Prime Suspect: A Psychological Thriller With A Twist You Won’t See Coming

by Cole Baxter

  "I didn't do it," I blurted out. I didn't know why I felt the need to say that. Obviously, I hadn't done it. I hadn't left the house at all except to go to the hospital.

  "Do you think it was an accident?" Belinda asked me gently. "Are you all right? Do you need to sit?"

  I had a feeling that she just didn't know what to say because of the number of questions that were coming out of her mouth. I nodded and sat on the couch. I wasn't sure which of her questions I was answering, but I did know that I needed to talk about it.

  "I don't know if it was an accident," I said. "Devon worked as a firefighter, and he was a fire safety advisor. That is a hugely ironic accident. It says the fuel tank went up. He would have never left something hot that close to the fuel tank."

  "Accidents happen, though," Mario said. "Although this does seem suspicious."

  "I mean . . . I don't know why it matters," I said at last. I still felt numb, and I felt cold. I reached for a blanket that was on the couch and wrapped it around me. It was made of thick wool, with a rainbow of colors, and it smelled of Belinda's spices and home cooking. I had never felt so safe. "He's gone. If I go forward now, he's not going to come after me."

  Mario shot me a look.

  "Is that what you want?" he asked.

  I took a deep breath. "Yes," I said at last. "That's what I want."

  Belinda reacted in surprise, but she put a hand on my leg in support. "If that is what you want, then we will support you," she said gently.

  "No, I . . ." I tried to choose my words carefully. "You two have been absolute angels. You are the kindest people on the planet. But that's just the thing . . . people won't understand that you are just being kind. You will be made out to be accomplices in this, and you can get in a lot of trouble for doing that."

  Mario glanced at Belinda. I knew that they knew it, but they were so kind hearted that they never seemed to think about the consequences for themselves.

  "I want to go to the police," I said at last. "I’ll tell them I’m alive. But I'm not going to tell them where I was."

  "You have a death certificate on record," Mario said. "You could get in trouble for fraud if you do it."

  "I was sick," I said. "I was recovering."

  "Yes, you were," Mario said gently. "And they can't hold that against you, especially given the nature of your injuries. It would be a plausible story to say that you weren't quite . . . with it these last few months. Any court doctor who looks at your scans would say it's possible. But I can also delete the death certificate."

  My eyes lit up. "You can do that?" I said.

  "Sure." He shrugged. "It's my system. I can make it disappear."

  "And they'll have no record of it?"

  "There shouldn't be," Mario said.

  "They will need to know where you’ve been," Belinda said. "And if you don't want to use our names, that is fine and we very much appreciate it, but you need to have some sort of plausible story and it needs to be consistent."

  "I’ll come up with one," I said. "And I'll write it down and memorize it. I won't go to the police until I can present it clearly."

  "Good," Mario said. "Tear up the paper when you're done."

  "Of course," I said with a small smile. "I know that they'll be suspicious. I mean . . . they might even think that I did it."

  "No, they won't," Mario said. "Not when they look at your records. You’ve made a remarkable recovery, Laurie, and they won’t think that you were capable of such a thing. I don't think you realize how strong you are."

  I blushed at that. "It's because I had the two of you to support me," I said.

  "Well, regardless," Belinda said, "you can't just go to them right now. I have to ask you, though, Laurie . . . this is a big shock. If he is dead . . . I expect you'll need some more time to heal."

  "I . . ." I paused. I still didn't feel sad and I wasn't sure if I ever would. "But if I come forward with my story and go public with the book I want to publish, wouldn't it be possible that it could save someone else's life? If they hear it and see that I escaped . . . could they find the courage to do it themselves? Time is of the essence in this case. There are women out there every day who are in the same situation I was in."

  "I do agree," Mario said. "I just want you to be careful, Laurie. You’re still recovering, and you’ll be recovering for a long time."

  "I understand," I said. "But one day, it won't be recovering. It will be recovered, and I want to be ready for that."

  Mario smiled at Belinda.

  "Well, in that case," he said, "I should probably get into the system and do some erasing."

  "Do you know how to do it?" Belinda asked him. "I can help."

  "I know how to do it." He smiled gently at her. "But maybe one of your nine-year-old patients can be on standby, just in case. I miss the old days when everything was a paper copy."

  "Those kids know more than I do about the computer," she said and smiled after him as he left.

  "You two are so lucky," I said to her once he left the room. "You're so happy."

  She turned to me. "We are," she said. "Most days."

  My heart sank.

  "Most days?" I asked.

  She smiled. "Laurie, I know you were in a bad situation," she said, "and I don't think there was anything you could do to save your marriage. I don't think you should have, either. Devon was mentally ill, and he needed more help than you or anyone, it seems, could give him. Don't think that this applies to your situation . . . but a good marriage, even the strongest marriage, takes work. Mario and I argue sometimes, and we have days where we can't stand each other."

  "But you always get over it?" I asked her.

  She nodded with a smile. "We do," she said. "And I know that one day, you will find someone like that for you."

