Strong Alibi

by K. C. Turner

  “I’ll talk with Marilyn about this but for now, I think it’s best if you just go home for the day. In our positions, we need to be real careful about what we say and how we say it.”

  Not holding back on her feelings of amusement, and frustration, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly as she laughed out of her nose. “You know, Peggy, I was planning on going home anyway, but thanks for your concern.” She stood up abruptly and stomped out of the office. Who in the hell does she think she is?

  Briskly skipping down the stairwell, Elizabeth was fuming, hoping China was still outside taking her break. She took the parking garage elevator to the top level. When the doors opened she stepped outside to find China still smoking and on her cell phone. Her face lit up with relief.

  “I gotta go, I’ll call ya later,” China said before ending her call. “Hey, Liz, what the hell was that all about?”

  “Can I please bum a cigarette?”

  Reaching in her pack and pulling out a Misty Menthol, she handed it to Elizabeth with her lighter. She looked at her sympathetically and asked, “What happened?”

  The flame burned the tobacco and she inhaled the carcinogenic fumes along with the nicotine, instantly relaxing her nerves. Slowly exhaling, she closed her eyes and propelled her face towards the sun. When she opened her eyes, she looked at China. “I’m not gonna make it. I swear to God, anything that could have gone wrong today, did!”

  After filling China in on the details, she was almost as pissed off as Elizabeth. “What a bitch! Liz, don’t even sweat that shit. You should have went straight to Marilyn’s office and explained yourself.”

  “China, I just honestly don’t feel like dealing with this shit today. First of all, I can’t believe I let Angel talk me into going to Mansfield. That was a frigin’ disaster! Then, Pam totally throws me under the bus. And now, Peggy has the nerve to be all high and mighty. Her confidence is rather annoying.” She took another long drag of her cigarette.

  China held out her French manicured hand as a signal to stop Elizabeth’s ranting. “Okay, let’s put all this in perspective, shall we? Angel is a Godsend. No pun intended – well, maybe a little.” She laughed. Elizabeth wasn’t amused. “Okay, seriously, so things got a little mixed up with the hearing. Big deal. Like you said, you didn’t wanna go anyway, right? No harm, no foul.”

  Giving her a look like she knew she was right, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head in agreement.

  “Okay. Second, Brandon DeFranco is a journalist for the Silverton Tribune who literally gets a hard on for a story like this! Did you expect anything less from his own wife?” China glared at her as if she was waiting for her to disagree so she could slap her back into reality and take great pleasure in it.

  Although she knew she was right, she was dead on actually, Elizabeth still felt betrayed. Here she was, wasting her energy and her time, for a woman who had obviously been gaslighted. Just another victim she couldn’t reach.

  “And as for Peggy? Screw her! Sitting up there on her Ivory Tower. Confidence? I’m sorry but you can’t have the confidence of a runway model and look like a doctor’s wife.” She lit another cigarette out of frustration.

  Elizabeth giggled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  A tad irritated she had to explain herself, she happily informed her friend. “It means she’s homely, Liz. She’s confident she has the doctor because she has the three-carat diamond on her finger, but she doesn’t really have him. The twenty-four-year-old nurse he’s banging in the broom closet on his break while they’re both snorting Ritalin in between patients, has him.” Her Asian eyes widened as she pursed her lips as if to say, ‘Duh.’

  Elizabeth’s face showed a bit of surprise. She shook her head and smiled shamefully.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Having an hour to stew over what happened to his request, Martinez glided up the stairs to the detective bureau like an angry deity. His face was red by the time he reached the office, sweat beading on his forehead. Shawn was sitting at his desk, deep in thought about whatever he was reading on his computer. He glanced up upon Martinez’s hard footsteps coming towards him. Shawn backed up in his chair a bit and began to stand, nearly expecting a backlash of sorts.

