Framed for Murder

by Edward Kendrick

  “What are you thinking about?” Trent asked when we were almost finished eating. “You’re very quiet. Worried about tonight?”

  I went with that. “He’s going to know I couldn’t have taken the picture. He wouldn’t have been stupid enough to let himself be seen through the window.”

  “Does it matter? You’re blackmailing him and the photo is exactly like what you would have taken, if you had. He won’t be able to prove it’s a fake because Regan is an expert at manipulation.”

  “She does it a lot? Why would you need her to?”

  “Actually her job it to prove photos that were supposedly taken of a client in a compromising situation are fake. To do that, she had to know how to create them. Don’t worry. We’re not into blackmail on the side.”

  “Okay, that makes sense.”

  By the time supper was over and we’d done the dishes—another thing I remember us doing together—it was dark outside. We debated heading to Seaver’s house right then, or waiting until later. Later won. Fewer neighbors who might be awake and see something out their windows. With a couple of hours to kill, I got the book I was reading and Trent found a program on TV to watch. I glanced at him occasionally, and once I caught him looking at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. There was almost a smile but his forehead was creased in a frown as if he was trying to figure something out about me. I might have asked, except the second he saw me looking he quickly turned his attention back to the TV, a sure signal he didn’t want to talk—and I wasn’t about to push.

  Finally, it was time to leave. I went into the bedroom to change clothes and then loosened my hair, the way it had been the first time Seaver had seen me. I say the first time because I’m very certain he was at Pender’s house when I got there—either outside watching for me, or inside, waiting to see what I’d do when I found the body.

  When I came out of the bedroom, Trent gave me a thumbs-up as he handed me the photo, which I stuck in my jeans pocket. “You look like you did a couple of days ago when you came to the office except…” He cocked his head. “Yeah, you’re a bit too clean.” He tapped his face.

  I winced because I knew what he meant. When you live on the streets, you don’t really care if your hands are dirty or if you have grime on your face. Surviving is more important than cleanliness most of the time.

  “Let’s do something about that,” he said. We did, when we got down to the parking garage. At his suggestion, I found a vehicle that obviously hadn’t been to the car wash in a while. I rubbed my hands over the hood, then on my face. When I got into Trent’s car I checked the results and wiped some of the dirt off, as I’d overdone it. Then I was ready to beard Seaver in his den—or whatever part of his house he was in when we got there.

  * * * *

  After we parked, a block from Seaver’s house, Trent and I moved silently down the alley, staying deep in the shadows. When we got to Seaver’s garage, Trent found a place beside the tree next to it where he could watch and listen without anyone seeing him. Then I walked to the back of the house. There was a light on in the window beside the back door, shining through the curtains. Peering around the corner of the house, I saw the same held true for a window at the side. I decided that one could have been a dining room or office or…well I’d find out when I got inside. No windows were lit on the other side of the house.

  Returning to the back door, I knocked, bringing back memories of when I’d done that at Pender’s home. Here, the door stayed closed, thank God. I knocked again, harder.

  The door opened and Seaver stood there, looking at me in obvious surprise. Before he could say anything, or close the door, I said, “May I come in? I have something to show you I think might interest you, Mr. Seaver.”

  Putting his hand on the doorjamb to keep me from moving past him, Seaver asked angrily, “How do you know my name and more to the point, how did you know where to find me?”

  “I can explain, once I’m inside. I don’t think you’d want you neighbors listening to what I have to say.” I glanced pointedly at the house next door where a light shone from a small upstairs window—probably a bathroom. It turned off seconds later, but it was enough to emphasize my point, I guess, because Seaver stepped back to let me enter.

  “Talk,” he said as he closed and locked the door. “And it better be good.”

  “Do you mind if we get comfortable? This could take a while.”

  Seaver pointed to a stool at the island in the middle of the large kitchen.

  “I’ve always wanted one of these in my kitchen,” I said as I sat. I ginned. “Of course, first I’d have to have one.”

  “I don’t need to know your domestic situation,” he snarled as he sat across from me.

  I nodded. “Okay, cutting to the chase. You probably know my name by now, because my face has been on the news, thanks to you. I’ve been lying low, hiding out in alleys for the most part. I was in one last night and saw you and another man entering the hotel across the street. When you left, the doorman called you and the other guy by name. I decided to follow you.” I smiled ruefully. “That didn’t do much good since you had a car, but the other guy’s picture was in the paper this morning. Something about his political campaign. The library is a great place if someone like me needs access to a computer.” I was winging it because I realized my saying I’d followed him wasn’t going to work. The car thing and all. “It took a bit of digging, but I learned that you’re this Wilson’s bodyguard. After that, it was just doing a people search for your address.”

  He seemed to believe me, because he asked, “Why the visit? Do you think I’m going to admit to the cops that I sent you to Pender’s house with a message for him? If so, think again. They have you dead to rights for his murder and it’s going to stick.” He was smirking when he said that.

