“You’re talking to her,” Fishner says.
“Okay.” Then why are you here? I’d rather have Goran here. I don’t know how you work.
I walk up to the building and hold open the front door for Fishner. The elevator ride to the second floor is mercifully quick. I say a little prayer that she’ll keep quiet. She must have been a decent detective at one point to get where she is, but I feel as though this is my case. I knock on the door to Apartment 2B.
Allie opens the door. “Yes?”
“We’re here with Cleveland Police,” I say.
I catch a glimpse of another woman inside before she pulls the door closed. Allie is wearing jeans and a CSU fleece jacket. She’s one of those who doesn’t need to make any effort to look good: flawless skin, healthy hair, the kind of bone structure that pisses some people off because they’re jealous. “Is this about Kevin?” she asks.
“Yes. We just have a few questions. I’m Detective Boyle. This is Lieutenant Fishner.”
“Do you have some ID or something?” She doesn’t make eye contact with either of us. We show her our IDs, but she looks disinterested and faint, almost to the point of passing out.
“Allie, are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” For a moment I wonder how true that is. She still hasn’t looked at me, and it’s disconcerting. We stand in silence for a few beats. “Do you want to talk out here, or can we come inside?”
When she finally meets my eyes, there’s something hollow about her expression. It’s the kind of sad that goes beyond situational grief. Her sadness doesn’t ameliorate my suspicion, though. “Out here is better,” she says.
I decide to start by playing good cop. “Thanks for talking to us, Allie. We appreciate any help you can give us.”
She sighs. “I can’t believe this is happening. The one good thing in my life. Gone. Fuck. I knew I should have called the police. But Graham said they probably just wanted money and not to.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“One after the other,” she whispers, looking at the floor.
Fishner leans against the wall behind me but doesn’t say anything.
“Do you mean your mom?” I ask.
She looks a little surprised. Most people do, once they realize that we know more about them than they might like. “Yeah, my mom. And Kevin. And the job. And my so-called friends. And my dad.”
“What about your dad?” I ask. “Isn’t he still alive?”
“Yeah, technically.”
I wait for her to tell me more, but she doesn’t. “Allie, I know this is hard. But I need to ask you some questions. They might feel intrusive, and I apologize in advance if they do.”
She nods.
“Where were you on Thursday night?”
“The night Kevin was killed?” She blinks hard and looks away. The light above us flickers as if it’s about to go out, but then it stays on. “I was here, at home.”
“Yes. Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts?”
“No. I was home alone. I took a couple Xanax, you know, tried to put everything out of my mind.”
I wonder what she means by “everything.” “So you weren’t down in the Flats, by Winky’s?”
“No, I called off.” She narrows her eyes. “You know what? I ordered food. It got here at, like, a quarter to eight. I fell asleep, and the guy was pounding on the door, so my neighbor called to wake me up.” She lets out a little chuckle. “I’m not supposed to take Xanax and drink like that, but whatever. Anyway, the delivery guy and my neighbor, they both saw me that night. I probably have the receipt.”
“What restaurant?”
“Malibu Jack’s.”
I make a note. “Do you remember the driver’s name?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think he even told me.”
“What’s your neighbor’s name?”
“It’s Ellen Preakness.” She pulls out her phone, taps the screen a couple of times, then holds it out for me. “She lives downstairs, Apartment 1C. She’s probably home right now. She works nights.”
I copy the woman’s name and phone number into my notebook. “Why didn’t you come forward right away, after we found Kevin’s body? You heard about it, right?”
She doesn’t reply.
“Why didn’t you come to the police when he went missing?”
“Of course I heard about it. They called me when they couldn’t find him. I went and stayed the night, thinking he would come back. Maybe he was just playing around or something. He’s a good hider. Was a good hider.”
“Who called you?”
“Elaine called me.”
“Where were you last Friday afternoon, the day Kevin was kidnapped?”
“I was about to go to my other job, the one at Winky’s. I work Friday nights.”
“Why have you been calling off from that job all week? Have you been sick?”
“Because I’m fucking distraught.” She blinks back tears. “Wouldn’t you be? If someone you loved was fucking dead?”
I ignore her question. I don’t have time to worry about her feelings, and for all I know, she’s faking the grief. “Where were you between five last night and eight this morning?” I’m digging because of the business card. I didn’t tell Fishner about that yet, and I hope she doesn’t question why I’m asking.
Allie makes a face. “Here, sleeping. I’ve been sleeping a lot.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
“Not really.”
Fishner moves a little farther away from us. I’m glad she’s working to fade into the background. Allie will talk more if she feels we’re alone together.
I lean back against the wall and relax my hands at my sides, trying to convey that this is just a relaxed little chat. “How long have you known the Whittles?” I’m not getting a sense that she did it. I also don’t think she’s a good enough liar to throw me off. I’ve been wrong before, but what I’m beginning to think is that she’s living in some kind of abject internal misery that she doesn’t talk about.
