The Devil Made Me

by Lorena May

  “And you’ll want to talk to Mrs. Cox PDQ!.”

  Darby nods thoughtfully. “I’ll leave it for tonight. She’s got kids to look after. But we’re going to want to talk to her first thing tomorrow. Let’s get the hell out of here for now. Maybe a new day will bring some clarity.” She jerks her thumb toward the door. Grinning, Mel rises to leave.

  JEN SITS ACROSS THE table from the two officers fidgeting, her movements short and jerky. “I booked a sub for this morning only. I hope that will be enough?” she asks, looking anxiously at Darby.

  “Yes. We have just a few questions that couldn’t wait. I’m sorry we had to take you away from work.”

  Jen nods nervously, and bites her lip.

  What’s she hiding? Is she the innocent pleaser that she portrays? Darby eyes her carefully.

  “As you know, we searched your house because we found your husband’s DNA in Mia’s car.”

  Jen nods, leaning forward.

  “In the search we found a receipt for one rose. It was in a drawer with your lingerie. Can you tell us about that?”

  Jen’s lips fall slack. She stares, open-mouthed for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, she begins to speak slowly – tentatively –carefully choosing her words. “I – I found it. I found it in a pocket somewhere.”

  “A pocket somewhere?”

  “When I was doing the laundry.” She looks imploringly at them. They sit grim-faced, silent.

  Jen takes a deep breath and looks down at her hands. “I found it in Darren’s pocket when I was doing the laundry a couple of weeks ago.”

  Darby speaks firmly. “Jen, you knew both Erin and Mia were found holding a rose. That receipt is evidence. You kept that from us.”

  Jen nods, tears springing to her eyes.

  “Did you ask Darren about it?”

  “Not at the time. I did ask him a couple of nights ago, though. He said he didn’t know where it came from.”

  “Is there anything else you’re keeping from us?” Mel asks.

  “You mean – about the murders?” Jen’s voice is feeble, almost squeaky.

  “Yes.” Mel nodded.

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Jen, where were you the night of April 11th?” Darby asks.

  The tormented woman looks up abruptly. “You mean the night Erin died?”

  ‘Yes.”

  “You think I had something to do that?” she asks incredulously.

  “We have to ask,” Mel says.

  “I was at home with my kids. I know that because Darren was away at a conference.”

  “And the afternoon of May 9th?”

  Jen’s voice is high-pitched; frantic. “I was at work. You can check!”

  Darby oozes calm. “We will.” She pauses. “Has your husband behaved differently lately, would you say?”

  Jen thinks for moment. “He’s been coming home early to protect me.”

  Darby tilts her head, her dark eyes questioning.

  “He’s been very busy lately. He used to always be home for meals, but in the last few months he’s had to go away a lot, and he often works late.”

  “Anything else different?”

  Jen narrows her eyes. “He’s less involved, maybe. His mind seems to be elsewhere much of the time . . .”

  “Did he have any connection to Erin and Mia? Any knowledge of your past?”

  “No. I’ve never spoken to him about it. I don’t think he knew Erin or Mia at all.”

  Darby looks at her watch. “Okay, we’ll let you get back to work. If you think of anything call us.”

  Jen nods, rising quickly.

  “And Jen . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t keep things from us, okay? Remember, you may be in danger. You can’t afford to protect anyone.”

  DARBY PINS HIM WITH her eyes. Darren looks to be wound as tightly as a banjo string. Like a caged animal ready to pounce. Every muscle in his body projects tension.

  “I’ve already told you. Your lab’s made a mistake. I don’t know the woman, and I wasn’t in her car. I haven’t bought roses at Flowers by Fae or any other fucking place. I’ve never seen that receipt.” His jaw twitches.

  “Your wife never spoke to you about the flower receipt?”

  He looks at them through narrowed eyes. He hesitates. “She showed it to me a few days ago. I told her the same thing I’m telling you. I have never seen it before.”

  Mel clears his throat. “Your wife said she found it in your shirt pocket.”

  His jaw tightens, and he leans back, crossing his arms and legs in front of him. “You are not going to pin this on me.”

