The Dark Hour

by Erin Lanter

  Isaac shrugged. “It was one of her friends, wasn’t it?”

  “A friend she was meeting at the movies. The one who told her parents she never made it to the theater, to be precise.”

  “How long till you figured it out?” Isaac asked. He’d only been twelve years old when the murder happened.

  “A while. Too long.”

  “I still don’t know what this has to do with Tessa James,” Isaac urged. He could tell there was something his partner didn’t want to tell him.

  Al walked to his desk and sat. Isaac followed him and settled into the cracked vinyl seat across from his partner.

  “She didn’t report what she saw immediately. She waited more than twelve hours. Why?”

  Staying quiet, Isaac knew this was Al’s way of thinking through the details of a tough case.

  “I got to thinking. Maybe it was because she murdered a woman. Maybe she waited that long so she could stash the body somewhere.”

  “We still don’t even have a body,” Isaac reminded his partner. “There’s no proof of a murder.”

  “There is that woman we found on the creek bed,” Al countered.

  Isaac frowned. “The James woman said the Jane Doe isn’t who she saw that night.”

  “Yeah, she said. But maybe it was, and she’s just trying to pull a fast one on us. Or maybe she just imagined the whole thing.”

  “Why would you say that? Has she given any hint that she didn’t see what she claimed to see?”

  “Other than the fact that she didn’t even believe herself at first? No. But her family has a history of mental illness. That suicide call I asked you to look up was her mother. From what I learned going through that report, she’d been crackers most of her life.” Al leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

  Isaac followed his partner’s line of thinking. “And you think Tessa James is sick just because her mother was? That she hallucinated the whole thing about the murder last week?”

  Al rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as though he was studying the speckled tiles above him. “Possibly. The point is, I feel stuck, and I hate it.”

  Detective Dunn leaned his elbows on Al’s desk. “So, what do you think happened?”

  Al sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish I knew. It’s possible she saw the guy who lives in that house carrying one of his wife’s mannequins around and deluded herself into believing she’d seen a young woman who’d been murdered,” he reasoned. “On the other hand, it is still a possibility that Tessa James really saw what she thought she did. Unfortunately, we have no evidence to back up that scenario.”

  “What about the break-ins? Do you think they never happened?”

  Chewing the inside of his cheek while he weighed the possibilities, Al finally said, “It’s possible she staged the home invasions. It’s also possible that she sent herself the threatening emails to back up the story she created.”

  “And the woman who was shot in her house?”

  Al heaved himself out of the chair and began pacing behind his desk. “She’d recently had a relationship with Tessa’s ex-husband.”

  “Do you get the impression that she would off somebody like that?” Detective Dunn challenged. “I know I only met her for a few minutes, but she seemed pretty stable.”

  “My gut says no,” Al admitted, “but we won’t know until the ballistics report comes back. We’ve also got people going through the victim’s phone for any clues about her relationship with Tessa.”

  The phone on Al’s desk rang. Isaac watched the creases on his partner’s forehead deepen as he listened. His mouth had formed a grim line. After making a few notes, Al hung up and slid his gun into the holster under his arm.

  “Looks like my gut was wrong,” Al muttered as he rushed from the squad room, leaving his partner behind.

  61

  Carefully balancing the chopsticks between her fingers, Tessa plucked another bite of General Tso’s chicken from her plate and popped it into her mouth before she dropped it. She’d never really learned how to use chopsticks, and now looked longingly at the plate of food she doubted would ever make it from point A to point B without landing in her lap. On the few occasions she’d actually used them, she always thought a drop cloth would have been more appropriate than a napkin.

  “You’re getting better,” Drew observed.

  Tessa looked up, and as she did, the chopsticks crossed into an X and the chicken she’d so carefully picked up landed with a thud on the edge of her plate before rolling onto the table.

  “Don’t be so sure,” she said, picking up the runaway food with her fingers and putting it in her mouth.

  “You are. Don’t you remember the first time you used chopsticks? You got so frustrated you ended up spearing your food with the end and ate that way. I felt like I was dining with a cave-woman.”

  Tessa laughed with more sincerity than she had all day. With Camille being shot and the police questioning her, the last thing she’d expected tonight was to have a good time. Drew seemed to be going out of his way to keep her occupied, even though he couldn’t hide his concern about Camille.

  A frown crept onto her face where a smile had been just seconds before.

  “If it’s bothering you that much, you can use a fork,” Drew said, pointing to her plate with his chopsticks.

  She tried to smile but could only manage a grimace.

  “Sorry,” Drew muttered. “I’m trying to keep your mind off what’s going on. I guess I’m failing miserably, aren’t I?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I’m just so mad.”

  Drew rested his chopsticks against the edge of the plate and folded his hands under his chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Tess. Camille is the one who was in your house. You weren’t even home. I know your devil’s advocate scenario says it’s possible, but I know you. You couldn’t have done this.”

  “I should have been there, though.”

  Reaching across the table and turning her chin to face him, Drew said, “You know what happened to Camille. If you’d been there, it would be you lying in the hospital bed.”