“I’ve been working for them for a little over a year. They pay me pretty well. And I really love Kevin.” She squeezes her eyes closed for a second. “Loved Kevin.”
“How much do they pay?” I ask.
“Five hundred a week. For three days. Cash.”
I make a note. “How would you describe your relationship with Elaine and Graham?”
I’m pretty sure she flinches when I say Graham. She starts prattling nervously about Elaine. She overuses adjectives like “nice” and “wonderful” and “nurturing” and says Elaine is like a mother to her.
“And Graham? Do you get along with him?”
She lowers her gaze. A tear trickles down her cheek.
“Allie? Do you have a problem with Graham? It’s okay to talk to me.”
Fishner takes another step to the side, farther out of Allie’s line of sight but still in mine.
Allie sniffs. “He wanted me to do stuff with him,” she says, wiping tears with the back of her hand.
Fishner flinches, and I have to work to control my expression.
“Did you?” I ask.
A dark look crosses her features. “No, I didn’t. And every fucking day I wondered if he’d fire me for it.” Her face is reddening, and her hands clench into fists. “Whatever.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What did he want you to do?”
She blushes. “He said that since I worked at Winky’s, I was probably used to…” She looks down at her hands and interlaces her fingers. “He wanted me to blow him. But I wouldn’t. I’m done with that. I’m trying to get my shit together.” She raises her head and juts out her chin. “Good thing he didn’t force himself on me, though. I would have fucked him up. All he did was talk a big game. He thinks
he’s God’s gift. That’s it.”
The second part of my gut feeling comes back with a surge: motive. “Did Kevin ever hear or see any of these advances?”
She meets my eyes and sets her jaw. Her tense face provides a contrast to my intentionally relaxed one. “Of course not. Graham only made comments when we were alone. Kevin never heard anything.”
Realizing I’m not going to get anything more with the head-on approach, I switch subjects. “Take me through the whole day that Kevin disappeared.”
“Elaine called me in a total panic that Friday afternoon. She asked me if I’d come by and picked up Kevin without telling them. I used to take him on little day trips sometimes, and Elaine seemed like she hoped we’d gone on one. But of course, we hadn’t. I would never do that without telling them.”
“What time did she call you?”
“I was getting ready to go to work at my full-time job, the one at Winky’s.” She says this with downcast eyes and the hint of a blush, as if I might judge her for working there in the way that Graham Whittle did. “So it was about three o’clock. My shift starts—started—at four.”
“What did you do after you got off the phone?”
“I freaked the fuck out is what I did. I really love—loved—that kid. I pulled on a sweatshirt, called off work, and drove to the Whittles’. We looked everywhere. I ran through that whole yard, back into the park, everywhere, but we didn’t find anything. It’s like he just… disappeared. It was like he was never even there, even though Graham said they were playing outside.”
“Did you look out back, past the fence?”
“Of course. Do you think we’re stupid?”
“Under the porch?” I notice Fishner crossing her arms and staring at me, but I keep my eyes on Allie.
Allie looks at me as if I’m insane. “Yes, we checked everywhere.”
“Did you see anything under there, any sign that Kevin might have been there?”
She blinks at me. “No.”
“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Kevin? Or you? Or the Whittles?”
“Not off the top of my head, no.”
“Have you let anyone borrow your car recently?”
“No,” she says. “Who would want to borrow my car?”
“A friend, maybe?”
She shakes her head. “Never.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, but I have to ask this. Did you kill Kevin Whittle?”
“Are you serious?” She slides down the wall and starts to cry.
I don’t say anything. I just stand there, looking down at her.
“No. I would never. I would never. No.” She weeps silently.
Fishner pulls two tissues out of her bag and hands them to me, and I hand them to Allie. I let ninety seconds tick by. “Allie, what can you tell me about Sean Miller?”
She raises her head. “Who?”
I pull his picture up on my phone and show it to her. “Sean Miller. Do you know him?”
She gets up off the floor. “Yeah. I know him, but I didn’t remember his name. He’s a regular at the restaurant. Always orders a ton of food and eats it all. He asked me out once.” She searches my face. “Wait a minute.” She jabs a finger at my phone. “Do you think he did it?”
I try to look sympathetic and supportive. “Allie, are you on medication right now?”
She nods. “Yeah. Xanax. Just one, though.”
“Whose decision was it not to call the police when Kevin disappeared?”
She starts to cry again. “Graham told me not to. I couldn’t even go to the funeral. I couldn’t face him. I knew I should have called. Fuck, I should have called. And I didn’t because I was too chickenshit.” She leans against the wall and cradles her head in her hands.
I nod and wait a couple of minutes for her to pull herself together again. The second hand on my watch ticks away. “Is there anything else that I should know?”
She looks at the wall, at the floor, then back at me. “No.”
“You sure?”
She hesitates. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
I stare at her for a few beats, but she doesn’t say anything else. “What are you going to do now?”
“Hell if I know,” she replies. “I’m probably fired from the restaurant. I’ve been a mess. I’m a mess. I guess I’ll be a sub or something.”