  "I hope so," I said. "I haven't given up entirely on love. I know it's possible. It's just going to be . . . a lot harder now. I mean, can you imagine a first date? If someone asks the typical first date questions, like tell me your story, they could be there all night listening to my mess."

  "I don't think it's a mess," Belinda said. "I think you're a survivor, and anyone would be lucky to get you."

  "Thank you." I picked at the wool on the blanket. "It doesn't matter. I don't think I'm going to be ready to date for a long time."

  "Oh, heavens, of course not," she said. "You take your time. But one day, the right person will come in and sweep you off your feet, and you'll be ready."

  "I hope so," I said, trying to be upbeat and confident. I really wasn't sure I would be ready, now or ever. I did feel like a completely different person, but Mario said that I would at least partly return to my old self before time was up.

  As soon as the death certificate was deleted, we started to work on my story for the police. I wrote it out, like I was telling a story to myself, and tried to make it as true as possible. I figured that if I did, I would be able to remember it easier. Belinda and Mario quizzed me on it, and I eventually passed every detailed quiz of theirs.

  When the day came, I did my best to remove suspicion from them. I packed my backpack with all the things that they had given me, and I walked several blocks over without either of them with me and then took a taxi to the nearest police station.

  The police station that I'd chosen was a big official building. Even though Devon was gone, it was like I was still fearful that he would walk in at any moment, so I went to the place with the most witnesses. That way, no one could debate whether or not I was there and as many people as possible could protect me.

  At least, that was the plan the way I saw it. But when I got to the police station, I almost considered not going inside. I considered just staying out and getting another taxi. There was a chance that I could just go and live a nice quiet life somewhere. I didn't have to be brave. I didn't have to be strong. I could just do whatever I wanted because I was dead and Devon was gone.

  I swiveled my head to the left and I saw a woman walking down the street. Ther
e wasn't anything necessarily wrong with the man she was walking beside, and maybe I was imagining it, but she seemed like she didn't want to be beside him. She seemed like she wanted to cross the street and run from him.

  I needed to go into the police station for her and for every woman like her. I needed to do it for those who were in bad relationships and looking to escape. I needed to do it for those who wanted to rise up like me and those who wanted to die and stay dead.

  I needed to do it for myself. Devon didn't deserve to rest in peace.

  "Hi," I said when I walked into the police station and my eyes landed on an officer. "My name is Laurie Whitman. I'm supposed to be dead. I'm not."

  His eyes widened, and he indicated that I should come forward. This was the first step toward the rest of my life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blake

  I had pretty much flat out lied to Devon's parents when I said that I would talk to Laurie. I didn't really have any reason to, but you never tell people that. You always just let them know their fears were being heard.

  Frankly, I wasn't sure what to think yet. If she killed him, based on her books, it sounded like he deserved it. If she didn't kill him, it sounded like he was an asshole and he deserved it in some way. However, that meant that someone else had done it and I was creating more work for myself by opening up a whole new rabbit hole.

  I decided that my next step was to go to the remains of their house and see if I could dig up anything fresh there. There was still a lot of rubble to sift through. If you watched the explosion on the news, you'd have been stunned that anyone in the entire neighborhood survived. They had been lucky not to have been impaled by falling objects. That house went up like it was in a disaster movie.

  I knew that there were detectives there who were still working on the case, so I decided to call Sam before I went in.

  "Hey, I want to go to the house," I said as I drove. “Okay?"

  "Yeah," he said. "I'm already here. Why are you calling to ask?"

  "I dunno." Knowing that he was at the actual site made me feel like an idiot.

  He chuckled at that. "Why, Blake, are you actually asking for permission and following proper protocol? I don't think I've ever seen this side of you."

  "Shut up," I answered. I wanted to smile, but it came with pain because I knew where that side of me had come from. Lola always followed the book to the letter, and that drove me nuts. I could never even get her to dip a toe over the line. What had she done to me?

  "Anyway, it's fine," Sam said. "We're going to be sifting through stuff for a while, anyway, so when do you want to come?"

  "Right now," I said as I turned off the engine.

  He sighed. "You know, Blake, it's not exactly asking for permission if you're right outside," he said. "But good try."

  "Thanks," I said and hung up the phone.

  The house, or at least what remained of the house, was just a pile of black rubble. There wasn't anything left that could even be identified as a house. I supposed that technically, that was the state of Devon's body. The only things not burned up had been things that could basically not be identified except by the leading experts. Even though they had a tricky time, I assumed they had done their due diligence. At least, I hoped they had and Devon's poor parents hadn't sobbed needlessly for no reason.

  "Hello, Blake, it's nice to see you again." Anna was at the entrance of the house with Sam, taking notes.

  I sighed. Of course, it made sense that she was there. After all, she was his partner. I was just kind of hoping that he'd be alone so we could talk a few things through without a third party.

  Or maybe I was just jealous. What difference did it make, really, in the end? She wasn't exactly going to stop doing her job just because I had a pain in my chest where my heart should be.

  "Uh-huh," I said as I looked around at the rubble. "Wow. They really did a good job."

  "Yeah," Sam said. There were a lot of people milling about, taking photos or sifting through the rubble. "Where did you come from, just now?"

  "Oh, I was talking to Devon's parents," I said.

