Inspired by Murder

by Audrey J. Cole

  A tear spilled onto her cheek, but Stephenson made no effort to comfort her. If she wanted sympathy, she'd come to the wrong person.

  “I don't know what I was thinking. Things seemed to be getting so serious between us I guess I... got scared, you know?”

  “No, I don't.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I want you to know I'm not seeing Shawn anymore.”

  “I don't care.”

  Another tear slid down her face. “I was wrong. It was stupid, and I hope someday you can forgive me. I love you, Blake.”

  Before he could pull away she reached her hand behind his neck and put her mouth to his. The familiar feel of her lips against his left him frozen in shock.

  “Guess who got their first homicide? Oh—sorry.”

  He tore his mouth away from Serena's at the sound of Richards' startled voice in the doorway. Their eyes met for only a second before she turned away down the hall. He swore and pulled Serena's hand away from his neck.

  “Tess, wait!”

  He hurried after her down the hall.

  “That wasn't what it looked like,” he said as he closed the distance between them.

  He could see the hurt in her eyes when she whipped around to face him.

  “It looked like you were making out with your ex-girlfriend. Or is she even your ex?”

  “There's nothing going on between us. I—”

  She put her hand in the air to silence him. “I have to go. We're about to leave for the crime scene. I was just coming to tell you I'd gotten my first case.”

  She turned and marched back toward her desk. He started to follow her, then realized they were in a room filled with other detectives working their cases. Not exactly the time or place for him to try and explain what she just saw.

  “You ready?” her partner asked, putting on his coat.

  She glanced back in Stephenson's direction. “Yeah. Let's go.”

  He watched them leave before he returned to his desk. Even though he'd only known Tess a short time, the thought of losing her made him feel sick. He was about to sit down when Serena appeared at the end of the hallway. It was obvious she'd been crying. Her eyes were red and her dark eye makeup was now smudged underneath them.

  It was embarrassing for her to come to his workplace and act like this. He took a deep breath and tried to suppress his anger toward her before he went to where she stood.

  “You need to leave, now,” he said in a lowered voice. “It's completely inappropriate for you to be coming here like this.”

  She nodded and started to leave. Stephenson let out a sigh of relief when she didn't cause more of a scene. She turned when she was only a few feet away and he held his breath for what she might say in front of his coworkers.

  “Call me if you ever want to talk. I miss you.”

  “Goodbye, Serena.”

  He went back to his desk without looking back. He ran his hand through his hair after sitting down.

  “Sorry, man. Richards came over and asked where you were, and I told her you were in the break room and you'd be back in a minute. I thought she'd wait here for you to come back. When she headed back there, I wasn't sure how to explain you were talking privately with Serena.”

  “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

  “She didn't look too happy when she came back down the hall. Everything okay between you two?”

  “No. She walked in on Serena trying to stick her tongue down my throat.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I'm sure you can explain to her what really happened.”

  “I don't know. I hope so. But I'm sure what she saw didn't look good.”

  Stephenson waited until the end of the day to try talking to Richards again. When he saw her pack up her laptop, he followed her out of the homicide unit and down the stairwell.

  “Tess, wait!”

  His footsteps echoed in the stairway as he hurried after her.

  She was three flights down before she paused on the landing half a flight below him and looked up. Her expression was both weary and annoyed.

  “There is nothing going on between me and Serena. I know what it looked like, but believe me—”

  “Stop. I don't want to hear it.”

  He stopped two stairs up from where she stood. “It's not what you think.”

  “It's best if we just keep things professional between us, okay? Getting involved with someone at work was obviously a bad idea. I need to focus on the job for right now.”

  He longed to move closer to her but could see she needed her space.

  “There's nothing you can say to change my mind. It's better this way. I'll see you tomorrow,” she said before continuing down the stairs.

  He slumped down onto the steps when he heard the door open and shut at the bottom of the stairwell.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Eric took the train from the airport to Newcastle and caught a bus from there to Nelson Bay. He would've hired a car, but the rental companies required too much personal information. Like a driver's license. It was information he couldn't afford to give.

  The fact that he’d made it all the way to Sydney was a great sign. The cops must've not had enough evidence to arrest him. If that remained the case, they wouldn't have enough evidence to extradite him.

  They might’ve not even realized he had gone yet. Eric knew they'd eventually figure out he fled to Australia, but he clung to the hope they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He didn't want to take any unnecessary chances.

  He rented a one-bedroom unit downtown, close to the beach. He paid cash for one week. In the meantime, he'd look for something more permanent. The weather was glorious in Nelson Bay in February. He awoke early to the bright morning sun and the sound of kookaburras laughing in the trees outside his window. He spent the morning at the beach, where he sat on the white sand and basked in summer sun. When he felt overheated, he waded into the clear blue water and watched as juvenile whiting swam past his legs.

