by Kari Ganske
"Routine questioning. Nothing that concerns you," the chief said.
"Alex?" Linc asked, concern and anger edging his voice.
"I'm okay, Linc. Just trying to be helpful." I put on a bright smile to hide the swelling panic.
Chief Duncan left Linc standing there clenching and unclenching his fists as he corralled me down the back hallway. I thought we were going to his office where we took the calendar pictures earlier in the week, but instead he took me to a smaller, almost empty room on the other side of the hall. I knew an interrogation room when I saw one. The panic bubbling under the surface threatened in earnest to spill over. I swallowed it down, reminding myself that I was, in fact, innocent. And this was just questioning. If I told the truth, everything would be fine.
Although that didn't work too well with my career.
"Have a seat, Ms. Lightwood," Chief Duncan said, gesturing to a chair on the far end of the table. He took the seat by the door. A thin manila folder and a voice recorder lay on the metal table between them. Given the non-digital fingerprints, I was a little surprised it wasn't a cassette tape. Did they still sell those things?
Chief Duncan messed around with the recorder for a second until a little red light flashed on. "I'm going to record this interview." Not a question. "This is Chief Clive Duncan interviewing Alex Lightwood in regard to Melissa Poledark Vandenburg's murder." He stated the date and time, then placed the recorder back on the table between us.
"What can I help you with?" I asked, hoping my voice sounded calmer than I felt.
"I'd like to go over your timeline from the day of the murder." He opened the folder and made a show of reading the top sheet of paper. I waited for a question. None came. Instead, he took a pen and pad of paper out of his jacket pocket, then looked at me expectantly.
"Did you have a question, Chief?" I asked as politely as I could muster.
"Your timeline. Take me through your day. Be as specific as possible," he said. I opened my mouth to speak, but he added, "And remember, we already have statements from several other people."
I nodded. "I have nothing to hide. I woke up at my parents' house, and we had breakfast."
"What did you eat?" he asked.
"How is that relevant?"
"Answer the question, Ms. Lightwood." He tapped his pen impatiently on his pad.
I bit my cheek to keep from rolling my eyes but complied. "I had cereal—Cheerios, I think. My father drank cold coffee. And my mother had an apple cinnamon muffin."
"Continue," he said. I told him about my mother's frustration with all the calls, which prompted her making the hair appointment.
"So, you're claiming your mother, Constance Lightwood, suggested and then made the appointment?" the chief asked, eyebrow raised.
"That's what happened," I confirmed.
"But you picked the salon." Not a question.
"No. The whole thing was my mother's idea."
After a long scrutinizing gaze, he asked, "What time did you leave the house?"
"About eleven o'clock. We went straight to the salon."
"Which salon?"
I gave him an incredulous look. He knew which salon. I'd already told him I'd gotten my hair done at Missy K's the morning of the murder. Not only that, but Missy K's was the only real salon in town unless you counted Patti's Pizzazz and Pizza. But no one did. Patti ran a little side hustle out of her basement where you could get an 80s style perm or a slice of pepperoni. Those were your only options.
"Oblige me for the record," Chief Duncan said.
"It was Missy K's at the time. I think Kelly recently renamed it Shear-lock Combs," I said.
"That was the victim, Missy Vandenburg's, salon at the time?"
"Yes. But I didn't know that before we got there. Kelly told me about their business partnership while she cut my hair."
"How long were you there?"
"I guess about an hour and a half? I think we got back to the house a little after one."
"Anything else happen while you were there?" he asked.
"Missy did come in while we were there. We hadn't seen each other since high school. She told me about her husband and kids, then basically ignored me," I explained. Since Kelly didn't think the unpleasantries exchanged between me and Missy were a big deal, I felt no need to mention them now. If Chief Duncan asked me directly, I'd respond, but no more volunteering information that put me in a negative light. Not with Chief Duncan.
"Nothing else you want to mention?" he prompted. "Just got your hair cut and were on your way?"
