by Ivy Thorne
“When you say grown men, are you referring to Speckleman? Because we both know he’s a child,” Marla joked.
She didn’t believe in the slightest that Dane would think her guilty of Reggie’s murder. Little did she know just how wrong that was.
It was late afternoon when Reggie’s family called into the funeral home. Jackie had been the one to answer. Just before that, Marla had received word from the forensic unit that they had finished analyzing Reggie’s body and was ready for her to transport him back to the funeral home.
Marla was loading the stretcher into the van in preparation to drive into the city. It was then that she was confronted by Mr. Oswald in the garage.
The man seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Marla closed the doors of the van only to be startled by his sudden presence.
“How do you walk so quietly?” she asked, clutching her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“You’re far too young for that, Marla,” Mr. Oswald stated. “I’ve just had a conversation with an officer from the police station. They’re wondering if you would be willing to submit to an interview. You can go now if you’re willing. I’m sure it’s just a formality,” he said.
“Uh, sure,” Marla replied, uncertainly.
She had an uneasy feeling developing in her gut. It had been days since she’d heard from Dane and now suddenly she was being asked to go to the station. Something wasn’t right. On top of it all, Speckleman weaseled his way into the garage.
“What’s going on in here?” he probed nosily. Marla thought it was awfully coincidental of him to take a smoke break at the exact moment when she was loading the van for the transfer.
“Oh, nothing much,” Mr. Oswald said. “I need someone to pick up Reggie from the forensic unit.”
“Isn’t Marla doing that?” Speckleman asked.
Marla felt the anger rising in her as she passed Speckleman. There was something about the tone of his voice that made Marla think he’d been up to something. Then again, he always sounded as though he was up to something. Just to be sure, she pressed her ear against the door that led out to the garage to hear what else Speckleman had to say.
“Marla has to attend to a personal matter,” Mr. Oswald told him.
“Well, I’d be happy to do the transfer,” Speckleman volunteered.
“Really?” Mr. Oswald said. “You’re scheduled to go home in half an hour. The drive to the city and back will take you at least two hours.”
“That’s alright. I don’t mind putting in some extra hours.”
Mr. Oswald responded gratefully. “Well, that’s very generous of you,” he said. “I appreciate your time.”
Marla tore her ear away from the door. She’d heard enough. Speckleman never volunteered his time like that. Usually, he’d go to extremes to avoid having to work the extent of his shifts. Marla was almost certain he had someone writing him fake doctor’s notes just so he could go home early. There was no doubt in her mind. He was trying to make up for his embalming failure. She wondered if he had anything to do with the police interview request.
The interior of Marla’s car was so hot it felt like a sauna. Dressed head to toe in black, Marla already could feel the sweat dripping down her back. She hurriedly started the engine and cranked the air conditioner.
Again, she found herself second-guessing how she’d acted during her meeting with Dane. Maybe she had revealed too much about her experience with Reggie. She’d told Dane that Reggie had refused to get involved with her subtenant choice, even though he’d been the landlord. Perhaps Dane had taken that as a sign that Marla had been angry with Reggie. Though, to Marla, this didn’t seem like enough of a motive to kill someone.
The station was on the opposite end of town. It was a large, plain, brown-bricked building. Police cars were parked in front. Her heart raced as she walked through the entrance. The thought of being questioned by police officers was daunting.
Uncertain of where she was supposed to go, Marla walked up to a glass booth where a uniformed man was standing.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I’m here to answer some questions for an investigation. My name is Marla James.”
The man in uniform exited the booth and gestured for Marla to follow him down a corridor that led to another corridor. Although Marla had an incredible memory, she wasn’t sure how anyone who worked there remembered what door led to what room, as all the doors within the station looked the same. Eventually, the corridor expanded into an office area where people were shuffling papers, examining files, taking pensive sips of coffee, and peering over one another’s shoulders to stare at computer monitors. Amongst these people, Marla recognized Dane, as well as his superior officer, Detective Wiggins.
As soon as she entered the space, he stopped what he was doing and approached her. “I can take it from here,” Detective Wiggins said to the uniformed man. Dane was at his side. Marla smiled at him. She was saddened when he didn’t smile back.
“Marla,” Detective Wiggins said, “we have some things we need to discuss.”
His voice was stern. It reminded Marla of the voice her father had used whenever he’d been about to punish her for behaving poorly. Dane’s display matched that of Detective Wiggins. He was stoic and regarded Marla as if he’d never met her. After the nice dinner they’d shared, this behavior was upsetting to Marla.