  “Yeah, it was a good frame up,” I replied. “See, the thing of it is, by the time I got there I was beginning to wonder why you picked someone like me to deliver the message. So I peeked inside the envelope and guess what I found. A blank piece of paper. Weird, huh?” I shot him a look. “I may have hit bottom, but I still have a phone. So when I saw you in Pender’s kitchen window I took a picture. What I should have done was turned around and left, but I didn’t.” I was going to elaborate but he didn’t give me a chance.

  “I want to see the photo,” he spat out, reaching across the island to grab my arm.

  “You can, for a price,” I replied as calmly as possible under the circumstances.

  “You’re trying to blackmail me? Do you have any idea who you’re going up against?”

  “Yeah, a bodyguard who probably knows his business.”

  “Exactly. Show me the photo, then maybe we’ll talk.”

  I dug it out of my pocket with my free hand, telling him I had a copy I’d left with a guy I know. “For insurance.”

  “This is a phony, and even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t prove I was there when he was killed,” Seaver said after looking at it.

  “Check the timestamp.”

  “Faked,” he snarled, his grip tightening on my arm. “I left…” He shut up suddenly, but it was too late.

  “You left after you killed him, knowing I’d be there any minute to find his body?” I pointed a finger at him. “You’re the one who called the cops.”

  He ignored what I’d said, asking, “How much do you want for this and the copy? And there’d better be only one.”

  “Let go of my arm and I’ll tell you.” When he did, I said, “I’m not greedy. I was thinking five thousand. That’ll get me out of town with money to spare to start over somewhere else.”

  The look on his face said he thought I was stupid for asking for so little. “That’s it? Five grand and you leave?”

  “Yeah. Okay, there’s one other thing I want. Something in writing that says you killed Pender, with your signature. I won’t do anything with it unless the cops catch up with me.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  I
shrugged. “So I’ve been told, but I’m not crazy enough to want to spend the rest of my life in prison for a murder I didn’t commit.”

  “And I’m not crazy enough to say I did it when I didn’t,” he replied, making a grab for my arm again.

  I pulled away before he got hold of it. “If you didn’t, and I know I didn’t, then who killed him?” I smiled as if the answer suddenly hit me. “You work for this Wilson guy. Your job is to protect him. Does that include covering for him because he’s the one who killed Pender? If it does, you were cutting it close. It had to take you a while to find someone, me, to take the fall, and time for me to get out there. And that would all have happened after your boss called you to tell you what he’d done. The cops would have known Pender died before I got there.”

  Seaver smirked, although it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it. “Fixing the time of death isn’t an exact science. Not that it matters at this point. You’re right; my job is to protect him, which means tying up any loose ends if necessary.” He lunged for me across the island.

  “Back off,” I shouted, falling off the stool in my effort to escape.

  He was around the island before I could get to my feet. Yanking me up, he said, “You and I are going for a ride in the country. Unfortunately for you, you won’t be coming back.” One meaty fist slammed into my jaw and the last thing I remember before blacking out was the sound of the back door being kicked open.

  * * * *

  When I came to, Trent was kneeling over me. “I got it all,” he said when I opened my eyes. “Trouble is, he got away.”

  “Fuck!” I tried to sit up and my head swam.

  He put his arm around me to help, asking, “How are you feeling?”

  “Stupid question. How do you think I feel?” I growled as I gingerly touched my jaw. “It least he didn’t break it I guess, since I can talk, but it hurts like hell.”

  “We’ll get you to the hospital to make sure.”

  “No. I don’t do doctors unless I think I’m dying. You should know that. They cost money.”

  “Damn, Charlie. I’ll pay.”

  “It’s still no.” I moved my jaw carefully. “It’ll be fine. I’ve taken punches before.” I put my hand on the edge of the island to pull myself to my feet. “What now? Did he say enough so you can take the tape to the cops?”

  “Yes and no. He didn’t admit that Wilson had killed Pender, although he sort of implied it. I’m not sure the police will think it’s enough to go after them.” When I frowned, Trent said, “Think about it. Wilson’s a bigwig politician with a lot of backers in the business world.”

  “And I’m just a loser with a good reason to want the cops off my back, so I came to you for help. I told you I was innocent and you bought it. And they already know we knew each other a few years ago…Yeah, I can see why they’d have their doubts.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then how do we go about proving Wilson’s the killer and Seaver’s helping him cover it up.”

  “With the recording,” Trent replied. “I’ll make a copy, then you try your blackmail scheme again, only on Wilson.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “What have you got against my staying alive? As far as that goes, why are we still here? Wherever Seaver went, he’s not going to stay away for long. This is his house, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Yeah, let’s get moving before he returns with either the police or a gun, or both.”

  We did, making quick work of getting back to his car.

  “He, Seaver, knows my name,” I said as we drove away, “but he doesn’t know where to find me.” I repressed a grin as I pictured him combing every alley in the city searching for me.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Trent replied. “He’s not the only one working for Wilson. All Wilson has to tell them is that you’re a homeless guy who’s been harassing him and every one of his bodyguards will be on the lookout for you.”

  “I doubt they know about the condo.”

