by Trixie More
“Damn. I should have posted a picture of that thing.” She surveyed the half remaining. “Can’t do it now. It looks like a massacre.”
Phil smiled. “Never understood posting pictures of food.” He patted his belly.
She smiled back at him. “It’s good.”
Phil sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“Did they do an autopsy?”
“Yeah, they did.”
“And?”
“Blunt force trauma. The body was moved. We’re not sure how long he’s been dead.”
Sophia was shocked. “How could that be?”
“Do you think he was dead less than two months? The body wasn’t that bad, right?”
She nodded and then shook her head. The body wasn’t that bad, but no, he had to be dead more than two months.
“Right. If it was stored somewhere, it was kept out of the air and kept cool. We’re still not sure exactly how.”
“A freezer?”
“That’s one theory. The body was very cold but that could have been from the Hudson.”
Sophia studied her fries, pushing ketchup around on the paper. “What else?”
“There was a rug that the divers found. We think he was rolled in that when they tossed him in.”
“Anything else?”
Phil stared at her.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head and went to work on the rest of the sandwich, corned beef and melted swiss dripping from the sides.
“What?”
“We’re not releasing this yet.”
“And?”
“And, you can’t act on this if I tell you.”
“Sure.” Sophia did her best to look earnest and trustworthy.
“I don’t know, Soph.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. I do know. I know I should not tell you this.” He wiped his hands on his napkin.
“No!”
“Soph, I can’t.”
“No, Phil. Tell me. I won’t act on it, I swear. This, this is family.” She held his gaze.
He leaned forward and grabbed her elbows gently. “You have to be content with just knowing this and that we’re working on it. Okay?”
She would have promised anything. The words dropped from her mouth without a thought. “Absolutely. You can count on me, you know you can.”
“There’s some genetic evidence.”
“What?”
“Hair and blood. Fingerprints.”
“How is that possible?”
“Places where the water didn’t get. Inside the wallet, on his clothes, some blood under his nails.”
Sophia stared at him, her eyes wide. She felt her breathing pick up, her heart speed up. So close, they almost had the bastard.
She whispered to him, afraid saying the word would break whatever lucky streak this was. “Who?”
He shook his head. “Some big investor that did a deuce for kidnapping.”
Blood thundered in her ears. “His.” Words failed her. She tried again. “His name?”
“Doug Lloyd.”
Chapter 15
The mattress on the floor didn’t bother him. The cool tile under his feet was no problem. The curtain-less windows were just fine. Doug told himself the fact that Sophia hadn’t called him was absolutely perfect too. He hadn’t even sent her any more evidence; hadn’t texted her. It was better for her if he just left her alone. Sooner or later, he’d figure out how Camisa Junior killed Colton Gerrimon and then one of New York’s finest would be happy to assist him.
Doug stretched and moved into the bathroom where the discount towels didn’t catch his attention. Inside the large shower, it occurred to him how different it was now. There had been a night that had begun badly in this shower, a midnight journey of the soul if you will.
Doug smirked at no one. Some hero’s journey he’d been on. For fictional characters in novels of great importance, the hero got on a bus or faced himself in the mirror, and during his darkest hour, the resilient fellow came out with greater understanding of himself and his frailty. Somehow, on the other side of that, he was redeemed.
Not me, Doug thought. The worst was over, but he didn’t seem to have become a better man.
He put his hands on the cool, narrow handle and pulled open the glass door to the shower. The glass was splotched with water spots. There’d never been so much as a smudge in here before he’d been arrested. His housekeeping service made sure of it. Now that he had no such service, and had to clean it himself, he realized what a royal pain in the ass this shower was.
Just take down the walls and go without, he thought. He shucked his Jockey’s and stepped inside, rubbing under his balls as he did so. The water was hot; the soap was a bar he’d picked out and purchased himself. It had a nice smell and green and white stripes. He stood under the water gazing at the soap.
He bought this soap. He picked it out. He brought it home. God, he loved that. Doug began to lather up, his thoughts quietly moving from enjoying the soap back to that day. He’d had sex with Janice in the living room. Back then, the condo had been furnished in top-end white leather and glass. He remembered pumping into her, his hands coasting over her ample hips, all the while staring at the violent red sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunset that evening had blazed like fire and brimstone. He could hardly keep his mind on Janice for the drama washing the sky outside. He’d just come home from a board meeting at Carl Johansen’s place. While the board members waited for Carl to show up, they perused brochures that had been left at each seat. Carl was so damn transparent. It was obvious that his daughter had been the one to design the fliers, and basically, the packet of information was set to entice someone rich to invest in her lover’s business. Since Dorothy’s lover was Ed Walker and he made products that were designed to reduce carbon and Doug was the only investor at the table who focused on environmentally impactful investments, it was clear he was her target.
In the shower, the water was hot; the shampoo was inexpensive and smelled amazing. It smelled like choices and freedom. He scrubbed at the short bristles of his hair. He didn’t even need shampoo, his hair was so short but having the choice was the point. He scrubbed again.
