by Mary Frame
“Yes.”
“Why is vice involved in homicide?”
Detective Hanson smiles at her. “There are some offenses that overlap.”
She doesn’t elaborate, and after a second Lucy nods and turns towards the door. I follow her.
“Miss Morgan,” Detective Hanson says, when I’ve opened the door and nearly stepped across the threshold. “You realize that we didn’t have a motive until this last incident.”
“What do you mean?”
“With the prior murders, all we were missing was motive. There was no logical reason for Dean to want them dead. But with this murder, there is a motive. You.”
“Me?”
“You and your history with the victim. He had ample reason to want to hurt him, after the way he treated you.”
A chill runs down my body.
“How do you know anything about that?” I ask.
“I read your statement from the shooting. I doubt that was an isolated incident.”
“That doesn’t mean Dean killed him.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible he was protecting you?”
I consider it, for a brief, flickering moment.
“Would Dean hurt someone to protect me? Yes, undoubtedly. Would he go after someone unprovoked and kill them in cold blood? Absolutely not,” I answer, making sure I’m looking the detective in the eye before I turn and walk out, Lucy on my heels.
We’ve barely made it three steps when the detective calls after us. “Ladies,” she says. “I shouldn’t have told you Cameron was shot in the head. That’s classified information at this point. We haven’t told the press, and no one knows. Please keep it under your hat.”
We nod.
“And Miss Morgan?”
I turn around and meet her eyes.
“There’s still hope. We haven’t found the gun, yet.”
I nod and we leave.
***
When we get back to Lucy’s I throw myself on her couch, and almost immediately a giant fart noise rips through the air.
I frown. That wasn’t me.
Lucy groans.
“I am so sorry.” She shoves her hand under the cushion directly underneath me and pulls out a whoopee cushion. “Sam stopped by earlier, I should have known he would leave something behind.”
I can’t help it. I start laughing. I laugh so hard, I cry. And then I go from crying from laughter to crying for reals because goddammit, Dean’s in jail and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I totally lose my shit, and I lose it good. There’s tears, slobber, snot, all kinds of bodily fluids. I’m lucky I don’t piss my pants.
Lucy does way better than she did the first time she saw me have a meltdown. Instead of trying to solve my problem right away with logical thinking, she lets me get it out, all over her couch, while she pats my back. It’s only slightly awkward as opposed to completely awkward. She’s getting better.
When I’m finished I just lie there and stare up at her slowly rotating ceiling fan. I can’t believe this is happening. This is horrible, and it’s all my fault. I never should have got mixed up with him in the first place. If I hadn’t hired him all those months ago, he wouldn’t be rotting away in some cell somewhere. What if he’s convicted and sent to prison? What about his family? What if I never see him again? Dammit. I should have jumped his bones when I had the chance.
“Do they allow conjugal visits in jail?” I ask Lucy.
She frowns. “You’re thinking about that now?”
“It’s either that or spiral into self-loathing and despair.”
“We need to make a list of potential suspects.”
“We’ve tried that. We have no links between the first two victims, except Dean. Daisy was a potential suspect, but she has no reason to kill Matt or Cameron, that we know of. Cameron has a connection to Matt via Liz, but why? And now he’s dead. Unless we can prove he killed Jesse and Matt and then offed himself?” I sigh. “It’s impossible. They still don’t have the gun, and I doubt his ghost moved it from the scene of the crime.”
She shakes her head. “Let’s focus on the charge against Dean. Who wanted to kill Cameron?”
I snort. “That’s gonna be a long-ass list. Might as well put me at the top.”
Lucy sighs and stands up, leaving me on the couch while she grabs her laptop. She sits in the chair opposite me and starts typing away.
I lie there, staring into space, not really seeing anything. I can’t think enough to help. I’m drained. Exhausted. Pathetic. My brain is mush.
An unknown length of time later, Lucy lets out a frustrated groan.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’ve been reviewing the security tapes around campus from the nights of the three murders. Cameron was at the library the night of both murders. He left at closing. When I reviewed the closing tapes for the nights in between the murders, he was never there. It’s an odd coincidence. And irritating because he’s deceased and therefore not available for questioning.”
She continues clicking away, pausing to read and review whatever she’s looking at.
More time passes, and I think I doze off because the next thing I know, Lucy is shaking me awake. “Jensen’s home and he brought pizza,” she says.
“I’m not hungry.” I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.
“Wow. Has hell frozen over?” Jensen asks from the doorway to the kitchen. It’s nearly dark outside. I must have been out for a while.
I smile weakly. “Possibly.”
He flicks on the light in the living room and brings out a plate for me anyway. “I’ll just set it here and you can eat if the mood strikes you.”
He disappears into the kitchen with Lucy and I can hear her speaking softly, explaining what’s happened and what her research revealed this afternoon.
I feel useless. Lucy’s here, helping me, and I’m like a slug of inadequacy and gloom.
They both come into the living room with plates of pizza and Jensen clicks on the TV, letting a sitcom run in the background while we eat. Well, while they eat and I try to eat.
“Wow. You definitely have it bad,” Jensen says when they’ve finished their meals and I’ve only managed to choke down a couple of bites. “I never thought I would see the day.”