  “No, but if Seaver saw enough of me before he ran, he knows what I look like and that I was helping you. I’m obviously not homeless, so they’ll start putting two-and-two together. Trust me, if the police know we used to be a couple, Wilson can find out, too.”

  “That puts you in their sights. I don’t like it.”

  “I’m quite able to take care of myself,” Trent said. “It’s part of being an investigator. We sometimes go after people who’d rather we didn’t prove they’re doing, well, whatever it is they’re doing, and take umbrage when we step in to stop them.”

  “Okay, good point. But I still don’t want your death on my conscious.”

  “They’re not going to try to kill me,” he protested.

  “Damn it, Trent, one of them killed Pender. Do you really think they’d have any qualms about taking you out if they thought you knew something? The fact that you were at Seaver’s house, and stepped in before he could take me for a ride—” I made finger quotes, “—will be proof enough for them that you’re involved.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to move into the condo, too, until we stop them.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I didn’t like that idea at all. It would put us in a situation that could turn too personal. At least mentally I didn’t like it. Emotionally was a different story.

  He slanted me a look before returning his attention to driving. “Afraid?” he asked, and a small smile played over his lips.

  “Not one damned bit.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. If you think about it, and if you’re really worried they might come after me, they’re going to find out where I live. Knowing where the agency is isn’t too much of a problem. They’re not going to do anything in broad daylight. In the middle of the night?” He shrugged. “I’d rather not take the chance.”

  Was he playing me? Using this as an excuse to move into the condo so we’d be together and maybe find out if what we used to feel for each other was still there? Like I told Roger when he asked, I didn’t think I loved Trent, but for damned sure I had cared about him—and he’d cared about me. If we’d been different men, things might have worked out. Was there a chance they could, now? Doubtful. Was I willing see, anyway? Yeah, maybe I was.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’ve got a point. In the interests of keeping both of us alive, we’ll share the condo. But, you’ve got to be damned careful we’re not being followed when we leave your office.”

  He nodded. “I know that. I’m good at avoidance.”

  In more ways than one, I figured. But then so was I. That’s why we’d stuck it out so long when we were together. It was easier than facing our problem and trying to do something about it.

  Because he was moving in, Trent dropped me off in the condo’s parking garage, saying he’d be back in an hour. We figured it would be safe for him to go get his things because Seaver wouldn’t have had time to get together with Wilson, let him know what happened, and for them come up with a plan to find out who Trent was. Even with all Wilson’s connections, it would take him at least a day to discover who I knew who might have been willing to help me.

  This time, when I went up to the condo, I took a circuitous route rather than going straight there. I rode the elevator up to the third floor, taking the stairs to five, then catching the elevator again to the eleventh floor before walking back down to ten. I was very careful to check for anyone in the hallways. If someone saw me I had a strong feeling that, given how I was dressed, they might call the cops about a vagrant in the building.

  I had showered and was wearing clean clothes when Trent arrived at the condo an hour later.

  The moment he was inside, Trent put down his bags to come over to me. He gently touched my jaw. It was sore and a bit swollen, and probably turning lovely shades of purple and puce although it was hard to tell under my scruffy beard.

  “Have you taken any aspirin?” he asked.

  “No. I feel about meds about the same way I do about doctors. Most of them are a scam to make mone
y.” I said that without blinking an eye, even though I had popped a couple. After all, it was only aspirin, and it did help.

  “So you’d rather suffer than feel better?” he replied sardonically.

  “You should know me better than that. I did take some.”

  He rolled his eyes. “There are times when I wonder why I bother.” He picked up his bags. “I’ll put my clothes in the bedroom, but obviously I’ll be sleeping on the sofa.”

  Before I could reply he headed up to the loft. Because of the railing at the living room side of the bedroom, I could see him bustling around as he unpacked. I almost called up to say he could have the bed. After all, my sleeping on the sofa would still be several steps up from where I normally slept. Then I decided not to. With my luck, he’d only suggest the bed was large enough we could share it, and that I was not about to do.

  He disappeared from sight and moments later I heard the shower running. It was late, but I remembered that he always had coffee before heading to bed. According to him, it helped him sleep. Yeah, he could be strange occasionally. Anyway, I went into the kitchen to make some. It was ready by the time he put in an appearance, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an older T-shirt.

  “Thanks,” he said when I handed him his coffee. Leaning against the counter he took a sip, saying, “This is like old times.”

  “I suppose,” I replied. “Years in the past.”

  He nodded. “They weren’t so bad, though, until the end.”

  “I suppose not.” He was right; they weren’t until we realized we were definitely two different people with very different outlooks on life. He was a go-getter, I was very laid-back. I doubted anything had changed since then. Before we could get into a discussion about our past I said, “I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning,” and then headed upstairs—but not before I caught a brief flash of longing on his face which I ignored. I felt the same, but…Yeah, this staying here, together, was going to be hard. I hoped we’d be able to bring everything to a close quickly so we could return to our real lives. Not that I looked forward to getting back to the streets again.