"That's about it," I said. "Exactly like I told you before."
He slammed his hand on the table and then pointed a pudgy finger in my face. I recoiled immediately, almost tipping backward off my chair.
"Ah-ha! Your first lie," he bellowed triumphantly.
Chapter 26
"I didn't lie," I lied. Technically, it was an omission.
"Witnesses testified that you and Missy had a torrid fight at the salon that day. One of the other patrons said she was surprised you two didn't start clawing each other’s eyes out."
"First of all, I wouldn't call it a fight, and second, it definitely wasn't torrid. She insulted me, like she used to do in high school, and I told her to grow up. The end."
"Witnesses said you threatened her. Then she turned up dead hours later."
"I didn't threaten her. She threatened me with interfering in my court case," I clarified, my anger amplifying to match his.
"So you did have a reason to be angry." He looked like a cat that finally caught the canary.
I crossed my arms and clamped my mouth shut. I'd already said too much and didn't trust myself any further. From here on out, call me Fort Knox.
"Fine," Chief Duncan said after he realized I wasn't going to confirm or deny. "Finish telling me about your day. What did you do when you left the salon?"
Darn, an actual question. "I went back to my parents' house. We had a late lunch, and my mother complained about small-town gossips. Then around four I went for a walk by the reservoir to take some pictures."
"Four o'clock. Did anyone see you?" he said, making a note in his pad.
I shrugged. "I noticed a few people on the paths, but I'm not sure if they saw me."
"Shame for you. What time did you get back to your parents' house?"
"I left the reservoir when the sun got too low. I guess a little before dusk? Maybe around six thirty or seven?"
"The call to the police didn't come in until after dark. At least an hour later." His eyes narrowed again. I didn't hear a question, so I remained silent.
"Answer the question, Ms. Lightwood."
"What question?" I asked.
"Are you getting belligerent with the chief of police?" he asked, incredulous.
I was about to tell him that his title alone didn't guarantee him respect; he had to earn it, when the door opened behind him. Detective Spaulding stood there looking from the chief to me and back again.
"I thought we were going to wait to bring her in?" he said to Chief Duncan.
"An opportunity arose," the chief said. I snorted.
"Alex, you aren't under arrest," Detective Spaulding explained.
"I know," I confirmed. "I was just saying my farewells. I gave Chief Duncan my timeline the day of the murder. Again."
"She confirmed the fight at the salon," Chief Duncan spluttered.
"We didn't fight. She insulted me; I told her to keep my name out of her mouth. The whole thing lasted less than a minute. Apparently lots of people exchange catty words with Missy on a daily basis. I'm not special in that regard," I said. I kept my eyes on Detective Spaulding.
"She had ample access to the salon scissors. And she has no alibi for the time of death," Chief Duncan explained.
My mouth dropped open. So that was his reason for hauling me in here for questioning. Missy must have been murdered about the time I was in the woods. Alone. The color drained from my face; my bones turned to ice. I flicked
my eyes to the open manila folder to see if I could read the paper Chief Duncan seemed so interested in earlier. Beside TOD, the medical examiner had written "2pm-6pm."
The chief saw me looking at the paper and slammed the folder shut before I could see anything else.
I looked at Detective Spaulding. "You could narrow down that time even more if you look at the metadata on the photo I took."
"Metadata?" he asked, coming farther into the room.
"Yeah. I connect my camera to GPS tracking so I always know exactly where and when the photos were taken. It's essential in photojournalism. I never changed the settings. Pull up the picture on any gallery app and look at the file info. That will narrow that timeline."
"Thank you, Alex. We'll do that. Did you happen to see anyone else in the woods when you were there?" he asked.
Chief Duncan had asked the same thing, but their tones were so vastly different. Chief Duncan made it seem like I needed witnesses to confirm my location. Detective Spaulding's tone suggested I could help them catch who really killed Missy.