  Martinez swiftly gained traction and headed straight for Shawn’s throat with his hands. The two men fell back onto the wall, Martinez yelling the entire time. “You son of a bitch! You knew how important this was! I thought you had my back!” His grip grew stronger.

  Choking on his words, Shawn attempted to explain himself. “Martinez! What the hell?”

  Chief Holden heard the commotion and quietly made his presence known within the room filled with testosterone. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his long arms across his chest, calmly but clamorously asking, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Martinez released Shawn’s throat and shoved him in the chest, his back making a loud thud against the wall behind him. The fury in his eyes remained as he glared at his colleague. “Well, I don’t know, Chief. Why don’t you ask Johnson why my request never made it to Mansfield and Liz missed the parole hearing!”

  Removing his glasses from his tired face, he wiped them clean with the handkerchief from his shirt pocket before adjusting them back on his nose. “This true, Johnson?”

  Befuddled, Shawn grasped for words. “Chief, I have no idea what he’s talking about. One minute I’m sitting here working, the next, he’s literally at my damn throat!”

  Not able to contain himself, Martinez continued to yell. “Chief, I asked him to send in my request to Investigator McMurphy. McMurphy said he never received it. Johnson said he sent it!”

  Holden remained calm. Looking at Martinez from over the top of his glasses, his eyes expressed a warning. “I think you’re going to need to take it down a decibel or two.”

  Martinez took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before he continued. “McMurphy also said he emailed me the change in the hearing but I never received it. We arrived there today, only to find out the hearing was held yesterday!”

  For a moment, Holden gazed at Martinez, not looking into his eyes, but through them. Then he moved on to Shawn who was waiting for his turn with a piece of paper in his hands. “What do you have to say about this, Johnson?”

  Handing the sheet of paper to him, he defended himself. “This is the email I sent in on Monday.” He turned to Martinez, “Look, man, obviously I did screw up without even realizing. After you left, Chief needed me to go check out another OD. I mistakenly sent the email to general requests at Mansfield instead of directly to McMurphy, not even thinking about it. Still, it should have gotten to him. I’m sorry, man.”

  “Johnson, you knew how important this was and why didn’t I get McMurphy’s email? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Really Martinez? I don’t mean to be a dick but if it was so important why didn’t you send the damn thing yourself? And how is it my fault or my problem that you didn’t get his email?”

  The look on his face was a cross between appalled and stupefied. “Are you freaking kidding me, Johnson?”

  Before Martinez had the chance to go after Shawn’s throat again, Holden took control of the room. “Johnson, don’t you have somewhere to be right now?”

  Pushing his chair under his desk with force, Shawn exited the room. Holden looked at Martinez and sympathized logically. “I’m sorry Elizabeth missed her hearing. You know these things sometimes happen, Martinez. Wires get crossed. Not sure what happened to the email from Mansfield to you but you may want to ask McMurphy about that before you go pointing fingers.”

  Sighing in disgust, Martinez knew the Chief was right.

  “How’d Elizabeth take it?”

  Raising his head and shaking it proudly, he threaded his arms across his chest. “She doesn’t seem to care much. Not that she doesn’t care, I just - I know she’s scared.”

  Holden nodded, “Rightfully so. I understand you have strong feeli
ngs for her but I told you from the get-go to tread lightly on this. Don’t let yourself care more about it than she does and don’t push her too hard.” Turning his tall, lanky frame around to return to his office he looked at Martinez one last time before adding, “And Johnson’s a good detective. Take it easy.”

  On her second glass of Chardonnay, the warm lake breeze and the setting sun were finally bringing Elizabeth some peace to her stressful day. She took one more sip of wine, set the glass on the wicker table in front of her, and ventured into the bathroom to fill the tub. “Lavender, for balance,” she said aloud, remembering her mother’s advice as she sat on the side of the tub, allowing a few drops of oil to mix with the swirling hot water.

