The Truth About Gretchen

by Alretha Thomas

  I feel a hand tugging on my hoodie. I look over my shoulder, and my eyes meet Gretchen’s. “Calm down, Regina. It’s going to be okay.”

  I jerk away from her. “It’s not going to be okay. That’s why Robert’s case was never solved—because the police were too lazy to look for the real killer, so they said his murder was gang related.”

  Detective Williams sighs. “Ladies, Detective Garcia and I didn’t work on this case. The detectives who did have since retired. I’m sure they did their best. Unfortunately, evidence does point to a rival gang.”

  “What evidence?” I say.

  Detective Williams walks to the other end of the table and reaches into one of the boxes. He holds up what looks like a photo and hands it to me. “This was taken at the crime scene, Regina. You see that card right there—the ace of spades?”

  I nod.

  “That’s literally the calling card for the Shady Grove Guerrilla gang. The card was found in Robert’s pants pocket.”

  I stare at the photo, my anger mounting. “Robert wasn’t in a gang. Did gang members live in our neighborhood, on our block? Yes. Did Robert talk to them? Yes. He had to interact with them. But he wasn’t a part of them. I don’t believe he was killed by a gang. I believe that whoever killed him wanted to make it appear as if his death were gang related. I believe my brother’s missing files have something to do with his murder. I believe there was a cover-up.”

  Detective Williams takes the photo from me and returns it to the file folder. Detective Garcia glares at me, and I stand my ground, waiting for a response, but receive none.

  Gretchen, at a loss for words says, “Detectives, can you give us a minute?”

  “Sure,” they say.

  They leave the room, and I slump down into the chair. Gretchen sits next to me. “Do you believe this crap?” I say. “I knew it was going to go down like this.”

  “Regina, I think you may be right. There’s something off here. I can feel it. We need to leave here and regroup. At least we now know the two guys who crashed the party didn’t kill Robert. Manny is still a possibility. We need to find the neighbor, Miss Winter. The lady I—Robert—spoke to on the steps. She may have seen something. The detectives who worked the case had to have interviewed her.”

  “Yeah, but all the witnesses’ statements have been lost. How convenient. Maybe she did see something, but the police don’t want us to know what she saw. We used to wonder why she moved a month after Robert was killed. Maybe she didn’t have a choice.” Gretchen falls back in her seat, and then her gaze flies to the boxes. She jumps up and starts tossing lids off the boxes and going through them. I walk to the door and stand in front it. “What are looking for?”

  “I’ll know it when I find it.”

  “Hurry,” I say.

  She comes to a sudden stop.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “A lot of these boxes are empty. It seems like more than the statements have gone missing. This isn’t right. I think your family can sue or do something about this. We need to talk to a lawyer.”

  While listening to her, my eyes sting a bit. She’s so committed to getting justice for Robert.

  “What’s wrong?” she says.

  “You said my family should sue. You’re family to me now.”

  The creases in her forehead melt away, and she says, “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

  “As for suing, I doubt if anything can be done about it at this late date, and the detectives probably know there’s nothing we can do. That’s probably why they admitted that the files had been lost.”

  “I’m getting a weird feeling. I’m not sure what it is. We need to leave.”

  She returns the lids to the boxes, and when we head toward the door. It opens, and Detective Williams enters, his face clouded over in disappointed.

  “Officer Garcia had a meeting, and I have to go as well. I’m sorry we couldn’t help you. But I do want you to know that I’m going to keep mulling over things.”

  “Detective Williams, do you believe that my brother was shot by a rival gang?”

  He tugs on his mustache. “Again, I didn’t work the case, so I can’t say. If I’d had, I don’t think I would’ve fully embraced the gang retaliation theory. I would’ve investigated other leads. But apparently, there weren’t any.” He reaches into his shirt pocket and hands us his business card. “Please call me if you have any further questions.”

  “Okay,” we say.