"Yes," I answered. I described the man with the book, the boy and his dog, and the running girl. Detective Spaulding looked disappointed when I finished. I couldn't blame him: none of those people fit the descriptions of anyone on my suspect list either.
"Thank you for your time, Alex. We'll be in touch," Detective Spaulding said.
"I'm not done asking questions yet," Chief Duncan said, rising from his chair when I did. "She admitted to having a long-lasting feud with the victim. I want to know more about that."
"I absolutely did not say anything about a 'long-lasting feud.' You can listen to the tape to confirm," I said defiantly. I popped my hands on my hips, an old habit to make me appear larger, and started to stomp out of the room. Chief Duncan made a move to stop me, but Detective Spaulding stepped between us. I sidestepped my way out of the cramped room.
"Alex," Detective Spaulding called.
I turned to face him, glad the chief wasn't in my eyeline.
"I'm sorry for this." His eyes were soft and sincere. "It shouldn't have happened."
"Thanks. But I will be going through my lawyer from now on."
"Understandable. I'll listen to the tape too. I'm sorry, Alex," he repeated. I realized he was back to calling me Alex. I guess I was off his list again. A small consolation.
On my way by Chief Duncan's office, I saw Kelly sitting on the edge of the visitor's chair. She chewed a fingernail while her eyes darted around the space like a trapped animal looking for escape. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
Detective Spaulding and Chief Duncan's heated words followed me down the hallway and into the lobby. I drew up short when I saw Linc sitting there.
"What are you still doing here?" I asked.
He scowled at me. "Waiting for you. I figured you'd need a ride."
"Thank you. I was going to call my dad," I said, holding up my phone.
"Well, I'm already here." He rose from the chair and walked out the door. I had no choice but to follow. As we rode in awkward silence back to my loft, I texted my family to tell them they didn't need to bail me out of jail.
I replayed the interrogation over in my mind. Had I said anything incriminating? Would my words be used against me in court? I tried to remember, but emotion clouded my memory. Maybe I could request a copy of the tape. Maybe the tape would be played during the Dateline episode about my life and crimes. Maybe Chief Duncan would plant my fingerprints somewhere. Great. Then I'd be the crazy one screaming about being framed by the police. I dropped my head in my hands and took a deep breath.
"Hey," Linc said softly, turning down the radio. "You okay?"
I lifted my head to look at his profile. He glanced at me, his liquid-metal eyes full of concern, before returning his attention to the road.
"I don't know," I admitted, trying and failing to hold back the tears. "I really don't know."
I turned my face to the window so he wouldn't see the tears spilling down my face. I wasn't usually a crier. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I'd cried in my adult life. Losing a brother really put a lot of things in perspective. But stress and fatigue had these rare tears streaming now. I willed myself to get it together before we got to my loft, but we were already turning into the parking lot beside the barn.
I tried to scramble out of the truck and run inside before Linc could follow, but my little chicken legs were no match for his long, muscular ones. He met me at the base of the stairs and grabbed my upper arms gently in his large warm hands.
"Alex, look at me," he coaxed.
I shook my head and kept it lowered. I tried to swipe at my face with the back of my hand but couldn't reach it with the way he held me. Could this day get any more embarrassing? First, I had to attend driving class like a speed demon; second, I insulted my best friend, then I got hauled into the police station for questioning in a murder, and now, I was crying in front of Lincoln Livestrong. So much for the independent world-traveling woman I purported to be. I was acting like the child I hated to be treated like.
"Alex?" he tried again.
When I sniffled and stood there, he gathered me in his arms in a hug. Our first hug in over a decade. That only resulted in me sobbing even harder.
"Okay. It's gonna be okay," he soothed.
I wrapped my arms around his middle and clung to him, tangling my fingers in his shirt. He held my head to his chest with one hand, gently stroking my hair, while the other spread across my back. His six-foot frame engulfed my small one. Usually this made me feel weak and childlike. Tonight, I felt protected and secure. I gave up trying to hold back the tears and let them come. He made all the right soothing noises but didn't try to stop me or tell me I was ridiculous. Which was absolutely how I felt.
