by P. Creeden
Colby grabbed a pen and his pad and took notes. Then he glanced at Stacy. “Did you witness the same? Anything to add to Emma’s statement?”
Stacy blinked at him and shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. “Is Kellum going to be okay? Irish is my favorite band.”
Paramedics had an oxygen mask on Kellum and got him on the stretcher. Sheriff Wright came close by.
“Dad!” Emma called out. “Be sure the doctors check the puncture wound on his back. I think it has something to do with his condition. It might be a bee sting. He said he’s allergic to peanuts, but maybe he’s allergic to bees, too.”
Emma’s father nodded and helped the paramedics load the man into the ambulance before he addressed the small crowd. “I’m going to need to question each of you about this incident before I let you leave. If we could all please collect back inside the café, and we ask that you do not discuss the details with one another. We don’t want anyone to supplement their memories with what someone else says.” The sheriff glanced at Emma. “Keep an eye on things in the other room while I question people out here, will you?”
Emma nodded and kept an arm around Stacy as they filed back through the door. The manager glared at the Saint Bernard puppy, but his eyes locked onto the therapy dog logo on Molly’s harness. He shrugged and allowed her inside. The tension in Emma’s shoulders unknotted, and she followed the remaining witnesses inside the café.
Chapter 3
Emma took a seat at a table close to the wall, and Molly settled at her feet. Stacy and the other five teenage girls bent heads close together at the table right next to Emma. The small crowd had gathered in the café, and most did as Emma and found seats. The two remaining band members were at a booth by the wall, glaring at Chris, the one who’d started the fight earlier. Chris sat alone. And the manager remained standing and paced a bit in the room.
The sheriff and Colby stepped into the dining area, and the manager stopped pacing. Sheriff Wright removed his hat and smoothed down his hair and then addressed the manager. “Do you have any employees in the back who witnessed the incident?”
“If they were in the kitchen the way they were supposed to be, they shouldn’t have, but I’ll go check.”
Emma’s dad nodded. “Good.”
Then he turned to the small crowd. “I know that it’s getting late, so we’re going to start with interviewing the children. Luckily, your parents are present for most of you outside. If you’ll come with me.”
Emma raised her hand as though addressing a teacher. “Dad, I’m here for Stacy. Her mother was unable to come get her.”
The sheriff nodded. “That’s fine. You and Stacy stay here a moment, then, all right?”
Emma nodded and reached to hold Stacy’s hand. She squeezed it. “Move over here and sit with me, okay?”
Stacy nodded, said goodbye to her friends, and switched to the table with Emma. Molly stood, tail wagging, and set her head on Stacy’s lap. Even through tear-filled eyes, Stacy smiled and patted the Saint Bernard’s head. Emma smiled, too. She had hoped Molly would make a good therapy dog in the future, and this was just a snapshot of what she hoped the puppy would do eventually.
The guitarist fingered the piercings on his face. Emma leaned toward Stacy. “Is that part of this band’s image? All the piercings?”
Stacy’s wide eyes landed on the two sitting over in the booth. “Yes. Kellum has forty-four piercings, sixteen on each ear, and several on other body parts.”
Emma blinked hard. “That’s a lot.”
“There’s so many of them now that the band is known for doing the piercings themselves. I read it in an article once. I can’t remember which band member got certified, or something, so he could do them for his mates.”
In addition to Molly’s presence, talking about something else seemed to help calm Stacy down. Emma watched the Sheriff and Colby through the front glass windows of the café.
Outside, the other girls who were in the group with Stacy were questioned. The girls’ faces displayed shock and dismay. Each parent took hold of their child’s hand and stood by while the girls recounted what had happened that evening. After a few minutes, the girls and their parents filed out to their cars. Colby and the sheriff put their heads together in deep conversation.
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” Stacy asked, her hands still deeply imbedded in the puppy’s fur.
“The paramedics came right away. I’m sure they are doing everything they can to save him. We don’t know how serious his injury is or exactly what caused it. Hopefully he’ll be fine.” Emma didn’t want to make any promises, knowing that things could turn for the worse, especially if the puncture wound on the victim’s back was the point of entry for a small, sharp object rather than a bee-sting, like she originally hoped.
“What on earth is going on here? Where’s Kellum?” a woman shouted loud enough to be heard from outside. Her blonde hair had green streaked on one side. She wore a band t-shirt and a leather jacket similar to the one Kellum had slung over his shoulder when he’d been attacked earlier.
Emma found herself immediately drawing to her feet, at the same time as the two band members stood.
The drummer started toward the front door of the building and yelled. “Monique!” He was stopped by the guitarist and the manager of the café, who had just returned from the back.
Monique stood outside with Emma’s father and Colby. The two of them gestured as if explaining the situation. Their words did little to calm the woman down.
The drummer’s eyes were filled with tears. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. She just went to get the van for us, so we could leave... when all this happened.”
Emma slowly sank back down in her seat when the door opened, and Monique came in, guided by Colby. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her face contorted in anguish. The drummer and guitarist rushed to her side and held her in their arms in a group hug.