  He escorts us out of the conference room, to the steel double doors. We push them open and step into the now-empty lobby.

  “Gretchen, what do you think about what he said?”

  “I don’t think he believes Robert was killed by a gang, but he’s a cop here. He probably doesn’t want to make any enemies. He has to toe the line no matter how crooked it is.”

  We pass the reception area, and the female officer looks our way. Just before we reach the exit, Gretchen stops and goes to a display on the wall. It appears to be the history of the Shady Grove Police Department, featuring pictures of former captains. She lets out a soft gasp. “I knew he looked familiar. I thought I’d seen him someplace else, but it was here.”

  “Who?” I ask, joining her.

  “That cop who was talking to the pregnant lady. The one who passed us in the hall.”

  “You’re talking about the old white dude with the clown nose and the widow’s peak?”

  “Right. He must be related to Captain Jeffrey Barnes. They look like twins. Same bulbous nose and widow’s peak. I saw this display when I was here Saturday. Jeffrey Barnes was captain the year Robert was killed. He looks sixty in this photo, so he’s probably in his eighties now and retired.”

  “You’re right. And Detective Williams called the cop who bumped into us in the hall Barnes.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I got a strange vibe from him.”

  “Me too,” I say, thinking about how he kind of pushed me when he brushed past us. “I got a racist vibe. He reminds me of those southern rednecks.”

  “Speaking of his neck,” she says, “did you see his tattoo?”

  “What tattoo?”

  “It spelled AKIA.”

  “Does that stand for something?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll look it up.” She reaches for her phone, and her eyes double in size. “Holy crap, the callbacks. They’ve started. I totally forgot about the time.” She places a call.

  “Patty, I’m sorry … I lost track of time … Tell Jocelyn I’m on my way. I’ll see you shortly.” She thrusts her phone into her pocket and says, “I have to go. Do you have time to meet with me after the auditions? I want to go over some things.”

  “Sure. Taylor thinks I’m at an audition.”

  “Lance thinks I’m at the callbacks.”

  “Why don’t we meet at the diner?” I suggest.

  “Sounds good. I can be there in three hours. Is that too long for you to wait?”

  “No. I’m going to try to hook up with Lorraine. I’ll see you at the diner at 4:00 p.m.”

  “Okay.” She hugs me and bolts.

  I return to the display and study the photo of Captain Jeffrey Barnes. I reach for my phone and Google AKIA. I get IKEA and keep scrolling. Then I see AKIA—Anti-Defamation League. I click it, and my stomach drops. AKIA is Ku Klux Klan shorthand for A Klansman I Am. “Oh, hell no!”

  Chapter 25

  Gretchen

  Tabitha steps through the audition room door and makes a beeline for Jocelyn, who’s sitting next to me. They briefly confer, then Tabitha gets behind the camera. Jocelyn pats me on the hand and says, “No worries. False alarm. The actress who just left couldn’t find her keys. She found them.”

  I nod then turn toward the actors in front of us, who are dressed in party clothes. Vanessa Johnson, who I’m strongly considering for the part of Robert’s mother, is wearing a red silk dress that falls just past her knees, and Edward Jones, auditioning for the role of Robert, is in a black suit. I lo
ve it when actors dress for the scene. Patty was here earlier, but she had to leave for a meeting about the other thesis film she’s producing. After viewing Vanessa’s and Edward’s first audition, she was sold on them. Unless they blow this callback, I’ll most likely cast them.

  Simulating a toast, Edward lifts his hand toward Vanessa. He takes a moment, then his face blooms into a smile that reveals perfect, white teeth. Curly hair, caramel skin, and a dimple in his chin, out of all the actors, he most closely resembles Robert. He parts his full lips and says, “Ma, I want to thank you for supporting me all these years. I owe my success to you, my life to you. When our father died, you didn’t give up, despite the pain and the struggle. You stood strong; you fought for us. You were an amazing example to Rosalyn and me. You taught us to go after our dreams, to never give up. Because of you, I have an NFL contract, and I’m living my dream.”

