"Hello?"
"Annette? It's Mack."
"Mack, hey."
"Hey, so, I spoke with Tiffany and she said she wanted to chat with you at her house if that's okay. And she said she wants it all off the record."
"Deal."
"Wow, that was easy for you."
"I just want to talk to her on background, honestly."
"You said needed a quote for color."
"I'll take what I can get," I say.
"Alright, that's fine. I'll text you her address. She's heading over there now so let's say an hour?"
"That works perfectly."
Good. We hang up our call and I stow away my phone and my laptop. I had out of the cafe, throwing out my coffee into the trash bin right at before I head out the door. I pick my phone up again and hail another Uber ride. I wait on the corner there for the car to arrive.
The red Nissan pulls up the edge of the rode five minutes later. I head inside and wait in the backseat to see which kind of driver I'm going to experience. As we ride down the road, he turns on the music from the radio and increases the sound of the music so that we don't have to talk. And I am totally okay with that. It's been such a busy day and my mind is spinning with so many ideas that the last thing I want to do is talking with someone and stress out about what we're saying.
I need to focus on the task at hand.
The ride takes thirty minutes, which is a little faster than I planned on. But this gets me to her address way early. I leave the Uber behind and step onto the road. It's an East Coast suburb. High trees block out semblance of sun. The houses are years old, aging with chipping woods. Vines climb the sides of some of the homes.
When I reach her house, I see a quaint little home that's pure white with black shutters and a red door. It's a one floor ranch style home. A Toyota Tundra is parked in the driveway.
I take a step toward the house, but I decide to head out down the other road for a brief stroll around the block. Let my brain simmer down for a moment. I turn the corner and see a road with even higher trees with low-hanging branches that darken the street. I stand still and stare down the road. The darkness worries me. I don't like walking in the dark. I know what I'll find there. Darkness always leads to more problems.
I ignore the whole thing and turn back toward the corner. And that's where I stand for a few minutes. I pull out my phone and read through Twitter, wasting my time. I see another story about the government shutdown will end with an announcement tonight at seven. I can't wait to see what the president has to say about all of that. I bookmark it into the back of my brain that I will watch the presentation.
I don't care that it hasn't be an hour. I walk down the road toward the house. The air is still chilly and cool, but I've grown accustomed to it. When I reach the house, I stare at the red door, thinking about going up to it and knocking. But my legs won't move.
Am I nervous that I won't find the answers I'm looking for? If I don't learn anything from this conversation, this is going to be a total waste of time.
But I have to do it for Kayleigh. I can't help but wonder what really happened with her and why she wound up dead. I need to know the truth.
I step up to the door and knock twice with two forceful pounds. The door doesn't open at first. So then, me being the pushy person that I am, I ring the door bell next to the door. I hear it echo from inside the room.
And then the door opens up. Tiffany stands on the other side. Her eyes are pink. Mascara still stains her cheeks. She's still dressed in the black outfit that she wore to the funeral.
I sigh heavily, and I can feel the guilt weighing on me. I hate to see someone like this, especially as someone who has seen people die before and had to meet people who were grieving. Dealing with grief is not easy for anyone. And it's especially not easy for someone helping other people deal with ti.
Grief is like a horrific storm that causes widespread destruction. Only times helps people rebuild the pieces.
"Your Ms. Gardner?"
"In the flesh."
She nods, but it's almost like it takes way too much effort to do it. She pushes open the door and allows me to catch the side of it. I do, then step inside with her.
The house is dark. There's a couch, a small chair in the corner that doesn't looked lived-in at all, a coffee table, a potted plant in the corner. All of the furniture sits on a smoke-white carpet. I walk along the rug and follow her into the kitchen. A pot of coffee is just finishing it brew. Tiffany pulls it from the Ninja machine and sits it down on a glass plate. Two mugs sit right next to the plate. She pours to cups and carries them over to the kitchen table.
"Sugar? Milk?"
"I like mine black. And thank you so much for making coffee and hosting me. I know it's been a tough day for you."
"Kayleigh always liked three sugars and cream in her coffee. She preferred it to be a little sweet."
"That's nice."
"Thank you, and thank you for wanting to talking to me about her. You'd be surprised how few people want to talk to me about her."
"Yeah. I know how it can be after people die."
We sit down at the table. We're across from each other now, the steaming hot coffee placed before us on the table. I pick mine up and take a sip of the steamy stuff. It's rich and thick. It doesn't need any flavorings. I made a good decision to drink it black.
"I heard a lot about you," she says. "I'm sure you hear that a lot. I did a quick Google search and saw that you were involved with a lot of those famous stories."
"More than just involved."
"Right, right of course. But I think you know what's like to be stuck in vulnerable scenarios, and I know you know what it's like to be asked difficult and delicate questions. So that's why I appreciate you and I know you'll understand where I'm coming from."
"Of course. I know what you mean, and I promise, I'm not trying to attack Kayleigh. I'm trying to bring her justice."