  "And?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "I don't know," I replied. "It's weird. Like . . . his parents would probably be reasonably normal risk people if this whole station weren't in their face. His dad basically did all the talking and his mom scurried around. They're typical rich folks, plastic surgery and seven cars and all."

  "But you didn't learn anything new?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "Not really. They have a vendetta against Laurie, and no one can talk them out of it. They have all sorts of theories as to why it was her."

  "Are any of them viable?" Anna asked.

  I had been trying to ignore her, but I guess I couldn't without Sam giving me shit. "I don't know," I said.

  "Well, have you talked to Laurie?"

  "No, Anna, I haven't talked to Laurie," I responded.

  I desperately wanted to get away from her, so I picked a direction to start looking through the rubble. It had already been pretty picked through, and I had no fire investigation training, so I didn't really know what I was looking for. However, half the time when I went to investigate situations, I had no idea what I was looking for. I just looked around until something obvious hit me. I heard Anna and Sam talking behind me, but I tried not to care.

  "Has anyone found anything?" I asked Sam after a while.

  "Yeah, it was certainly arson," Sam said. "They found an incendiary device by the fuel tank."

  "What?" I gave him a look. "And you didn't think to mention that?"

  "You weren't exactly giving me a chance to," he said. "It's an amateur job."

  "Then there's no way that any of Devon's friends could have done it," I said. "They worked in the fire industry, for God's sake. If this were some elaborate ruse, then they would have done a much better job at it."

  "Maybe." Sam was clearly not convinced. But then, Sam softened. He needed convincing about every detail. You could have video footage and a confession, and he'd still be playing devil's advocate.

  "Look," I said. "If an amateur did it, that leaves only one suspect. As far as I know, everyone thought Devon was a great guy. He doesn't really have enemies, although I'm not really done digging. But there is an amateur out there who says she hates him, and she would benefit from his death."

  "Who?" Anna asked.

  I wanted to smash my head against the wall. The only reason I didn't do it was because there weren't exactly any walls to do so. "Laurie," I said.

  "That poor woman was battered," she said. "She was scared. I don't think she would do this. Abused women—"

  "Anna," I said. "I don't know how long you’ve been on the force, but maybe you haven't seen a crazy amount of shit yet. You can't assume someone isn't capable of something just because of their demographic or their past."

  "I'm not," Anna said. "She was sick. She was brain damaged."

  "Ah, brain damage," I said. "A pretty good excuse for someone to do something out of character."

  "Blake, you're aware that's the answer your clients may want you to find," Sam said.

  I cocked my eyebrow. "No," I said. "I'm not aware because you won't tell me who my damn clients are."

  "It doesn't matter," he said. "You're jumping to easy conclusions without a proper investigation."

  I looked at him in disbelief. "Did you miss the part where I am standing right in front of you, Sam?" I asked him. "Or the part where I just came from Devon's parents’ house? I'm not exactly at home searching Google and then calling it a day, am I?"

  "You need to talk to Laurie," Sam said.

  I groaned. "No, I don't," I said. "Cases like this, they're open and shut. Look, I don't really care why she did it. If anything she says is true, the guy is a jerk and she needed to do it. But that's not the point. The point is—"

  "I know what the point is," Sam replied. "But you still need to talk to her."

  "I really don't," I said, even though I was starting
to realize that I did. I wasn't trying to be lazy. I really wasn't. It was just that talking to her would probably be a waste of time.

  And she was pretty. I knew that was a stupid excuse, but anyone who was a pretty woman my age right now was sort of off limits for me. I was still too heartbroken to even be seen with a pretty woman my age, even for work. I couldn't bear the thought of someone making even a small suggestion that something might happen between us, as unprofessional as that would be.

  This was a horrible mindset to be in. Maybe I wasn't ready to be back at work.

  "Is there anything else around here?" I asked Sam as we looked around. "Fingerprints?"

  "Fat chance," he said. "Look, you don't need to be knee-deep in rubble. You can ask people questions that we can't. You can search places that we'd need a warrant for. You should be out doing that."

  I sighed and then looked down at my notes again.

  "I think I'm going to go to the office first," I said. "I want to search the database for a bit."

  "For what?" Sam asked, probably sensing that I was on to something.

  "Something felt . . . off . . . between Devon's parents. I mean, obviously, they're suffering, but I want to see if the police or the hospitals have a record of something more."

  "Who are you suspicious of?" Sam asked. "Him or her?"

  "At the moment, I'm not suspicious of either of them in the direction of the case," I said. "Just a medical record or a police report would give me more insight into who they are."

  "Well, I mean, sure," he said. "Will you call me if you find anything?"

  "Yep," I said.

  Anna looked up from her own notepad. "Do you need a password to get in?" she asked. "I could call to—"

  "No, I memorized it," I said and headed back toward the car. "Thanks, guys."

  "I'm just trying to help," I heard Anna say to Sam as I walked away.

  "I know," Sam said to her. "I know, don't worry about it."

  I knew she was just trying to help. But I didn't want or need help like that. I didn't know what Sam had told her, but he had probably gone about it in the wrong way.