Back then, that day, a numbness had swept over him. He’d felt outside himself. He called Dorothy, arranged to meet her. Went through the motions, while around him, he felt his choices getting smaller and smaller. Somehow, Dorothy had figured out the link between her lover and Doug. Somehow, he was about to lose everything. The ride back from the meeting was muffled; he remembered not thinking at all. Then home, having sex with Janice, turning her over, eating at her and then loving her again. He’d started to cry. Just salty tears leaking and leaking from his eyes as she held him and whispered beautiful praise to him.
“Ahhg.” In the shower, Doug groaned, frustration rushing through him, squinting his eyes shut and thrusting his chin to the ceiling. If only he could erase that day. He let his mind finish the story while he rinsed off and shut the water. He’d come into this very shower, the water hot, the towels the best that money could buy. He’d thought about his damn father, never the fuck home, always off saving someone else’s kids in some other country. It was so typical; thinking about his father brought out the worst in him. Brought out the best too, since those thoughts drove all the work and strategy and productivity. His father was like a spur to his side.
Doug shut off the water. Today, the towels were thin and he’d washed them himself. That day, they’d been soft and lush, hung up just so by his housekeeper. Janice hadn’t joined him. She was still in the living room. He remembered feeling soft and caring toward her as he walked down the hall with just his towel around his hips. He saw himself reflected in the windows, the sky outside now dark.
She’d been on the phone, talking about him to her friend and then she’d laughed.
He’s richer than Croesus, she’d said. Well, he works so hard at it, as long as I praise him.
His gut had clenched, th
e muffled deadness he’d been feeling since he’d been at the board meeting turned cold, like ice in his veins. He could hardly hear himself for the blood pounding in his ears.
Don’t say it, he remembered praying for the first time in decades. God, don’t let her say it. Janice continued.
And tonight? She had said, her voice full and round like she held a juicy bite of fruit in her mouth, He cried.
Betrayed. First by Carl, and then by Janice. He didn’t even remember what happened next, but he must have called Tommy because in a few minutes his friend was at the door and Janice was crying and packing her bags. He remembered saying nothing and holding out his hand to her as she exited the apartment. She’d blinked at him and he’d just thrust his hand out farther.
Keys, Janice, Tommy had said. Give the man his keys.
Today, none of that mattered. He’d gone through his dark night of the soul and emerged not the hero of his own story but the villain. In the bathroom, he wiped some steam from the mirror and assessed his face. Shaving was a bit of a challenge these days, the small scars on his chin and left cheek made it a bit hard to navigate. Doug decided to leave a day’s growth there. It itched a bit but he didn’t want to bother with the whole razor thing. He began to brush his teeth, finishing the story he was telling himself.
The next day, he’d met Dorothy as planned. He’d been of two minds that day. One part of his brain insisting he was just going to look at this marvelous tailpipe extension that cleared carbon emissions. He’d look at it and decide not to invest. He’d have done what was needed and he could go back to basking in her father’s attention, back to being friends with Carl and Helen. If the world had been fair, these two would have been his parents. He remembered believing that.
At the time, it was as if his mind was split. The other part of him knew that after Dorothy put the pieces together, she’d know that Doug was the man who’d ruined Ed’s life and it would be only days before he found himself losing everything. So, that part of him put the duct tape in his pocket. Put the zip ties in the other pocket.
It was that part of him that had pushed her into the trunk of his BMW and drove like an idiot for God knows where.
It was dumb luck that the police caught him before he got out of the city. If he’d believed in God, in a real way, he’d be thanking Him on his knees. If not for that, he hated to think what might have happened. Doug didn’t think he could handle having the ruin of two lives on his soul.
He blinked at himself as he rinsed and spit. It was over. He’d done his time in jail and now, all he had to do was find his money and then shut down everything in New York and head south, to Alice.
Back in the bedroom, he wandered into his ten-by-ten closet. One small section held his new clothes, jeans and T-shirts that fit his new post incarceration body. He pulled a black, tight tee over his large biceps and yanked it down to his hips. Jeans, just normal straight legs, none of this skin tight shit for him, and cheap kicks. He was just pushing his feet into his shoes when the banging started. Fists pounding on his door. Cold sweat sprouted over his back and arms.
He moved into the entry way, turned the knob and opened the door to a phalanx of cops.
“Doug Lloyd?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re under arrest for the murder of George Connelly.”
The interrogation lasted fifteen seconds.
Doug said, “Lawyer,” and then he waited.
William showed up about an hour later, his hair popping up in the back, his face confused.
“What’s going on?” Will asked, frowning.
“They think I murdered someone.”
“Murder?” William’s eyes widened, but not for one second did Doug see anything in his lawyer’s face that indicated the man thought the accusation was true. Doug thought if he ever got his money back, he’d give a million cold to William for that. “Who?”