"Justice?"
"I want to find out who killed her."
Her mouth falls open. She closes it when she takes another sip of her coffee.
"The authorities said it would be impossible. The cameras on the monument were off when she died."
"Well they know something I don't."
"And what's that?"
"Total confidence between us, right?"
"I would hope so."
I take a deep breath because I know this is going to take us down a road we previously didn't travel down.
"I saw the murder."
"You did?"
"There weren't a lot of reports about it. I know that it was sort of out there but the media attention around it has died down. But yes. I was there that night."
"Why?"
"I was just running around the national mall and when I reached the pool, I saw it happen. And so I have looked into it a little more and I learned something -- something really big about her death."
"What did you find out?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes. I can handle it."
I'm not totally sure if she can handle it. I'm not sure if she will understand what it means when I tell her what the morgue told me about her death.
"She was poisoned."
"Poisoned?"
"Yes. Poisoned."
"But I thought she was drowned and choked underwater?"
"She was, but she was poisoned first. That's what really killed her."
"I'm sorry but that's insane. Do you think that someone was trying to kill her."
"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you and talk to you about. I see that she works at New Surge, and that she was in Washington for this big Senate hearing. She was added to the list late in the game. She wasn't supposed to testify before any of that. But then she was. And then she's murdered? I just don't understand it."
She's quiet for another moment. She picks up her cup of coffee and sips it cleanly. She takes a second sip once she's done with her first. Our eyes meet for a brief m
oment. And so she nods, accepting everything that's been going on with her.
"I knew she shouldn't have gone to Washington."
"So she talked to you about it?"
"Well, she's been working at the New York office for awhile. New Surge IT. She did a little work with Up Sync, too. And then they wanted her to speak during the hearing. I told her it was a bad idea. I told her she shouldn't get involved."
"Was she nervous about something? Did she ever tell you she was worried about her job or what was going on in her life?"
She shakes her head, even though she's thinking through everything and trying to find some moment where she might have been nervous. Apparently she can't think of anything.
"I don't think she was ever nervous about this stuff," she says. "I mean, she did say that she was getting increased pressure from her boss."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Her boss Hanley handed her a bunch of responsibilities. But that's normal, right?"
At this point in the game, I'm not sure I am read to dispel anything as normal. We're dealing with a highly unnatural, not normal scenario. This is all a majorly huge issue for Kayleigh and her family. Nothing about its normal.
"But I did ask her about what she planned to do in Washington."
"Okay."
"And she said that she was going to testify that New Surge and the government were working together, but there wasn't anything wrong with it."
"Okay. So why would that matter?"
"I'm not sure. But she was pretty adamant that there was nothing wrong with what they were doing and that there shouldn't be any new regulations. I think she said it had to do with the terms and conditions of New Surge."
I bookmark that into the back of mind so I can check into that later. Maybe I need to read through the terms and conditions for New Surge and all of its subsidiaries. I can learn a little bit more about the case and I'll see what that means for Kayleigh and her hearing that she'll never have. Maybe that'll connect everything.
We spend the rest of our conversation talking about Kayleigh's work history and how much she enjoyed the company when she first started working there but it slowly became more dangerous and difficult to handle. Like any job, she saw changes in her company that worsened her experience.
We finish up about a half hour later. Tiffany puts away the cups of coffee into the sink and washes them. We walk over to the door and I step outside, moving past the bright red door and into the cold winter air.
"You know, I just remembered something," she says."
"Yeah? What's up?"
"There was this one girl who came to see Kayleigh a while ago actually. It was for an article and she said Kayleigh might have some information that could be helpful. I remember Kayleigh turned her down and it was over. She told me she couldn't believe the press was coming to talk to her."
"Well, it wasn't me," I say.
"I know. She said her name was Minerva, or Minny, like the mouse. She found it funny. I guess she visited Kayleigh at work in New York or something."
There she is again -- Minny. The ghost who continues to follow me through this wild world of an investigation. I nod and bookmark that again. So many avenues to follow.
"And you know, if you're looking for some more information about this, you might want to talk to her ex-boyfriend. He was pretty close with her and I am sure that they talked about a lot of stuff together."
"Who's that?"
"Heath something. I'll look it up and send you the information."
"Of course," I say. "Anything else?"
She shakes her head. "Nope, I think that's it. I'll send you his number. And yeah, feel free to call if there's anything else you need answers for."
"Okay. And I appreciate you being so open with all of this."
"It was nice to have someone to talk to."
I smile at her and she smiles back at me. We both wave each other as I step off the walkway and head into the Uber, which is pulling up to the side of the road.
I slide into the backseat and the driver heads off down the road. We have a long drive ahead of us back to Washington. I hope I'll have time to fall asleep. With the evening about to settle in, it'll be a perfect time to close my eyes and have a nice rest.
"Crazy day," the driver says.
"Sorry?"
"All the news, you know."
"The news?" I realized I haven't checked my phone in close to an hour.