When my sobs subsided, he leaned me back slightly to cup my face in one hand. He used a thumb to wipe away a lingering tear. His face held none of the annoyance and anger I'd seen there the last few days. Instead, worry lines crinkled his forehead while the rest of his expression was gentle and soft.
"Let's get you inside," he suggested. He tucked me under one arm and shuffled me toward the stairs. Somehow, we managed to get up the steps and into the loft.
"Thanks, Linc," I said between sniffles. "You don't have to stay. I'm okay now." But just saying the words brought on another onslaught of tears.
"Yeah, I can tell you're just fine," Linc said with the hint of a smile. He put his hand on the small of my back to lead me to the only piece of furniture, besides my bed, that I owned. He set me down on the couch and rummaged around in the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a glass of water and some napkins, both of which he offered to me.
"I couldn't find any tissues," he said apologetically.
I hesitated a moment before blowing my nose, then realized having snot dripping down my face was more embarrassing than the sound of it going into a napkin. I took a deep gulp of the water when I finished.
"Thanks, Linc," I said quietly, still not fully trusting my voice. "For everything."
"What are friends for," he said.
I looked up at him and took a deep breath. I was already embarrassed enough; I might as well go for broke.
"I'm so sorry, Linc. For the way I've been acting since I've been home. I'm angry at my circumstances and am taking it out on the people I care about most. I've made a mess of everything here. I'm so sorry."
He reached a hand to smooth a wayward strand of hair out of my face. "I'm sorry too. You've been under a lot of stress since you've been back. Dealing with my mood swings hasn't helped."
I couldn't quite manage a laugh, but I did muster up a small smile. "Your mood swings. What about my mood swings?"
"I haven't seen your moods swing," Linc said, catching my smile. "You've consistently been a big grouch since you've been back."
I halfheartedly smacked his chest. But I knew he wasn't wrong.
"You scared me tonight, Alex. When you came rushing out fro
m that hallway, your face was ashen, and your eyes were as wide as saucers. I thought you were going to faint right there," Linc said. He took the cup of water from my hands when the tears welled again. I put my head back on his shoulder. "Can you tell me about it? What did Chief Duncan ask you?"
I sniffled again. "The gist of it is that I have no alibi for the time of the murder; I had access to the murder weapon, and I have a motive for killing Missy." I shuddered, and he hugged me closer.
"You and half of Piney Ridge," he commented.
"That's pretty much what Detective Spaulding said when he came in." I felt Linc tense at the mention of the detective.
"They took your fingerprints?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I let them. I am innocent. I didn't touch the locket, and I surely didn't touch any scissors," I said. "Hopefully when that is confirmed, it will throw some cold ice on Chief Duncan's suspicions."
"I hope so. Sounds like you handled yourself pretty well in there, Sexy Lexi," he said.
I sniffled again. "I guess. How did I even end up in this mess?"
"I don't know, Alex. But I'm going to help you get out of it."
I leaned back a little to look up at him. "You said you were done helping me. That I should leave it to the police and stay out of it."
"I know what I said." His jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. "But that was before Chief Duncan made it clear he wasn't actually investigating the murder. He's trying to fit the evidence to pin it on you."
"Detective Spaulding seems competent," I said.
Linc's jaw clenched again. "I don't trust that guy either. He seems all nice and unassuming, but he's smart. Don't trust him too much, Alex. Good cop, bad cop is a tactic because it works."
"I saw Kelly in Chief Duncan's office when I walked past tonight," I told him. I put my head back in the crook of his arm. For being so muscley, he was pretty comfortable. I could feel the weight of the day dragging me down. I was exhausted.
"They searched her salon and her house," he said. "Joy and Andrea were talking about it while I waited for you. I got the impression they weren't trying to keep their voices down."