“Follow me, please.” Detective Wiggins started down the corridor in long strides. He stopped at one of the many blue doors that lined the walls and opened it by pressing a card to an ID reader next to the door.
“Take a seat, Marla,” the detective offered. He pulled out a chair from a table. The room was small and bleak. A tiny window allowed for a minimal amount of light to filter inside.
Marla did as she’d been instructed. She got the impression something was wrong.
They can’t possibly think I’m a suspect in Reggie’s murder, can they? she thought, nervously.
“Do you know why you’ve been asked here to answer some questions?”
Marla answered with what she hoped the correct response was. “You know I once knew Reggie and you’re wondering if I know anything about him that might help you?”
The officer shook his head. Marla felt her throat swell with panic.
“You’ve been called here because you’re under suspicion of murder.”
“Oh dear,” Marla muttered.
She felt a tautness in the back of her throat. Looking to Dane she noticed his expression was stony. Had he only made her think he’d been interested? The way he’d looked at her − had that just been an act? Marla wasn’t sure what to make of her predicament. Should she be feeling betrayed by Dane, though she’d never really gotten to know him?
“You look bothered,” Detective Wiggins observed. “Any reason for that?”
Of course, I’m bothered! Marla thought. You’ve just accused me of murder!
Marla didn’t like how the detective was talking to her. It was as though he was looking for evidence that she was a killer where there was none. Of course, she knew she was innocent of Reggie’s murder. The officer was making her feel as though he was trying to convince her of her guilt.
“I’ve never been a murder suspect before,” she replied, honestly.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Detective Wiggins stated. He made it seem like Marla was experiencing something far less shocking than a murder accusation. Marla couldn’t imagine having to work with the man. He probably invalidated others’ feelings on the daily. Perhaps that was the explanation for Dane’s cold demeanor. Was he only trying to appear indifferent toward her to appease his boss?
Get a grip, Marla, he barely knows you! she thought. You went out for dinner once and it was under the pretense that it was strictly professional.
“Here’s the thing, Marla,” the detective continued, “the forensic group determined that Reggie died hours before you showed up at the scene. That means you could have killed him. You had plenty of ti
me to slit his neck and then clean yourself up and come back to remove his body as if you’d never murdered him in the first place. Dane here also told me you mentioned to him that someone closed Reggie’s eyes after he was killed. How could you know that unless it was you who closed them?”
Oh, please! That was just a deduction, Marla thought. She could feel the anger welling in her core, but she knew talking back to the detective wouldn’t fare well. Any display of agitation only would confirm the detective’s erroneous suspicions.
Marla didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t been anywhere near Reggie’s house until she’d gone to do the transfer. But simply denying this didn’t offer the detective any proof. Marla knew what she was going to be asked next and it pained her to think that she did not have anyone to confirm that she’d been in her condo watching television and sleeping the entire evening.
“Where were you during hours of eight-to-eleven the night of Reggie’s murder?”
Marla delivered her response, wracking her brain for anyone who might have seen her in the building during that time, but there had been no one.
“Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts?”
“No, there isn’t,” Marla replied honestly.
Marla cursed the fact that she’d decided to stay in that night. Jackie had offered to take her out for a few drinks. But seeing as she was on call and still had to go to work the next day, she’d declined the offer. At the time, she’d thought her decision had been a responsible one. Now she was regretting it, as Jackie could have acted as her alibi, along with bartenders, servers, and countless other customers.
Then Dane spoke. It broke Marla’s heart to hear the man she’d developed a crush on speak to Marla as though she was a potential criminal.
“When I was at the scene of the crime that night, you told me a lot about Slasher Saul: The man who killed by slitting another man’s neck. I wonder if perhaps his work inspired you.”
Come on Dane! Marla thought, hurt. How could you think I’d be capable of that?! The way he’d spoken was as if he thought Marla was the kind of twisted person who would consider murders like Slasher Saul to be artists.
Upon second thought, Dane barely knew Marla. It had been foolish to think that one interaction over dinner would send him head over heels for her. He was a detective doing his job. He had no personal vendetta against her, nor did he favor her in any way. He simply was being objective, as a good detective should be.
I never should have gone out with him, Marla realized. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Moreover, I contacted Ashley Tyler, who told us you hated Reggie,” Dane said.