“George Connelly,” Doug said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” said Doug. “I have no idea who this guy is. Was. I don’t know him unless he’s someone that dealt with Lloyd Holdings. An investor maybe?”
“Why do they think you killed him?”
“I didn’t ask. I asked for you. I didn’t want to breathe until you got here.”
“Okay, okay, good,” William said. “Good. I mean not good, but you know.” Will rubbed at his eyebrow, put his hands resolutely on the table, stood, and headed to the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”
It was almost an hour later when William and a couple of detectives came back in the room. An hour during which Doug contemplated having to return to jail on a murder charge. How long would he stay there? It would be a second offense, a pattern. He’d be in for a long time. He was innocent of this crime, had never in his life killed anything bigger than an insect. The idea of killing repulsed him.
His thoughts ground to a halt. He’d done other things he would have sworn he’d never do. If anyone had asked him five years ago if he was capable of pushing a young woman into the trunk of his car, he would have laughed. Well, he’d done it. So how did he know he wouldn’t ever kill anyone? Maybe that was up for grabs. Maybe there was nothing his black soul would balk at.
He leaned back in his chair and rested his ankle on his knee. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling. At least for now, he had never taken the life of another and he had no current plans to do so. This George person was perhaps the first time in his life he’d been falsely accused of anything. Imagine that? The first time and it had to be for murder. His blood pounded when he considered he might actually be convicted of this. After being inside, he no longer believed that only guilty men were convicted.
William came in again. “They’re going to question you. I’m going to answer first each time, understand, Doug? If I answer, indicating that you can speak, then you can tell me the answer. If I agree, you can then tell them.”
Doug nodded.
“Before I let them in, I want you to whisper the answer to a couple of questions to me, understood?”
Doug nodded again, everything in his being focused on Will.
“Where were you last night, Doug?”
He leaned over and spoke as softly as he could in Will’s ear, keeping his mouth covered. “In my apartment, alone.”
“Which one?”
“My old one on Park. I haven’t moved to the other yet.”
“Did anyone see you last night?”
“The doorman.”
“There will be security footage then. Tell me what you did yesterday.”
“I went to work at seven a.m. Tommy showed up at nine. I worked until one and went out, bought us lunch, brought it back. Taiwan, two blocks over. Paid by credit. I came back at one thirty. We ate. Tommy left about quarter to five. I worked until six and left. I locked up, went to the gym. Not my old one. Just a fitness place on Fortieth. I worked out until seven thirty. Got dinner from the deli on Fortieth, paid with credit, walked home. Was home by eight fifteen. I didn’t leave until they arrested me this morning.”
“Good.”
“We’ll need to get the footage quick,” Doug said. “A twenty-four-hour loop would erase it. Both work and home.”
William agreed. “Doug, this is important. Do you know George Connelly?”
“No.”
“Is there any reason that you can think of that someone would be unhappy with you?”
“Our investors, there’s not as many as you would think. Most left after I was arrested. It hasn’t been a good two years for the company. Tommy can give you a list of them.”
“Anything else you can think of?”
“No. What do they have on me?”
“Doug, they’ve got your hair, blood, and fingerprints on the body.”
Tommy stood in the old fishbowl that had been Doug’s office. Now it was a de facto conference room for himself or any of the wannabe moguls renting space from him. He covered his mouth with one hand as h
e listened to Doug’s attorney.
“It’s just temporary,” William was saying. “Just until I get a bail hearing, and we get him out again.”
Who was this “we” William was talking about? There was nothing more for Tommy to give, nothing more he could do. Hadn’t he done everything he could for Doug? In return, Doug just kept fucking up. Selfish bastard. Who had he ever cared for besides himself?
Jealousy scratched inside Tommy, remembering Doug with Ed. Not to mention, keeping quiet while Doug ranted and wailed about the damn video. How bad had it actually been? He seemed to enjoy himself well enough at the moment.
Then the whole business with Janice. The never-ending saga of the slut who loved me, ending with Doug being so soft in the head that he’d pushed some trust-fund baby into a trunk and left Tommy holding the bag, trying to keep a dying business together.
So many nights Tommy had spent torturing himself with images of the man he loved, in prison, falling in love with someone else.
Now, this? Who was this person Doug had killed? A lover? Tommy’s heart just could not take it.
There was nothing more Tommy could or would do for Doug. How could he? How could he keep on loving this man who would never love him back? Doug kept bringing them closer to the brink of destruction.
“How long will it be before he’s out on bail? How much will it cost?” Tommy asked. “The business needs him here, we need the income, and we can’t afford to waste money on a bond.”
“Waste money?” William’s voice was one step away from chiding.
“Yeah. Waste money. Doug can’t keep fucking up like this. Now he’s killed someone?” Tommy shook his head. He needed to get free of Doug and find a way to save himself.
“Look, calm down, Tommy,” William said. “Doug denies the charges. I just have to make sure he gets bail. As soon as he gets out, he can go back to trading. Look, would I keep representing him if I didn’t believe he’d make good?”