  Leaving the tub to fill, she sat down on the living room floor and thumbed through the album collection to find the best one with lyrics able to reflect her mood. Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here, 1975. Perfect. Though neither of her parents suffered a breakdown like Syd Barrett, they were no longer with her and they weren’t coming back.

  “Shine on You Crazy Diamond” began echoing throughout the house. Returning to the bath, she shut off the water. The old claw foot bathtub had reached its limit. She lit some candles and conveniently placed her wine glass next to them on the built-in shelf surrounding the tub before stripping down to her birthday suit. The door remained open so she could hear the music and allowed the room to remain cool enough against the steam.

  Slipping into the water, it was as hot as her bare skin could endure. She sunk until the water reached the nape of her neck, covering all other extremities, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, “Wish You Were Here” began to play. Singing along, tears began to form at the crease in her eyelids. She thought of her parents. What would they do right now? What would they say to her to make this terrible day seem like a distant nightmare? You’re Strong, Elizabeth… Her father’s voice echoed in her head.

  She didn’t feel strong. She felt like getting dressed and packing a bag, cleaning out her trust account, and disappearing. For good. Forgetting about the small town she was from and everyone in it. I could sign over the title of the lake house to Bill and Marta for their troubles; they would understand. China’s a grown woman; she doesn’t need me for anything. And Martinez – he could – Grappling for an easy way out, she told herself, - he doesn’t need me adding any more drama to his life than I already have.

  Frustrated with her own thoughts, she dunked the washcloth in the water and slapped it on her face, the water mixing with her tears. After wiping away the need to feel sorry for herself, she tried to pull it together like she knew her parents would want her to do. What if he does get out early? He really doesn’t give a shit about a protection order, so why bother? But I do need to be prepared… She closed her eyes again and inhaled the lavender that stimulated the air.

  Pink Floyd continued to play as the multiple record turntable worked its magic, until there was a loud banging on the dining room door. “You have got to be kidding me!” Elizabeth stood in the tub, the water rushing back and forth from the force of her body. She grabbed her towel from the stool beside her. There was impatient banging on the door again. “Just a minute,” she tried to yell over the music. She pushed the bathroom door shut, just in case she was in view.

  Throwing on her terry cloth robe, she went to the door, peeking through the blinds before unlatching the lock. It was Martinez. She smiled and turned the deadbolt to the left. “Hey you! I thought you were going to call?”

  He stepped into the dining room and tossed his keys onto the table. “I’ve been trying to call. I was worried about you.” He grabbed her, pulling her close to him. His voice was distantly monotone. “I see I caught you at the perfect time.” He kissed her hard on her lips, scratching her face with his stubble.

  Attempting to back away, she was put off by his aggressiveness. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “When you didn’t answer, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” He tightened his grip on her waist. “You wouldn’t avoid me now, would you, Lizzy?”

  Her heart sunk deep within her chest before she slapped him across the face. Her eyes deepened with confusion as his face turned red with fury before he threw her up against the wall with one swift motion of his right hand around her throat. She couldn’t scream. Her mouth was gasping for air that wouldn’t come, like a fish in the hot sun that just washed up on the sand. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her face from the compounding fear and the inability to breath.

  He tilted his head, his face stone cold as she struggled. “Isn’t this how you like it, Lizzy?”

  There was a knock at the door and his hand fell to his side releasing her. She sucked the air desperately making a sickly sound as she placed her own hands around her throat as if to help the air enter her body. Upon the water entering her windpipe, Elizabeth’s eyes shot open and she grabbed the sides of the tub and forced herself to sit up, the water slashing around her. She grabbed the towel beside her on the stool and shoved it to her face as her lungs expelled the small amount of liquid that choked her. There was another knock at the door.

  Becoming concerned, Martinez rapped at the door impatiently over the music. “Liz? Are you okay?” He paced back and forth across the wooden floor on the porch periodically looking in the windows and wondering how long he should wait before kicking the door in. He leaned his elbow on the wall beside the door and grabbed his forehead, then he heard the deadbolt unlock.