  “Where were you the night of April 11th, Mr. Cox?” Darby’s eyes flash.

  “I told you. I was at a conference in Calgary.”

  She makes a point of looking at her notes, unnecessary as that is. “Yes, you did. The thing is, Mr. Cox,” she looks into his eyes, squaring her shoulders, “we looked into that and there was no realtor’s conference in Calgary that week-end.”

  He blanches, but keeps his face firm, his eyes unwavering. “Oh. It must have been the week-end before that.”

  Darby continues to stare. “So, where were you the night of April 11th?”

  Darren shifts in his chair. She watches the sweat form on his forehead. “I – you don’t have to tell my wife about this, do you?”

  “We won’t go running to tell her anything. I can’t guarantee secrets will be kept.”

  He takes a deep breath, blowing out his cheeks. “I was with a friend.”

  “All night?”

  “Yes.”

  “The friend’s name?” Mel asks, pen held ready.

  “Kim Arnold.”

  “Your friend will attest to this?”

  ‘Yes.” For the first time his shoulders slump, and his head drops nearly to his chest.

  PEER HOMES IS SITUATED in a small, trendy strip mall. The large sign braced high above the brick walls of the building is stylish; appealing. Large, tinted windows gleam in the sunlight. Darby parks her bike in the small parking lot and looks around. A few high-end cars are scattered here and there. Sliding from the seat, she strides into the building, and stands waiting behind a harried-looking woman who is clearly in a hurry. When the receptionist indicates she is free, Darby says, “I need to speak with Kim Arnold, please.”

  Within moments she is ushered into a large office filled with plush furniture, tasteful paintings and an executive desk with a computer on it. No family pictures, knick-knacks, discarded sweaters or shoes are anywhere to be seen. There is nothing personal about this space.

  Kim rises from behind her desk to reach out her hand, grasping Darby’s firmly. “We meet again, Sergeant Greer.” Tall and striking, she speaks in a self-confident, modulated voice

  Darby nods, smiling. “Kim, I’m here to ask a few questions. As you know, we’re investigating the murders of Erin Morgan and Mia Buckingham. It’s strictly routine to ask, but where were you the night of April 11th?”

  Kim appears completely unfazed by the question. She turns to her computer. “Let’s see. I’ll check my calendar.” Her graceful hand fiddles with the mouse, long gelled nails clicking as she types. “I was here. Then at home all evening.”

  “Were you at home alone?”

  Kim frowns a moment, staring at her calendar. “No. I had a friend stay over that night.”

  “Can you tell me the friend’s name?”

  Raising her chin to look Darby in the eye, Kim says, “His name is Darren Cox.”

  “Was he with you all night?” Darby asks.

  The still-composed woman tilts her head, thinking. “I think so. But I recall we had a few drinks that night. If he’d left I’d never have known it.” And she grins impishly.

  “He was there when you woke up in the morning?” Darby prods.

  “Yes, we slept late, and came into work in separate cars.” She toys with a lock of her hair. “I’m a very sound sleeper when I’ve had a few, though. Th
e house could fall down around me, and I’d never know. Why do you ask?”

  Darby ignores the question. “Do you recall if he was here the afternoon of May 9th?”

  Kim shrugs. “He’s in and out. I don’t pay much attention.”

  Darby reaches into her pocket and draws out a card. “If you think of anything give me a call.”

  After checking with the receptionist, who confirms that Darren was in and out – that no one would know exactly where he was at any given time – Darby heads for home. Do we have enough? The receipt, the fingerprints, no clear alibi, and he lied. Is Jen in danger? If we arrest him how long can we hold him? Something’s off. What is it?

  DARBY FEELS A STIRRING in the pit of her stomach as she taps in the number he’d given her.

  He answers right away, his voice warm and reassuring. “Darby! Hello. I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again.”

  “Hi, Jim. Good to hear your voice.” It is! I feel so much better. “I owe you lunch. Are you free Sunday?”

  “I am,” he says. “Want to go for a ride and then do lunch?”