  She looked at him reluctantly, then said, “I know, but if I had been there, Camille never would have been shot. I wouldn’t have shot her. To tell you the truth, I probably wouldn’t have shot anybody no matter what. Even when I heard the recording of that scratching noise and thought somebody was in the house, I didn’t get my gun. I grabbed your old baseball bat that somehow ended up with my things when I moved out.”

  “See what I mean? They can’t convict someone who doesn’t have it in them to harm another human being.”

  “I appreciate the encouragement, but I’m pretty sure they can do whatever they want,” Tessa countered.

  They sat in thoughtful silence. The fact that Drew couldn’t say he was positive that Tessa had been at his house when Camille was shot was going to hurt Tessa, and they both knew it.

  “I’m their prime suspect, you know,” Tessa said, stabbing a piece of chicken with her chopstick.

  Drew’s hand stopped mid-air. “Did they actually say that?”

  “Basically. How could I not be?” She bit the chicken off the end of the chopstick and chewed, then swallowed hard. It stuck in her throat.

  “But they didn’t arrest you. That’s something,” Drew said, a feeble attempt at finding a silver lining. “They have no proof you did anything wrong because you didn’t. All you’ve done is try to get them focused on solving a murder they can’t find evidence of.”

  Tessa raised a shoulder and let it drop. She stood up from the table, walked to the silverware drawer, and returned holding a fork.

  Drew chuckled.

  “I really should stick with what I know,” she said, shoveling a forkful of rice into her mouth. “Making someone with absolutely no dexterity use chopsticks should be reserved as a form of punishment.” She took another bite. “Maybe they’ll make me use chopsticks in jail.”

  �
�Don’t say things like that,” Drew said quietly.

  “Sorry,” Tessa mumbled. “You know, when Camille came to see me that night, I could see why you liked her. I mean, it was really creepy the way she was just looking in the window at me, but once I started talking to her, she actually seemed very sweet. Vulnerable, almost. And she’s obviously crazy about you. Besides, a person would have to be blind not to notice how beautiful she is,” Tessa said, absently swirling her fork around on her plate.

  “She was at your house? Why didn’t you tell me that?” Drew’s mouth hung open, revealing a half-chewed mouthful of sweet and sour chicken.

  “She didn’t come inside,” Tessa said, unsure why she felt the need to defend a woman who’d scared her half to death earlier in the week.

  He laid his chopsticks on his plate and shook his head. “What was she thinking?”

  “She was thinking she loves you,” Tessa said, self-consciously tugging at the waist of her jeans. They’d been getting snug sine Drew waltzed back into her life providing take-out every night for the past week.

  Awkward tension floated between them until Tessa broke the silence. “I think I’m going to watch a little TV before bed.” She stood and picked up her dishes, Drew following suit. As they did, the doorbell rang.

  They exchanged looks of dread, then, Drew set his plate back on the table and walked toward the front door. It was amazing how quickly something as simple as the chime of a doorbell could turn into a bad omen.

  Drew walked back into the kitchen with Detective Jefferson following close behind. The look on the detective’s face perfectly communicated the reason he was there.

  Tessa inhaled sharply and cut a nervous glance at Drew. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me,” the detective said.

  Numbness began in her face and worked its way down to her fingertips. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested in a shaky voice.

  Fearing she’d drop the plate she was holding, she set it down quickly, causing her fork to bounce off the plate. Rice flew everywhere.

  Like the pieces of my life, she thought.

  “I’m placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Camille Walker.” The words might have been routine, but that didn’t make them any less frightening.

  Drew took a step forward. “Hold on a second – “

  “That won’t do either of you any good, Mr. James,” Detective Jefferson said, his tone cool.

  “What evidence could you possibly have for arresting me?” Tessa demanded.

  “For starters, the victim was shot in your home. Also, we’ve got your fingerprints on the weapon and the gun was recently fired. Oh, and the ammo matched the bullet that hit her.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Shall I go on?”

  Tessa looked at Drew, panic etched on her face.

  As she did, the detective pulled handcuffs from his belt and extended them toward Tessa. “Turn around.”

  “Is this really necessary?” Drew protested.

  “Stay out of it, sir,” Detective Jefferson warned.

  As he snapped the handcuffs onto her wrists, his words seemed to come from a million miles away. “Tessa James, I’m placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Camille Walker…”

  The cold steel cuffs heavy on her wrists, she walked numbly outside as the scowling detective rattled off the rest of the Miranda warning.

  62

  Tessa took a sip of the water Detective Dunn had placed in front of her. With a shaking hand, she set it back on the table and crossed her arms tightly around herself.

  Detective Dunn gave her a reassuring smile. “We have to record this. I’m sure you understand.”

  She nodded and watched as he reached halfway across the table and pressed the record button. He smiled again then looked down at the file in front of him.

  When she’d met Dunn this morning, Tessa had instinctively liked him. He had a comforting presence, even though Detective Jefferson hadn’t let him talk.

  “Can you start by telling me how you know the victim, Camille Walker?” he began.