“You mean like a substitute teacher?”
She nods.
“You seem pretty put together to me. You’re going through a hard time.”
She turns her eyes to meet mine but looks straight through me. “Yeah, I always have seemed that way. I’ve always seemed that way.”
I hand her a business card with my cell phone number and the number for Victims’ Assistance on the back.
Fishner comes over and stands beside me. “Allie, we have to ask you not to leave the city. We may have more questions later. Call us if you think of anything, okay? And talk to a grief counselor at Victims’ Assistance. They can help you.”
She gives us a wan smile. “Thank you.”
When Allie turns to open her door, I glance inside. Elizabeth, the bartender from Winky’s, is sitting on the couch.
We go downstairs and knock on Ellen Preakness’s door to check Allie’s alibi. The only response is yapping from a small dog. I slide a card under the door with a note asking her to give me a call.
Fishner and I don’t say much on the way to the station. I wonder what she was like as a detective. Did she talk to her partner, or did they just work in silence like this? Who was her partner? What’s her story? We part ways at the station, Fishner to her office and me to my desk.
I call the restaurant and verify Allie’s story about getting the food delivery the night Kevin died. My stomach grumbles, and I realize it’s lunchtime. I go out and grab a sandwich from my favorite food truck in Public Square. I eat sitting on a bench and watching the people walk by.
My phone rings as I’m taking the last bite. “Boyle.”
“Hi, Detective Boyle? This is Ellen Preakness. I found your card under my door.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for calling. We’re hoping you can verify that Allie Cox, your upstairs neighbor, was home last Thursday night.”
“Hmmm… Oh! Yes, that was the night I had to pound on her door when the deliveryman came. He was from Malibu Jack’s. If you haven’t eaten there, you should try it.”
“And did she answer her door?”
“Yes, she did. She looked tired. She must have fallen asleep, the poor thing.”
“Okay, great. Thanks for your time.”
The dog yaps in the background. “Is Allie in trouble? That poor girl, I tell you.”
“No, she’s not in trouble. You’ve been a big help. Thank you again.”
I return to the squad room and find Goran back at his desk. “What’s happening?” I ask.
“Same old. I’m just—”
“Did you get anything else on Cox?” Fishner says from behind me. “Any connection to Miller?”
I turn around to face her. “Not as far as I can tell, beyond crossing paths at the restaurant. The neighbor verifies that Cox was at home at the time of the murder. I called Malibu Jack’s, too. The guy that was on delivery that night wasn’t there, but the woman I talked to verified that someone ordered food delivered to Allie’s address. The delivery guy will be back later. I’ll just swing by and talk to him.”
She nods. “I’m still thinking Miller is our guy.”
“Yeah,” Goran says. “He’s sticking to his line about finding the body, but I figure he’s good for it, too. He was in town when Kevin disappeared, and he has no alibi for that afternoon. He was away for a couple of days visiting that friend in Pittsburgh, which Miller’s druggie ex-roommate in Pittsburgh corroborates, but he could have left the kid in the garage overnight.”
>
Fishner nods. “Cement walls, vacant house next door. Kid was probably drugged, too.”
As much as I’d like it to be that simple, I can’t buy it. If Miller was involved, he was working with someone. But my gut says it wasn’t Allie. And if Miller’s telling the truth, I have to wonder who would take a kid to Miller’s house to kill him. “Wait. There is one weird thing. I found Dwayne Arya’s business card under the Whittles’ porch this morning.”
“Who is Dwayne Arya?” Fishner asks.
I explain who he is then pull out my phone and show her the picture I took of the card. “I dropped the card off at the lab earlier.”
She frowns. “Well, someone from the investigative team must have dropped it.”
“I don’t think so. It wasn’t wet, so it was left there after the rain last night. And who would even be carrying it around, anyway? Arya’s been gone for years.”
She shakes her head. “Boyle, we need to concentrate on the facts at hand. I just got a report on the blood, and the blood type in Miller’s garage matches the vic. On the shovel, too. You two are building a case against Sean Miller. I have a couple of floaters from Homicide coming in later to help you. We need to get this tied up and closed. We’ll have a briefing at four thirty.”
“Okay,” I reply.
“Ten-four, boss,” Goran adds.
When Fishner goes into her office, I ask Goran, “What’s up with her today?”
“You tell me. Isn’t she your new partner?” He grins.
I roll my eyes. “She’s babysitting me.”
“It’s probably for the best, Boyle. She’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Whatever.”
A couple of hours later, the two floaters Fishner requested arrive for the briefing. Goran is out getting us some real coffee, so I point them toward the break room, where they can get some stale coffee and day-old doughnuts. One of them, Malik Sims, has always been a little resentful of Goran and me because he requested Special Homicide and was passed over. He’s a decent detective, though, so I try not to hold it against him. The other one, John Wittenour, has been around the block more times than I can count. I think he was on Goran’s softball team a few years back.
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