  Darby breathes in a soothing breath. “That sounds perfect.”

  Chapter 26 ~ Jen

  Thursday, May 24

  Have I been protecting him? How is he connected? Why couldn’t he explain the Flowers by Fae receipt? Didn’t even try. . . I think back to the night Erin died. Darren was away, I’m sure of it. At a conference in Calgary. And if he wanted to kill me he’s had plenty of opportunity. But why would he? Nothing makes sense. As I head to the gym this morning the questions jab at my brain. Questions, but no answers.

  Kim’s there when I arrive, stunning in her black lulu lemon leggings and sports bra, not an ounce of fat on her lithe body. She smiles broadly at me from the rowing machine, where she effortlessly manoeuvres. “Hey, girl! How’s it going’?”

  To hear the familiarity – the affection in her voice and manner helps me feel better. But I can’t lie and say, ‘Great!’ though I’d like to. I set myself up on the machine next to her. “It’s been better . . .”

  Her look is sympathetic. “Awww, I’m sorry to hear that. Wanna meet for lunch on Saturday and talk it out?”

  “I’d love to.”

  A DAY WITH KINDERGARTENERS can take anyone’s mind off their troubles. We paint and chant and read and play, and before I know it the day is over. As I stand by the door saying good-bye, Sean walks into the school and comes toward me, Corrie in hand. His eyes narrow as he looks at me. “Are you okay?”

  I feel my eyes well up, and I feel stricken. “I don’t know.” My voice comes out a feeble whimper. He and Corrie step into my classroom and he pulls the door shut behind him. What will the other parents think? I feel the panic in my stomach. I don’t care.

  “Jen, what’s happening?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, eye-brows furrowed.

  I blurt it all out. “The police found a few strands of Darren’s hair in Mia’s car, so they searched the house and found a receipt for one flower; a rose. She was holding a yellow rose when she died. I found the receipt in Darren’s pocket, and I kept it secret . . .” I pour out all my guilt, fear and sorrow. “It can’t be him!”

  Sean stands and pulls my face into his shoulder, stroking my hair with his big, strong hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he murmurs.

  I look down at Corrie who is staring up at me with fear-filled eyes. Oh, little one. I’m sorry! I bend to hug her, pulling away from him. My voice sounds garbled with the tears. “It will be. They’ll figure it all out. It’s just crazy right now. . .”

  He sits on a red table while Corrie goes to the yellow one she shares with three other students during the school day, and she pulls out a scribbler. I watch her little tongue between her teeth as she concentrates hard on the printing exercises we did today.

  Her father and I rehash everything. We talk about about Andy, a street person now. A junkie. Because of me?

  Sean’s worried about Marnie more than ever, he tells me. The RCMP contacted him asking if he had heard from her. She’s off the radar in Seattle and police there haven’t seen or heard from her in a while.

  I feel sick. Guilt consumes me. “Sean, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the damage I did Marnie. She was my friend. I betrayed her. I destroyed her. I’d do anything . . .”

  He doesn’t let me off the hook, exactly. “I think you were trying hard to fit in with the popular girls, to get their approval. Does that sound true to you?”

  I tell him about those days with Mia and Erin. Both were so vibrant and popular. I copied their hair-styles, their clothing, their mannerisms, their opinions . . . Yet, when I think back, I remember that they often treated me with disdain. Of course they did! I realize. I was a non-person. I had no personality. No thoughts or opinions of my own. I so wanted them to like me.

  Am I still like that? I am! Especially with Darren. Smart, capable Darren. He’s always right. Isn’t he?

  And I voice all this to Sean, the words pouring out like water from a tap.

  He sits, silent, gazing a me, deep in thought. Then, “Look around you, Jen.” Sean gestures around the classroom. “Look at the stuff you do with these kids. Think about how they beam when they see you. I’ve watched them! Look at how easily you laugh. Jen. You are smart and capable and fun. And you care about people.”

  I do! “One thing I’m proud of . . .” I smile up at him through my tears. “I made Lillia confront her victims. She’s suffering for it now, I think. But we stayed strong.”