"Yeah. Government shutdown going to end, they arrested the guy who killed that girl at the monument. What a day."
My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. My eyes snap wide open and I know I won't be falling asleep anytime again. I slide my phone out of my pocket and see a flurry of news notifications, all of which say that the a suspect has been identified in the murder of Kayleigh Donnowho at the national monument. I click into the article but they all say that authorities are keeping the name until more details can be released and that the information will be confirmed.
So I follow the only path I know. I open up an app on ym phone that has helped me in tons of binds before. It's the Murdr app, where people spend all day talking about murder, chaos, death and what not.
And there at the top of the page is an article that reads, LIVE VIDEO: MONUMENT MURDER SUSPECT ARRESTED.
I click the link and open up the page. A YouTube video appears. It shows a crowd of law enforcement officials crowding around a stair case. Cameras flash. News anchors chat wildly. So clearly people were there for this story.
A police officer drags a man out from behind a door. Handcuffs are wrapped around his wrists. His head and sunken and low, and he looks like he's been crying and he's a total miss.
Through the audio, I can hear a broadcast news report talking to her camera.
She says, "And we're here, live on the scene, where Ben Casselwhite, an aide to Senator Joan Simmons, who recently announced her presidential bid, has been arrested for the murder of Kayleigh Donnowho, who was drowned to death at the national monument last week. More details are incoming."
Chapter 15: Can't Believe It
I can't believe what I'm reading.
The details leak out during my drive home. The New York News, the Washington Scribe, all of these newspapers share stories about the arrest.
An Aide of Sen. Simmons is arrested for D.C. Murder
Aide to Sen. Simmons arrested in Monument Murder
Monument Murder Row: Sen. Simmons aide arrest
What Sen. Simmons Aide had to do with the Monument Murder
Sen. Simmons aide was just arrested. Here's why it matters.
Sen. Simmons aide was just arrested for murder. See the video
The headlines read like a grocery list. A sprawling collection of different stories and takes on what is going on back in Washington, D.C. And all I can do is read them from the back of the car. I scroll through my phone and read each one. My phone begins to burn on its backside. The battery drops to twenty-percent. I stow it away in my pocket. I need my phone to last through the entire night.
The cars rolls on down the highway. The driver doesn't say much. He can see the worry and fear on my face. I stare out the window at the evening sky, which has deepened into a dark blue. We pass buildings glowing with excitement and youth. None of them matter. What matters is back home.
I try to put the pieces back together. I think about what happened with Ben and why he would be arrested for what happened. Had he been framed? Had he been apart of it? Why were the police interested in him? Wouldn't they have asked me for information if he had been a suspect.
The senator admitted to my face earlier this week that she had committed murder. She said she had drowned Kayleigh to death in the national pool. But the girl had also been poisoned. Did Ben poison Kayleigh? It seems wildly unlikely.
I don't like how this looks. I hate the idea that Ben is sitting behind bars, wondering what's going to happen.
This might help us both, though. If he's behind bars, I have no reason to stay aw
ay from him. The senator's threat against me was rooted in Ben losing his job if she caught me doing anything she didn't like. But now that he has lost his job, that leaves a door of possibilities wide open.
The heavy thinking knocks me out slowly but surely. I pass out in the back seat. I dream of walking through Washington, D.C., alone, trying to find something to make myself happier. When I wake up, I barely remember my dream. I let out a sigh and see now a fully black sky outside the window. The city is beaming with lights. The monuments shine with history and bright lights. I want to visit them all, but I know I won't. I have too far pressing matters to deal with.
We ride across the highway until we reach my hotel. When I step outside into the bitter cold, I'm absolutely cold and tired. I could pass out right now in my bed.
But I have thinking to do. I have to figure out what I am going to do next.
I drag my bag through the lobby and head to the elevators. The desk clerk doesn't ask me anything for what feels for the first time. I ride the elevator upstairs to my floor. I take a left and then a right. I find my room and slip inside. I drop my bag off on the floor and then fall back on my bed and let out the heaviest sigh of exhaustion in a long time. When I shut my eyes, I briefly think about never opening them and falling asleep.
But there's far too much to do. I can't sleep yet. I can't just waste time in dreamland while Ben is locked behind doors.
I hurry over to my desk with my bag in my hand. I open it up and bring out my laptop. I open it up on the table and start reading more articles about what's going on. Soon enough I find where they're holding Ben.
I have to see him.
I grab my wallet and throw on my jacket and head toward the door. I go to open up it, but I freeze mid-step. It's so late. Almost too late. I stand and face the door, looking at the peep hole, waiting to see if a shade of color pops on the other side. I hold off. This is insane. This is ridiculous. I can't head out into the night to see Ben in the middle of the night. It makes no sense.
So I backtrack and go toward the bedroom. I pull off my jacket and set it over the backend of my computer chair. I unravel my hair and shake it in frustration. I sit down on the empty chair in the back corner. I don't want to leave, but I don't feel like sitting still.
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