  Vanessa pushes her gray dreadlocks out of her tear-covered face. She starts to respond, but my vibrating phone upstages her. Restricted lights up the screen. I’m tempted to take the call, but I remain seated, my mind soaring through the skylight and out of the room. Who’s calling me? Is it another threat? The text Regina sent me floods my mind. AKIA is Ku Klux Klan shorthand for A Klansman I Am. The cop who passed us in the hall is in the KKK? Does that mean the captain serving when Robert was killed is in the KKK? Is that why they didn’t bother to solve the case? That’s a stretch. Or is it? Barnes. We need to research the Barnes family. The captain’s name is Jeffrey Barnes. According to Regina, the cop we saw at the station is Buford Barnes, and they’re obviously related. She called anonymously and inquired. I can’t wait to leave here, so I can meet with Regina.

  “Gretchen. Gretchen.” I turn toward Jocelyn, whose narrowed gaze cuts through me. “The actors are done.”

  My eyes widen, and I clasp my hands, wondering how long the actors have been standing there. “Yes, of course,” I say, my cheeks flushing. “That was amazing.”

  “Thank you,” they say.

  “Thank you for coming in,” Jocelyn interjects. “We’ll be in touch before Friday.” After the actors leave, she says, “You’re on another planet today.”

  “I just have a lot going on.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “You’ve already done a great job with the casting.”

  “Well, that’s everyone,” Tabitha interjects.

  I stand and stretch. “I want to cast Vanessa and Edward. They’re perfect. Jocelyn, I’m going to leave the secondary casting in your hands. I trust your judgment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. I have another meeting, so I need to head out.”

  “I’ll keep you abreast of the other casting, and we’re right behind you. We have another casting session across town.”

  “Please do,” I say.

  Jocelyn stands and extends her hand to me. I shake it and then grab her in a hug. Her body tenses, and I release her. “Take care, ladies.”

  I leave and dash to the parking lot. When I reach my car, I back away when my eyes land on my slashed tires. Trembling, a million thoughts tumble through my mind. I scan the parking lot, looking for the culprit. A man carrying a briefcase looks over his shoulder and then keeps walking. A trio of young men carrying backpacks stand near a truck. I inch around the car and bristle at the sight of the other two slashed tires. I look up and around at the buildings for surveillance cameras. Maybe the slasher was recorded.

  “Oh my gosh. Gretchen, what happened?”

  “Jeez.”

  I turn toward Jocelyn and Tabitha, their faces shocked, and say the obvious. “Someone slashed my tires.”

  “Who would do that?” Jocelyn says.

  Tabitha circles the car, her mouth ajar. Her braces sparkle in the afternoon sun. “Maybe it was one of the actors from the first audition. The guy who couldn’t act. Maybe he heard us talking about him.”

  Flashing back to the threatening phone call I say, “I doubt it. I need to call security.”

  “This is just horrible,” Jocelyn says.

  She yelps and runs in her red-bottomed heels to the opposite end of the parking lot, stumbling, nearly falling on her face. “They may have gotten me too. Tabitha, you’d better check your car,” she says, slowing down.

  The women inspect their vehicles while I call security. They return and report that all is well. After ten minutes, a security guard arrives in a golf cart. He takes a report and asks me if I recently went through a bad breakup. I tell him no and that I have no idea who could have vandalized my car. He tells me there’ll be an investigation and gives me a number to call to check on the status. Jocelyn and Tabitha wait with me until he leaves.

  “I hope they find out who did this,” Jocelyn says, eyes scanning the lot, clutching her purse.

  “I do too.”

  “Do you need a ride to your meeting?” Tabitha drapes her arm over my shoulder.

  “That’s sweet of you, but I going to have AAA tow me to my mechanic’s shop, so I can get new tires.”

  She removes her arm. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call us if you need anything,” Jocelyn says, glancing at her watch.

