaxed his mouth and opened his eyes wider as if to say Oh, no.

  “The body of your front office assistant, Daisy Colbert, was found early this morning in Discovery Park. She appears to have been murdered,” Blondie said.

  My secretary? They must be confused. He refused to accept what they were telling him. They had come to question him about Patricia's murder, not his secretary's. There had to be some mistake.

  “I just saw her at work yesterday. She was fine. Are you sure you have the right person?”

  “Yes, her body has already been identified by a next-of-kin. We know this news is a shock, but we wouldn't have come before she'd been positively identified.”

  “I just saw her yesterday,” Eric repeated, in disbelief of what he had heard. It couldn't be true. Not his beautiful, sweet secretary.

  “Do you have any idea of who might have wanted to hurt her?”

  It took him a moment before he realized the blond one had asked him a question. It was the boyfriend. He knew it was the boyfriend.

  “From what she said, it sounded like her boyfriend could be pretty controlling. In fact, I think she was afraid of him.”

  Both detectives wore flat expressions, giving Eric no idea whether they believed him or not.

  “And, just for our records, where were you last night between ten p.m. and two a.m.?”

  Eric was in shock but fortunately had already prepared a response to this very question. “I was in bed, asleep.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  “Not really. But I did knock on my neighbor's door around eight to ask him to keep his drums down.”

  The bodybuilder pulled out his cellphone. “Which neighbor?” he asked.

  “915.”r />
  He appeared to type this into his phone. Or maybe he was just texting his girlfriend.

  “Is there anyone else you can think of who may have wanted to hurt Daisy?” Stephenson asked.

  Daisy. Her name was Daisy. “Like I said, from what she'd told me, her boyfriend was very controlling. Jealous too. If I were you, I'd be looking at him.”

  “Was he ever jealous of the two of you?” the brown-haired detective asked.

  Eric thought quickly about his response before he answered. “No.”

  Marky Mark put his phone back in his pocket, and the two of them exchanged glances before getting up from the couch. “I think that'll be all, Dr. Leroy. Thanks for your time.” Stephenson reached out his hand to shake Eric’s, and he returned the handshake.

  Eric followed behind them as the two men walked toward his door.

  “Do you have a suspect? I mean, have you arrested her boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Everyone is a suspect at this point in the investigation. We haven't made any arrests yet.”

  “I'm sure it was her boyfriend.”

  “We'll look into that.”

  From Blondie's expression, Eric couldn't tell if he took him seriously.

  They reached his front door and Adams let himself out first.

  “How did she die?” Eric asked before Stephenson went through his doorway.

  Stephenson turned and looked him in the eyes, examining him for his reaction. “She was strangled.” Stephenson stared at him for a moment before closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Play it again.” Stephenson stood over Adams’ shoulder and looked down at his partner’s computer screen.

  Adams played the video from the beginning. Sweat shone against Dwayne’s forehead as he sat across the metal table from Stephenson and Adams earlier that morning. His hands fidgeted on his lap.

  “We know this isn’t the first time you’ve hurt Daisy,” Adams said. “We’ve seen the reports from police responding to your residence for domestic disputes—three different times. The police were called twice by your neighbor…and once by Daisy.”

  “Is that what happened last night? Did things get out of control?” Stephenson asked.

  “That was different. I didn’t kill her.”

  Stephenson and Adams waited in silence to see if he would continue.

  “We’ve had our fights, but I would never kill her.” Dwayne chewed his lip and looked back and forth at the two detectives. “All couples fight.”

  “It seems a little one-sided to call it a fight when you’re the only one throwing the punches. We also know your ex-girlfriend, Kristi Tilman, filed a restraining order two years ago claiming you knocked her around,” Stephenson said.

  “She’s a liar.”

  “What happened to your hand?”

  Dwayne glanced at his red knuckles on his right hand.

  “Did you hit Daisy last night?”

  “Yeah. But only once. We’d both been drinking. She told me she was gonna move out, and I lost my temper. I hit her on the side of her face. Then she told me to get out, so I did. She was alive when I left.”

  “Was it an accident? Now’s your chance to tell us your side of the story,” Adams said.

  “I didn’t kill her!” He pounded his fists onto the table, spilling his paper cup of water.

  Stephenson held out his hands. “Calm down.”

  “Your neighbors heard shouting and doors slamming in your apartment right before the time Daisy was killed,” Adams said.

  “We had a fight, okay? I stormed out around ten and drove around the city to try and cool down. I ended up crashing at a friend’s place in West Seattle.”

  “Where exactly did you drive around for an hour?” Adams asked.

  “Downtown.”

  “Downtown Seattle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a thirty-minute drive from your apartment. What made you go there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll need the name and address of your friend who let you spend the night.”

  Stephenson looked away from the screen at the sight of their stickler superior, Lieutenant Greyson, marching through the Homicide Unit on a Saturday afternoon.