  “Until a few days ago, she was dating my ex-husband, but I don’t actually know her,” Tessa responded.

  “Go on,” Detective Dunn encouraged.

  “That’s all I know. I think they were together for about three months, but you’d really have to ask him.”

  “And how well do you know the victim, personally?”

  Tessa narrowed her eyes at Detective Dunn. “As I’ve already told you, I don’t know her. I met her once, for about five minutes. That was it.”

  He looked back at the file he was holding. “And what was the occasion of your meeting?”

  Tessa sighed, loosening her grip around her waist. “She showed up at my house one night. I was reading a book, and when I looked up, I saw her watching me through the window. I went outside to tell her to leave, then went back into my house. She left after that.”

  “I see. Would you say you felt threatened?” the detective pressed.

  Tessa arched an eyebrow. What was this guy getting at? “Not threatened, no. It was unnerving to see a face staring at me through the window, but I resolved the issue.”

  “What reason did she give for being there?”

  “Drew had just broken up with her that morning, and she was under the impression that he and I were getting back together. I assured her that wasn’t the case.” Tessa lifted the glass to her lips and took another slow drink. Her throat was parched.

  Detective Dunn leaned back and casually rested an arm on the table. “Did she say anything else?”

  Tessa shook her head. Despite the fact that Camille had spied on her, Tessa was genuinely sorry about how things were turning out for her.

  “Must have been scary, considering how on edge you’ve been lately,” the detective urged.

  “Of course,” Tessa admitted, “but when I realized who it was, I was fine. I had bigger things to worry about, and I was more concerned about a killer hunting me down than a human Barbie trying to take me out. Honestly, I was relieved it was her and not some psychopathic madman.”

  Detective Dunn chuckled softly. “Tell me about last night.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Tessa challenged. “I’ve been staying at my ex-husband’s house since mine was broken into for the second time.”

  The young detective nodded. “From what I understand, he can’t exactly corroborate your alibi.”

  Tessa exhaled deeply and slumped in her chair. She shook her head. “No, he can’t. I was sleeping in the guest room. The last time we saw each other was around seven o’clock when I went to the door to get a pizza from the delivery guy. I took it to my room and watched some TV, then went to sleep.”

  The door creaked as Detective Jefferson pushed it open. “I’ll take it from here, Detective,” he said, his jaw clenched.

  Detective Dunn forced a smile. “Just trying to take some of the burden off you.”

  Detective Jefferson ignored the remark and settled into the chair next to his partner, ready to begin his own line of questioning. “Would you please state, for the record, why you might have wanted to shoot Camille Walker?”

  Tessa lurched forward in her seat. “I did not shoot her!” she protested.

  Ignoring Tessa’s objection, Detective Jefferson moved on. “Tell me about your college degree.”

  “What? Why does my degree matter?”

  “What did you study, Ms. James?” the older detective pressed.

  “English. That’s how I got the job rewriting stories for the news station.”

  “What else did you study?” Detective Jefferson challenged.

  Tessa sighed. “Computer science. Why?”

  “You would have the knowledge to send yourself an untraceable email.” Detective Jefferson leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Tessa.

  “What email?” Tessa asked, then bit her lip as the meaning of his question registered. “You think I sent myself the threatening email? First of all, you
can check my official transcript. No class I took would have given me the ability to create an untraceable email account. Secondly, why would I do that?”

  Exhaling heavily, Detective Jefferson replied, “To create a boogeyman you could bring to us, all the while distracting us from your true intentions.”

  “Which would be?” Tessa licked her lips. She needed more water.

  “Killing Ms. Walker.” The detective said it nonchalantly, as if hurling accusations at an innocent person was a completely normal occurrence.

  “I didn’t try to kill her!” Tessa cried. “How many times do I need to tell you that? I was nowhere near my house when Camille was shot. I have no reason to want her dead. I haven’t even fired my gun in months.”

  Detective Jefferson snorted. “Your gun was used to shoot her, and she was inside your house. We also found a text message from you on her cell phone, asking her to come to your house last night. I’m afraid the evidence doesn’t lie.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his barrel chest, as if there was nothing else he needed to say.

  “Maybe evidence doesn’t lie, but people do. Whoever is trying to make me look guilty is lying. Someone could have easily broken into my house and used my gun to shoot her,” Tessa objected. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone got in. Besides, I don’t even have Camille’s phone number. There is no sent message from my phone to her.”

  The older detective tilted his head. “That’s the one hiccup. We’ve determined the text came from a burner phone, which can be purchased anywhere. They’re untraceable,” he admitted. “While it’s true that we can’t prove you bought the phone, you also can’t prove you didn’t. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Tessa ran her fingers through her disheveled hair and leaned forward, her eyes wide with fear. “I think you need to consider the possibility that the bullet that hit Camille was intended for me.” She shivered. “Let’s not forget, these things started happening after I witnessed a murder victim being carried through that house.”

  Tapping his chin with an index finger, Detective Jefferson said, “Interesting theory. The only problem is that the text message asking her to come over suggests that she was the intended victim, not you.”