Emma’s father cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that this situation has been escalated. We’ve just been informed that Kellum O’Henry died on his way to the hospital of a collapsed lung and tension pneumothorax. The doctor is now performing an autopsy to find out the exact cause of death.”
Stacy wailed, and Emma drew her into her arms. The band mates also cried. The manager of the café stood to the side and chewed his fingernails, a look of panic making his reddening eyes look both crazed and sad. And Chris, the belligerent man who had started the argument with Kellum at the front of the café, simply said, under his breath, “Good riddance.”
Chapter 4
The sheriff seemed to be watching each of the people in the room’s reactions to the news that he’d given, just like Emma had been. Sheriff Wright’s attention became fixed upon the man sitting at the nearest table to him. Chris, the man in the buzz cut and glared back.
Pointing at him, the sheriff commanded, “Please state your name.”
“Christopher Hendricks.”
“I believe I heard the manager call you Chris earlier.” Colby interjected.
“Yes, I go by Chris.” The scowl didn’t leave the man’s face.
The sheriff sat in one of the chairs across the table from Chris. “What is your relationship with the deceased.”
Chris leaned forward on the table and continued to glare. “He raped my kid sister.”
“That’s a lie!” Monique the girl with the band members came rushing over, barely held back by the drummer. “Kellum would never rape a girl.”
Chris shook his head. “In the state of Virginia, defiling a minor is considered statutory rape, right Sheriff?”
The sheriff nodded.
“There you go. My sister used to wait tables at this café. Last year when this band came around on Saint Patrick’s Day, she hooked up with the band leader, Kellum. She was seventeen at the time.” He glared once more at Monique. “He’s not such a great guy, you know. He treated my sister like trash afterword. Broke her heart. She still cries about it, even to this d
ay.”
Clearing his throat, the sheriff tried to get Chris to focus once more. “Witnesses outside state that you physically shoved the victim twice.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s at least assault. Did you happen to have a sharp object on you, too? Did you stab the victim?”
Chris shook his head, but the glare didn’t leave his eyes. “No. I didn’t.”
“Then you won’t mind emptying your pockets?” Colby asked from his position behind the sheriff.
The chair beneath him squeaked against the hardwood floor as Chris pushed it back and stood. He emptied the pockets of his jacket and jeans on the table in front of him. From Emma’s angle she only saw keys, spare change, and a wallet placed on the table. “Are you satisfied? It’s not like I carry around a knife.”
Emma frowned. Kellum hadn’t had a knife wound. It was a puncture wound from something smaller and round. Like an ice pick. She stood, squeezing Stacy’s hand and letting go. “Stay here with Molly. She’ll keep you safe, and you can keep her close. All right?”
Stacy nodded. Fat tears still sat the bottoms of her eyelids until she blinked and then rubbed them away. “Okay.”
Emma approached her father and Colby. She gestured toward a corner, and they followed her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think it was a puncture wound on the band leader’s back.”
They both looked at her, brows furrowing. The sheriff frowned. “What do you mean?”
Colby nodded and leaned in toward the sheriff. “Emma told me about a puncture wound on the victim’s back. She described it as a bee-sting. I told the paramedics as well.”
Sheriff Wright nodded. “So, the injury was to the victim’s back then?” He’d made no attempt to keep his voice low.
“Kellum! ‘The victim’ has a name. Why don’t you use it?” Monique yelled from a few feet away, her face even further contorted and twisted than it had been before. Her hair had become disheveled as well and frizzed wildly in all directions about her face.
Emma cleared her throat before she answered her dad. “Yes, Kellum had an injury to his back. I believe it was the entry wound for whatever killed him.”
“Until we get the autopsy results, we won’t know for sure,” Colby corrected.
“Right,” Emma agreed with a nod. “It’s just a theory for now, but a very workable one.”
“Considering there was no visible blood on the victim, and an allergy wouldn’t cause a collapsed lung, the theory is very workable. I agree,” the sheriff said.
“Are we done here? Can I put these things back in my pockets now?” Chris asked with a sigh and an eye roll.
The sheriff stopped him before he could gather his things again. “Please leave them on the table. In fact, I’d like to ask everyone who had contact with the victim shortly before his collapse to empty their pockets as well. Emma, who had contact with the victim from the time he left the building until he collapsed?”
Emma blinked and then reimagined the scene. “After the v—Kellum left the café, he stood out front and spoke to the girls who were gathered by the doorway. Then Chris arrived and shoved him, twice. The drummer and guitarist and manager all had hands on him to catch him. Then Kellum collapsed and began to complain about being unable to breathe.”
“If the workable theory is right, then one of the three who caught Kellum from behind could have stabbed him in the back with a small sharp object, correct?”
“Yes. It’s unlikely that Chris is the culprit, since he was standing to the front of the victim. Unless he had a needle over a foot in length that could stab through the front and make a hole out the other side of the victim’s rib cage. And that sort of weapon would be very difficult to conceal.” Emma answered.
The sheriff nodded. “Again, I’ll ask that you three turn out your pockets and place your belongings on this table as well. We’ll see if we can’t find a potential weapon among those items.