  “What brings you here on a Saturday?” Stephenson asked as they made eye contact.

  Adams stopped the video.

  Greyson paused a few feet from their desks. “I have to lead a press release later today,” he said. “Two people were found dead in their Madison Park home this morning, and one of them was Martin Watts.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Eric stared blankly at his computer screen. He’d been trying to write his novel for over an hour, but all he could think about was his secretary. And her son of a bitch boyfriend who had killed her. He was so upset he nearly cried for her.

  He Googled to see if they’d arrested him yet, but there weren't any new articles since the initial one saying her body had been found. He skimmed the article again. It ended by stating no arrests had been made. He balled up his fist before releasing it to slam his laptop closed.

  He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there plotting her boyfriend’s demise when he heard another knock at his door. Happy for the distraction, he got up and answered it.

  He was surprised to see the same two detectives standing in his hall. Their expressions were just as unreadable as the last time they came.

  “I'm afraid we've had an unexpected development,” Blondie said.

  What could be more unexpected than his beloved secretary being murdered?

  “We'd like you to come downtown and help us straighten a few things out.”

  Eric wanted to appear helpful and like he had nothing to hide. Plus, getting an inside tour of Seattle's Homicide Unit would be great for his story.

  “Sure,” he said. “Although, I don't know if I'll be of much more help. You really should be talking to her boyfriend.”

  “This isn't about your front office assistant. It's about one of your patients,” Marky Mark said.

  Oh, yeah. Patricia. They must've found her. He tried to look confused. He'd been so sad about his secretary's death that Patricia's had escaped him.

  “Oh, no. I hope it's nothing serious. I don't think I can take much more bad news today.”

  Both detectives eyed him suspiciously. “We'll explain at the precinct,” Blondie said.

  “Okay, I'll just grab my coat.”

  The Homicide Unit was different than Eric had imagined. He realized he'd pictured it looking like the ones he'd seen on TV. It was smaller, more open, more cluttered, noisier, and much less glamorous than he had anticipated. Walking through the depressing hallway to the tiny shoebox of an interview room made him feel like he should pay more taxes. He would never understand why Americans fought socialism so hard.

  The detectives let him enter the room first and motioned for him to have a seat. He obliged and hoped he wouldn't have to sit in the ass-numbing, unpadded chair for too long. Beavis and Butthead took their seats across from him in what looked to be equally uncomfortable chairs. They stared at him in silence, sizing him up. Eric stared back, his face revealing nothing.

  Marky Mark finally broke the silence. “Do you have a patient by the name of Patricia Watts?”

  “Yes.”

  “We're sorry to inform you that she was killed last night.” The two detectives exchanged a look. “Probably not long before Daisy.”

  Eric dropped his jaw. “What?”

  “We're sure this must be a shock, especially after the death of your front office assistant.”

  He tried to appear dumbfounded. “Yes, it is.” He brought his hands to his face and wondered why he never pursued a career in acting. There were plenty of Australian actors who had made it in America.

  “Patricia's husband, Martin, was also found dead this morning. At this point, we're treating both deaths as suspicious. Did Patricia ever say she was afraid of her husband? Or that he had ever hu
rt her?”

  Eric slowly took his hands away from his face, as if he were still taking in the news about Patricia's husband. He hoped he looked as though he was struggling to focus.

  “Well, um...she never said he had physically hurt her. If she had, I would be obligated to report it. But, I wouldn't be surprised if he ever was. From what she’d said, he was extremely controlling. Oftentimes, that type of behavior is a precursor to abuse.”

  “What do you mean by extremely controlling?” Blondie asked.

  “I would have to look over my notes to give you all the details, but he didn't like her having any friends and tried to keep her away from her own family. Many abusers use isolation as a way of controlling their victims.”

  Fortunately, he had already doctored up her medical record to match what he had just said.

  The detectives looked unimpressed by this information. So, he gave them more.

  “He was always telling her she was fat, always lowering her self-esteem. I remember a specific instance when he wouldn't let her buy any new clothes until she lost weight.”

  He was annoyed he hadn't come up with anything better. He tried again. He figured he could always alter her medical records to substantiate his statement.

  “He had also threatened to kill himself on several occasions if she didn't do what he wanted. He sounded incredibly unstable, but, according to Patricia, he refused to get any help. He always blamed everything on her.”

  To this, they raised their eyebrows. Eric withheld a smile to their reaction.

  “And Patricia? Was she unstable?”

  “Patricia? No. Most of her problems were because of her husband, she even said so. I encouraged her to leave him if she ever felt unsafe, but she insisted he would never physically hurt her. I wish I could've done something to prevent this, but, unfortunately, my hands were tied unless I knew he had hurt her physically.”

  “We've got a warrant for Patricia's psychiatric records. We'll need you to send those over ASAP.”