Marla shouldn’t have been surprised by Ashley’s lie. Nonetheless, it enraged her. Why on Earth had she suggested Dane call her? The girl had it out for Marla. She’d had to live with a man instead of a woman, as she’d requested. Marla hadn’t caved into giving her what she’d asked for. Instead, she’d ignored the threatening letter and had chosen to rent to the man, despite Ashley’s concern.
Even now that Marla was facing a murder charge, no doubt in part due to Ashley’s words, she didn’t regret her decision to rent to a man. To have done otherwise would have put her in a financial predicament, not to mention it was against the law to refuse rent to someone based on their gender.
“You’d told me Reggie had refused to do anything about the situation involving the subtenant you’d chosen. That must have been pretty frustrating. By law, it was his responsibility as the landlord to approve of Marla’s choice in a tenant, not Ashley’s. Anyone would have been upset by this response,” Dane continued.
Marla remained quiet. She didn’t know what else she could say that would prove her innocence. True, she’d been angered by Reggie’s apathy toward the situation, but that had been years ago. She’d never hated Reggie, but she had complained to Ashley before about his noisy dogs barking all the time. There was one thing she could point out that could demonstrate her innocence.
“I never hated Reggie,” Marla started. “He hadn’t been the greatest landlord, but he wasn’t the worst. Even if I had hated him for occasionally making noise and because he refused to take any responsibility as a landlord, I don’t see how that’s a viable motive for murdering him. It’s not like he’d intentionally hurt me.”
“This may be true for a normal person, but we received an anonymous call from someone who told us you’re a bit sick,” Detective Wiggins said.
“What?!”
Detective Wiggins was nodding. Marla felt almost as if he was getting a thrill out of seeing her suddenly worked up. Dane, on the other hand, was beginning to appear regretful. Or at least Marla hoped he was.
“I have a feeling I know who called you, and I can say with a high level of certainty that he contacted you because he wanted to make me look bad. I don’t have any desire to hurt people. I’m not sick,” Marla said, defensively.
Now she was pissed. There was no doubt in her mind, the anonymous caller had been Speckleman. He’d called the station and fed the officers a bunch of crap about her being a psychopath.
All this just because I exposed him for being the lazy ass embalmer that he is! Marla thought in frustration.
As livid as Marla was about the ‘anonymous’ caller, she remained level-headed. Appearing agitated in front of the police wouldn’t do her any good. To calm herself she slowed her breathing. She’d never been one to get into meditating, but she’d taken enough yoga classes to know there was a connection between breathing rate and levels of negative emotion.
For the time being, Marla knew she wasn’t under arrest. There was no hard evidence that she’d murdered Reggie. It wasn’t as if the detectives had found her DNA at the scene of the crime. They didn’t even have a murder weapon, though they likely were going to search Marla’s condo. She either could submit to having her condo checked, or she could wait until they got a warrant to search her place. Either way, she would have to deal with strangers digging through her personal belongings.
“Do we have your permission to go ahead with a search of your condo, Miss James?” Detective Wiggins asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Marla answered, respectfully. “If you need to search my possessions to be convinced of my innocence, by all means.”
Chapter 7
Marla hated the notion of an entire police team rummaging through her condo. The majority of that team was comprised of men. Were they going to go through everything? Like… even her underwear drawer?
They’re professionals, they wouldn’t look there, Marla thought.
Then again, why wouldn’t they look there? An underwear drawer was as good a place to hide a murder weapon as any other. What if Dane was looking through her intimates right this second?
Marla groaned as she returned to the funeral home. At the very least, it was approaching dinner time. Perhaps she’d find Jackie sitting in the lounge and could vent to her about the whole thing. When she saw Jackie digging into her take-out dinner at the table, Marla felt relieved. Her stomach growled. Jackie’s hamburger and fries smelled heavenly.
“Hey!” Jackie greeted her after taking a monstrous bite of her hamburger. “Where’d you go off to? When I went down to the garage to help unload Reggie’s body from the van, I was met with Speckleman. I asked him what had happened to you going to do the transfer and he just gave me an ugly smile.” She paused to shudder. “God, I hate seeing those hideous yellow teeth. What the hell happened?!”
Marla growled at the mention of Speckleman. Her fists balled, she unloaded her dinner from the refrigerator and haughtily sat herself down.
“That douche-canoe called the cops on me,” Marla stated. She barbarically ripped a chunk from her cucumber sandwich and chewed it messily.