  The door slowly opened and Elizabeth stood there, her body drenched beneath her robe. Staring into space, her demeanor seemed bewildered and begged for solace. Her eyes slowly moved towards his as her hand remained on the doorknob. She didn’t move. He opened the screen door and walked in.

  “Liz? What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  A tear fell from the corner of her eye. She didn’t speak. As he went to touch her shoulder, her body jerked in fear. He rested his hand on her upper arm. “Hey, it’s me. It’s okay.”

  As her bottom lip began to quiver, it was as if the levy had broken. Tears streamed down her face and her nostrils shut off all air to them while the nightmare replayed in her head. He pulled her close and held her tight allowing her a slight release. Once she let out a good cry, she pulled away wiping her eyes ashamedly. “I’m sorry,” she said before turning away to the bathroom so she could clear her airways and wipe her face. She couldn’t bear to share it with him.

  Martinez was waiting for her on the couch. Sitting down next to him, she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry.”

  “Liz, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry for dragging you down to Mansfield for nothing.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not just that. You were right about DeFranco. No sooner had we returned, he had a nice write up in the Tribune.”

  He sighed and looked at her sympathetically but his eyes said, ‘I told you so.’

  “Worst part is, Pam saw the ‘article’ and was going to Marilyn, like I did something wrong!” Telling him about how the rest of her day played out made it much easier to forget her dream. All she wanted to do was forget it. It was typical to dream about Steve hurting her, expected even. But putting Martinez in Steve’s shoes was on a whole other level.

  “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. If it’s any consolation, mine wasn’t the greatest either,” he told her, recalling his falling out with Johnson. Although he debated whether or not he should share, he decided it was best to leave this to himself and see how it played out.

  Already beginning to feel better she said, “I’m going to put some clothes on. Would you like something to drink?”

  He smiled. “You gotta beer?”

  Smiling back at him, she raised herself from the sofa and went to her bedroom to put on a loose white T-shirt and a pair of pink boxer shorts. He heard her clanging around in the kitchen before returning to the living room with a Corona and a glass of wine in either hand. Standing in front of him and handing him
his beer, she said, “Come here. I want to show you something.” Her head tilted to the side asking him to follow her.

  Taking his beer from her hand, he stood up and walked behind her to the back of the sofa. There was a door on the back wall just between the hanging mirror next to the staircase and the wall before the dining room. He always assumed it was a closet. Elizabeth looked at him and took a deep breath. Upon opening the door, it was just as Martinez imagined; a small storage space containing coats hanging on a rod extended from one end to the other and shoes and boxes and other miscellaneous items were strewn on the floor. Everything you would expect to be in a closet.

  Standing in front of the doorway, Martinez took a sip of his beer and nodded his head. He wasn’t sure what to say or what she was showing him but he patiently entertained her. She stood there for a moment, as if to catch her bearings for some unexpected C.S. Lewis plot to unfold before them. Cupping a stack of hangers with both hands, she pushed them to either side of the rod and then moved a flat piece of wood panel revealing another, somewhat smaller, door. The expression on his face changed. He was now intrigued.

  She turned the doorknob and pushed open the door as she flipped on the light switch on the closet wall. Walking through the door, she took a step down into the room. Turning to him, she said, “Watch your step.”

  He followed her, careful not to trip over the two steps going down. His eyes scanned the room in awe. The walls and the floor were whitewashed wood with paintings artistically hung. There was a large easel placed near the corner of the room with a canvas nestling in its sleeve and covered with a white cloth. Shelves of different paints, brushes, and tiny tools he couldn’t identify hung on the wall to the side of the easel. A metal stool sat in front of it, facing a covered window, with a paint-splattered smock hanging over the seat. There were paintings sitting against the walls and propped up on the legs of a busy desk that hadn’t been dusted in years. Several unique sculptures and other artwork was scattered pleasantly throughout the room.