Slamming his drumming sticks on the table, the drummer shouted. “This is ridiculous! What motive would we possibly have for murdering the leader of our band. Do you not realize that we’re out of a job right now? Irish was just getting ready to sign a record deal on Monday. It just doesn’t make any sense that we’d do something like this. Besides, Kellum was our friend.”
Monique gasped, then her lips drew in a tight line.
Emma turned to her. “You seem to disagree with something that the drummer just said. It would be better if you would come out with it rather than hold back. If it would help us determine who the murderer is, it would be best for everyone.”
The woman’s eyes darted to both the two band members and then landed back on Emma, who stood next to the sheriff. “Jack is wrong.” She swallowed and stood straighter, suddenly avoiding the drummer’s eyes. “The band wasn’t signing a record deal on Monday. Kellum was signing it. He was going solo.”
Chapter 5
“Let me get this straight,” the sheriff said after getting the two band members to calm down. “If these two knew about the solo record deal Kellum was about to sign, they’d have motive for murder.”
“I didn’t murder anyone!” Jack, the drummer yelled.
The guitarist shook his head, his eyes wide. “Neither did I. We started this band in high school. Kellum was our best friend. I don’t believe it. He’d never do that to us.”
Monique sobbed, her arms wrapped around her chest. “Will, I’m so sorry. He was supposed to tell you tonight after the concert. He said he didn’t want to ruin your favorite holiday together. He said it was better if you all went out partying for a while afterward, and then he’d tell you.”
Will’s hands fisted, and he punched the table hard with a scream. “I can’t believe this!”
The drummer, Jack, stepped back and sat down hard on the chair behind him. His eyes were wide, tears brimming in them.
“Three out of four of you have a motive for murder, if you’d discovered the victim’s betrayal, even if you deny knowing it now. But one of you didn’t have the opportunity,” the sheriff said, gesturing toward Chris before turning toward the manager of the café. “That leaves you. You also had the opportunity to murder the victim. Please state your name and your relationship with him.”
Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the manager who suddenly stood taller. His gaze darted around the room like a squirrel, in the middle of the street, trying to decide which way to run. “Uh, I’m Drew Daniels, the manager here at this café. I’ve known the band, Irish, since the beginning, which is why they play here every Saint Patrick’s Day. I often go out with the guys to party afterward. I don’t have a motive for murder.”
Jack laughed without mirth. “Yeah, right. Kellum only stole your girlfriend. Isn’t that right Monique?”
Monique’s face paled. “That was months ago.”
Chris laughed too. “Drew’s far from over you though. He still talks about you like you’re coming back to him.”
Sweat beaded on Drew’s forehead. “That... that’s not true.”
Monique shook her head. “There’s no way.”
“Didn’t you change your phone number, so he’d leave you alone?” Will, the guitarist, asked.
Slowly, Monique nodded. “But he apologized to me earlier, before the concert, and asked that we could all be friends still.”
“That’s true!” Drew said, suddenly pointing toward Monique.
Emma frowned. “That could have been just an attempt to take away his motive before committing the murder. It’s possible that the murder weapon was an icepick, Dad. And you sent him to the kitchen before you began questioning. He could have disposed of the murder weapon there!”
The sheriff shot a look at Colby, who nodded in return and headed for the kitchen.
“This is ridiculous. I did no such thing. Chris, you were with me. Did you see an icepick?” Drew pleaded. The angry man across the table continued to glare.
“I didn’t see an icepick.”
“There you go!” Drew
answered and sat back with his arms crossed.
“But I wasn’t really looking at you, so I can’t say you didn’t have one,” Chris said with a shrug.
A devastated look on Drew’s face shined through melting the moment of smugness he’d had just a flicker of before. He didn’t say a word, but shook his head, and his arms fell to his sides, in a gesture of defeat.
Colby returned from the back. “The dish washer gave me the two they had, Sheriff.”
Emma’s dad took a look at the two picks, and Emma peered over his shoulder. “Those look a little thicker than the puncture wound I saw.”
Colby nodded. “And the dish washer got them out of the drawer in the kitchen. It appeared that neither had been used today.”
Drew seized upon it. “That’s right! We haven’t used the icepicks lately because our ice-cube supplier started offering crushed ice for our iced lattes. We don’t have to break the ice ourselves. I’m sure it’s been weeks since either of them have been touched.”
“Regardless,” the sheriff said, placing the two picks in a plastic evidence bag. “We’ll be checking these for any trace of blood, prints, or DNA, if you don’t mind.”
Drew paled again. “Of... of course I don’t mind.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. “I’m going to ask one last time that the three remaining suspects empty their pockets, if you please. We’ve determined that all three of you have both motive and opportunity. Now we just need to find the murder weapon.”
The men nodded and placed their belongings on the table without another word. Wallets, spare change, keys, a pen, guitar string, and other usual items were placed on the table, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Colby pointed at the ballpoint pen in front of the drummer. “Do you carry a pen with you at all times?”
Jack nodded. “Yes. Why?”
Colby leaned toward the sheriff. “If the weapon were a needle, wouldn’t it be possible to conceal it within the ballpoint pen?”