  He nods, his crooked smile boyishly appealing. “You did. And you have every right to be proud.”

  I voice the niggling worry I’ve had ever since seeing Lillia’s Facebook post. “But we still need to go to the police. Until we do it won’t be over.”

  He nods.

  I take a deep breath, confronting the doubts and fears playing at me now. “Could Darren be the one who killed Erin and Mia? Would he have sent me a butterfly? I just can’t get my head around that.”

  Sean strokes the stubble on his chin. “Is there something in his past you don’t know about?”

  “There’s a lot in his past I don’t know about.” I glance up at the ceiling. “He doesn’t like to talk about it. But I don’t remember him being around here. He couldn’t have known Mia and Erin.”

  Here we are, leaning on little tables and chairs in a room filled with childish drawings and the alphabet, and I feel starry-eyed. I move Corrie to a letters game on the computer, and we talk. We talk about his move to Seattle, my protective parents, their deaths, his wife’s last months . . . our heart-breaks, our triumphs, our worries.

  Just as he’s looking at me with those eyes, and I’m flushing, feeling something percolating between us, my phone rings. It’s Sergeant Darby Greer.

  “Darby?” I answer, dazed.

  “Jen, I want to let you know first. We are taking your husband into custody.”

  I feel gut-punched. “What? Why?”

  “Jen, with the hair, the receipt and lack of a solid alibi we just feel we need to. Mostly for your protection. We’ll still investigate . . .”

  I gasp. “But he had a solid alibi. He was in Calgary when Erin was shot.”

  “No, Jen. He wasn’t.”

  The phone drops from my hand to the floor.

  Chapter 27 ~ Darby

  Friday, May 25

  DARBY GLANCES AT MEL, sitting behind the wheel of his car. A jumble of emotions well inside her. Sadness. Confusion. Remorse. “This should never have happened,” she murmurs, turning to study the gradual procession of mourners filing into the funeral home, silent, downcast. A white Lincoln pulls up in front of the building, and an older couple is ushered from the car. The woman stumbles, everything about her radiating sorrow.

  “That must be Mia’s parents,” Mel says.

  Darby’s eyes filled with tears.

  Robert Buckingham emerges from a black Acura parked near the doors. He opens the back door and Mia’s daughter steps out, followed by a teen-age
d boy. A tall, blonde girl joins them. They stand huddled in front of the car. Then all four walk sedately into the undertaker’s establishment, their heads bowed.

  “Ready?” Darby asks.

  Mel nods, and the two officers step out into the now-full parking lot. “You’re looking very spiffy,” Darby quips, eyeing Mel’s dark, well-cut suit.

  “And look at you!” he smiles. Darby atypically wears a skirt and heels, revealing long, muscular legs.

  “I’m uncomfortable as hell,” she mutters. How do women get around in these things?” She lifts her shoe, and tugs at her short, tight-fitting skirt. “I feel handicapped!”

  They enter the chapel full of people murmuring quietly. At the front a large rosewood casket is covered with a bouquet of white lilies. Mia’s photograph, with her pale skin and luxurious red hair sits upon it. Darby and Mel slide into a pew at the back of the room, the only empty space left. A heaviness overcomes Darby; a feeling of gloom that seems to emanate throughout the room.

  She lets herself be carried away as she listens to Sarah McLachlan’s voice singing, “You’re in the arms of an angel. May you find some comfort there.” A vision of Mia drifting down the steps from her immaculate kitchen- young, perfect, alive, asking for help – swims through Darby’s mind, and she feels a twisting in her gut, a terrible guilt she cannot shake. The room is quiet now. Mia’s family will enter soon. Darby turns to see Jen bustle through the back entrance and slither down the pew to plop her slight body next to Darby’s. They nod, ‘hello’ as the family enter from where Jen had just come.

  A tall, red-headed woman accompanied by a sophisticated-looking man lead the way, followed by three children, all close in age. “That’s Mia’s sister and her family,” Jen whisperes in Darby’s direction. “I think they live in the States somewhere now.”