  After stopping for gelato at the marina on his way back to the apartment, he worked on his novel for the rest of the afternoon. In the evening, before sunset, he headed back down to the marina and walked along the break wall. It was alive with people this time of year. The area was home to over twenty inland and coastal beaches, making it a popular holiday destination, especially in summer.

  There was a mix of both locals and tourists, fisherman, couples holding hands, and a few young families. Pelicans hovered on the rocks near the fishermen, waiting for handouts. Dolphins often surfaced along the wall during their evening feed.

  Eric climbed down the rocks and admired the small reef fish swimming in the shallow waters. His father used to take him fishing along this break wall as a kid. He remembered seeing the occasional penguin swim by in the winter and sea turtles in the summer. Growing up, this magical place had seemed ordinary to him. Well, maybe not ordinary. He knew it was a great place to live, but it had also seemed normal. It was the only home he had ever known. He promised himself he would never take this paradise for granted again. After dusk, he went back to his unit and wrote late into the night.

  He wrote tirelessly during that first week back in Australia. Being home gave him a new energy and he felt free to unleash his unfiltered creative genius. He even wrote a scene where he recreated Stella's murder. He figured since she was already dead, some good might as well come out of it. By the time Eric moved into his new apartment where he intended to stay as a long-term tenant, his manuscript was complete. He had a bit of editing to do, but the end was in sight.

  He’d found an ad for a furnished granny flat close to downtown that was for rent by owner. It was a one-bedroom, standalone unit situated at the rear of the larger home’s property. He contacted the owners, a retired couple looking to bring in a little extra cash. They hit it off right away. When he offered to pay for three months up front, they were happy to let him move in the next day.

  In another week h
e had completely edited his manuscript. He emailed it to a dozen top literary agents in New York. Now all he could do was wait.

  Eric kept up his same routine, minus the writing. He didn't stop writing intentionally, he just didn't have any ideas yet for the next novel. He walked everywhere. He even found a scenic bushwalk that ran through the natural habitat behind his granny flat. He jogged it in the early morning on days he felt especially ambitious, before the summer heat became too intense.

  This town brought back so many memories for him. As he strolled down the quaint downtown enjoying his gelato, he felt like he was reliving the past.

  Eric walked past his parents’ house not far from the town center. He had checked the phone listings to see if they still lived there. It was the house he had grown up in. His heart ached for the family he no longer knew as he stood in the street in front of the house. He could see that his mum still kept the yard in exceptional condition. She had always taken great pride in her garden. The hedges were trimmed to symmetrical perfection, the front lawn a lush green despite the hot weather, and there wasn't a single weed in sight.

  He longed to knock on the front door and tell them he was home. He fantasized about them throwing their arms around him, their eyes glistening with tears of joy. In this fantasy, they would tell him how much they'd missed him and how happy they were that their only son was finally home.

  Eric snapped back to reality, knowing that would never happen. They had made themselves clear: he was dead to them. Nearly twenty years later, the words still stung.

  He pushed his sunglasses farther up the brim of his nose and blinked back his tears. He took one last look at the house before turning around and heading back to his granny flat.

  Eric checked his email fanatically over the next few days. Six of the literary agents had replied to him with rejection letters, one had requested his full manuscript for review, and five had yet to respond. He clung to the hope that the agent to whom he'd sent his book would fall in love with his writing and offer him representation. It nearly killed him having to wait for her decision.

  He was at the local grocery store one morning picking out a perfectly ripe avocado for that night's dinner when he caught a woman, a little older than himself, staring at him from across the produce table. She was not just staring but gawking at him with a look of horror, as if he were a zombie looking for a fresh human to devour in the middle of a supermarket.

  She continued staring, the whites of her eyes growing bigger by the second. It dawned on him that she didn't think he was a zombie. She thought he was the man who'd killed her sister.

  She hadn't aged well. The smooth face he remembered was now marked with deep lines. She'd also gained a good sixty pounds since the last time Eric saw her. But there was no mistaking who she was. He was standing less than a meter away from Maggie, Stella's older sister.

  When Maggie's shock faded, a look of anger washed over her face. She dropped the tomato she was holding and pointed her finger toward his face.

  “You! You killed my sister!”

  He pulled down the brim of his straw hat as he watched her become even more enraged.

  “How dare you come back here!”

  She was screaming now. People around them stared. A mother put her arm around her small child and pulled him away from the scene.

  “I'm afraid you must have me confused with someone else,” Eric said.

  Her dark brown eyes seemed to pierce through him, as though she could read his thoughts.

  “Don't lie to me. I know exactly who you are. You killed Stella! You killed her!”

  She was shaking with anger. Her finger remained pointed at his face.

  Eric set down his avocado and put both of his hands in the air.

  “It's all right. I'll just go.”

  He left his cart and backed away.

  “It will never be all right. Stella's dead!”

  Now she was sobbing.

  Eric turned around to face a store clerk who stared at him with a gaping mouth.