  “I will.”

  They leave me there, looking over their shoulders with concern. I call AAA, then Regina.

  “Hey, Gretchen. I was just about to call you. Are you still coming?”

  “Are you sitting?”

  “I am. Kate and I are having pie and coffee.”

  “My tires were slashed.”

  “Shut the hell up! At the university?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “I think it’s someone trying to get me to stop tracking down Robert’s murderer.”

  “I wonder why they haven’t come after me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with me visiting the police station that day, leaving my card. Maybe if they attacked you, it would draw too much attention. Who knows how this nut job thinks? Anyway, I’ll tell you more when I see you. I’m getting new tires, and then I’m heading that way.”

  “Why don’t I come and pick you up? It might take longer than you think to get new tires. One might not be a problem, but four …”

  “Luckily for me, my father ordered some tires for my car the other day. Hopefully, they’re there. If not, I’ll call you. The tow truck should be here soon.”

  “Okay. I’ll be here waiting—be careful.”

  ******

  The tow truck driver parks in front of Carl’s Auto Body. He jumps out of the truck, and I do the same. Standing to the side, looking up at my car, a mixture of fear and sadness envelopes me. A fresh surge of anxiety seizes my body when I hear a familiar voice. I turn and meet my father’s eyes, filled with concern and curiosity.

  “Hey, Gretchen. I didn’t know you were stopping by today. Carl mentioned that the tires I ordered for you are here.”

  “I … uh … I had an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” He brushes past me and moves toward my car, taking stock while the driver unloads it. “Your tires have been slashed.”

  “No … I mean, it looks like that, but uh … I actually drove over a bunch of glass.”

  The driver looks from my father to me, shaking his head. I hope he minds his own business. “Miss, sign right here,” he says, thrusting an invoice attached to a clipboard my way. I sign it, and he takes off.

  “Gretchen, you’ve never been a good liar. What’s going on?”

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling like I did the day my father caught me in his bathroom with a face full of shaving cream and brandishing his razor. He caught me just in time, before I did any real damage. I was six and his baby girl. He could easily protect me. But now I’m twenty-six, and he may not be able to protect me.

  “Gerald, Janice’s fender is as good as new.”

  My father turns toward our mechanic. “Thanks, Carl. Charge Gret
chen’s tires to my account.” He points to the Subaru.

  “Good god, what happened?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “Well, we’ll get right on it.”

  My father motions for me to follow him to the waiting area. I trudge behind him, formulating a story in my head. He points to two chairs against the wall, beneath a window. I sit and stare straight ahead at the muted TV mounted to the wall covered in car related ads.

  “Gretchen, you came to the shop the other day and left without saying anything. Now this. To say we’re concerned would be an understatement. Does Lance know about this?”

  “No. And please don’t tell him.”

  My father crosses one leg over the other. “You told me you would keep me in the loop regarding the dreams and your reincarnation theory. Does this have something to do with Robert?”

  I rock in my seat, debating. “Dad, I think the person or persons who had something to do with Robert’s murder slashed my tires. And Saturday night I got a threatening phone call.”

  My father’s face goes white, and he stands, groaning and mumbling. “Why didn’t you tell me about the call? Do you have any idea who it was?”

  “No. It was a restricted number.”

  He returns to his seat, breathing heavily. “They called Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  “What had you done or where had you gone that day before the call?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, and the Shady Grove Police Department floods my brain. “I had gone to the Shady Grove police station. I left my card there.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  I give him a blank stare.

  “I can only imagine. And today—where did you go today?”

  “I had callbacks at the university.” Then it hits me. “I was also at the police station today. I had a meeting.”

  A couple enters, and my father nudges me and points to the door. I follow him outside. He paces and runs his fingers through his red hair, revealing gray roots. “Gretchen, it has to be somebody at the police station. Who did you talk to?”

  “A female officer at the reception desk and two detectives from the cold case unit. But I don’t think it’s them.”