  “It's okay,” he said to the young man.

  Eric felt surprisingly unaffected by the encounter with Stella's sister as he walked back to his place in the morning sun. It was crazy to think he wouldn't run into one of her family members sooner or later; Nelson Bay was just too small. But he hadn't considered what would happen if he did.

  She couldn't prove anything, so he knew he didn't have to worry. He supposed it was possible, however, that she would let his friends at Seattle Homicide know where he was. But he doubted those detectives would be able to do anything about it. He figured if they had enough evidence to extradite him, they would have found him already.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Stephenson awoke to darkness at the sound of his alarm. He moaned, seeing the time on his phone. Four thirty. He shut off his alarm, rubbed his eyes, and got out of bed. He walked to the kitchen and was glad to see that his coffee maker had already brewed a full pot of coffee.

  It had been more than two weeks since the doctor had escaped to Australia. They were tracking the IP address of the doctor's laptop and could see he was staying in Nelson Bay, New South Wales. A few days after Dwayne's murder, Dr. Leroy's ninety-year-old neighbor had reported her Buick stolen. They'd found the car parked across the street from the cafe where Dwayne was killed with the doctor's fingerprints all over the steering wheel and driver's side door. His prints were also on a plastic spoon from a half-eaten bowl of chowder left on the passenger seat. They'd started the process for his extradition from Australia but were waiting for all the paperwork to go through.

  Right now, they were only able to charge him with falsifying Patricia's medical records and the murder of Dwayne Morrison. But, it was enough to bring him back into the country. Stephenson was trying to find a way to prove he killed Martin, Patricia, and Robert. It drove Stephenson mad to think the doctor was lying on a sunny beach when he should be serving time for his crimes, but that would change soon enough. Although, he was beginning to worry they might never have enough to charge him with the three other murders.

  It had been weeks since he’d gone for a run before work. His ankle was still sore from the plane incident, but he needed to clear his head. After downing a cup of coffee, Stephenson got dressed and wrapped his ankle to avoid further injury. He stopped in his entry way to put on his running shoes when he realized they weren’t there. He opened his small coat closet, but they weren’t in there either.

  He thought of the last time he’d worn them and remembered where they were. He swore as he went back to his bedroom to get his phone. He sat on the side of his bed and hesitated before sending the text. It would be easier to buy new shoes. Except, he loved those shoes. Screw Serena, he thought. He wasn’t going to let her stand between him and his favorite shoes.

  He sent the text and was surprised when she responded immediately despite the early hour. I’ll be home tonight between 4:30 and 5. You can come over then.

  He typed a quick reply. I’ll probably still be working. Can I come over later?

  Her response came as quick as the first. Sorry, I’ll be showing homes for the rest of the night.

  He rubbed the back of his head while he thought of what to do. He doubted she would be showing homes for the rest of the night and was probably just being difficult because of what happened between them at the station. It meant he would have to leave work to go to her house during rush hour before turning around to go back to station. Fine, he typed. He tossed his phone onto his bed before getting into the shower.

  Noticing the time, Stephenson stood from his desk and threw on his coat.

  Having hours of work still to do on their case, Adams looked inquisitively at him from across their desks.

  “I’ll be back. I just have something personal to take care of.”

  Adams waited for more details before responding. “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back in just over an hour.”

  Stephenson rang the doorbell at Serena’s home i
n Shoreline. With traffic, it had taken him forty-five minutes to get to her house.

  The door swung open. Serena was dressed to the hilt in a form-fitting black dress and platform heels. She greeted him with a straight face.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Stephenson shook his head. “That’s okay. I have to get back to work. Would you mind getting my shoes? I thought I left them by the door anyway.” He looked around at the bare floor of her entry way.

  “I think they got moved,” she said. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to look for them. I just got home. I have to leave soon, so why don’t you just come in?”

  “Fine.”

  She held the door as he came inside.

  “Would you mind taking off your coat? It’s soaked from the rain, and I don’t want you to drip all over my floors.”

  He pursed his lips. “I’m not going to drip on your floors. And I’m not staying. I just need my shoes.”

  A buzzer sounded from her kitchen.

  “I need to check on dinner. Why don’t you take a look upstairs? I think that’s where I saw them last.” She turned before scurrying down the hall in her tight dress and four-inch heels.

  “You never cook.”

  “And seriously, can you take off your coat before you go up there?” she called from the kitchen.

  “Sure,” he muttered. He shook it off and hung it on the bottom of the banister before going upstairs.

  He entered her bedroom and found his shoes on top of her perfectly made bed.

  “What the-—” He swiped them off her comforter and turned for the door. “Whatever.”

  He heard his phone ring from inside his jacket pocket when he stepped into the hall.

  “Hello?” he heard Serena say.

  There’s no way she would answer my phone. He hurried to the top of the stairwell. His jaw dropped at the sight of her standing over his coat, holding his phone to her ear.