“Laugh it up, chuckles. I’m glad you can derive amusement from my misery,” I say weakly. I get what he’s doing, trying to banter with me, make me feel better. I don’t think anything can make me feel better.
He stands and takes Lucy’s plate and then mine, patting me on the head and saying, “We’ll figure this out Freya, no worries.” Then he disappears into the kitchen.
The water turns on and the clank of plates being washed echoes into the living room.
“You’ve got a good man there,” I tell Lucy.
She nods. “I know.”
“Maybe someone will be murdered while Dean’s in jail, then he’ll have an airtight alibi and be exonerated,” Jensen calls out.
“Like in that movie, Scream,” I say to Lucy. She looks at me blankly. “You know, Ghostface?” She just shakes her head at me.
“Hello, Sydney,” I say in my creepiest voice, which comes out more like a froggy voice.
She just lifts one eyebrow.
I sigh. You’d think I’d be used to explaining pop culture references to her by now. “So, this guy, like, calls these girls, asking what their favorite scary movie is and then he kills them while wearing a ghost mask and black cape thing.” I frown. “I’ve always liked that movie but when I explain it, it sounds really lame. Anyway, Sydney is the main character and Ghostface busts into her house and tries to kill her. She calls the cops and her boyfriend shows up right before the police, so they suspect him. While he’s in jail, the Ghostface makes a threatening phone call to Sydney. They knew it couldn’t be the boyfriend, so they let him go.” Something else occurs to me. “Except he does end up being the murderer—well, one of the murderers—because there’s two guys working togethe
r.”
At my last words our eyes meet and I can see the same thing flash in Lucy’s mind that’s flashing through mine.
“What if there’s more than one murderer?” I say aloud.
She shakes her head. “Multiple killers in the same area killing coeds is statistically unlikely but…What if Cameron did kill the first two victims—or one of them, at least—and someone found out and killed him? Or killed him for some other reason?” Lucy asks. She plucks her laptop off the table and immediately begins typing.
“There are plenty of reasons to go around,” I answer. “Considering his status as the Duke of Douche.” I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all that, but I’ve never understood that philosophy. An asshole who dies is still a dead asshole.
Lucy’s nodding at me, typing into her computer, and stopping to read occasionally. I stand up, suddenly sick of moping on the couch and begin pacing in front of her. I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “But we’re still getting nowhere. We don’t know who had motive to kill Cameron—it could be any number of skanks.” I stop pacing. “Holy shit. What about Liz?”
“Liz?” Lucy looks up at me from the computer screen.
“Yes. I’ve seen her a couple times over the last few weeks. I bet she could help us compile a list of suspects. She broke up with Cameron recently and she’s Matt’s sister.”
“Maybe she is a suspect.”
I shrug. “I dunno. She’s more of a lover than a fighter. I can’t picture her shooting anyone. I can picture her sleeping with a whole lot of people, though.” Cringe. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“We’ll put her on the list because we can’t discount any possibilities.”
“I’ll call her and meet her and see if I can wrangle some more names out of her.”
Lucy nods. “Okay. Be careful and keep me apprised of your whereabouts at all times. Someone could still be after you, and I don’t trust anyone. I’ll research Liz and see if I can find any evidence of where she was the night of Cameron’s murder.”
I plop back down on the couch. I still feel like poop, but I like having a plan. Something to focus on. Other than Dean sitting in a cell.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Freya
In the time of darkest defeat, victory may be nearest.
–William McKinley
I text Liz the slut (I can’t not think of her that way) and we agree to meet for coffee at a little café near campus.
“Thanks for inviting me. I really hope we can be friends again,” she says after we’ve ordered our drinks and we’re sitting at a little table in the corner.
“Of course,” I say.
I really don’t have any problem with her anymore. I mean, if you want to be a slut and sleep with guys who are taken, who am I to judge? Actually, I should be thanking her. If she hadn’t slept with Cameron maybe I would have stayed with him, stuck in a terrible, never-ending relationship of doom.
“I heard about your brother. I’m really sorry,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says, staring down into her coffee and tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “We were pretty close. Twins.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s been weird since he’s been gone. I almost don’t believe it, you know? For the longest time, it’s been just the two of us, and now…” she trails off.
“What about your parents?”
“No parents. They died and we went into foster care when we were kids.”
And now I feel like the biggest bitch on the planet. Liz the slut is actually little orphan Lizzie?
I can’t help but ask. “You didn’t have any other relatives that could have taken you guys in?”
“Our parents were only children, and our grandparents are all dead. There was a distant cousin, somewhere, but I don’t think they wanted us.”
I don’t know what to say at that. She basically just informed me that her only living relative just died. I might be a slut, too, if I had that type of upbringing.
“Crazy what happened to Cameron, huh?” she says, breaking the somewhat uncomfortable silence that sprouted up after her last statement.
It’s weird to hear his name. I’m so used to Dean saying it wrong.
Dean.
I swallow. Need to focus on the task at hand.
“It is.” I laugh a little, feeling a bit awkward, and shake my head. “Crazier than a tarantula on skis.” I’m staring down into my coffee, but raise my eyes to hers before saying, “I’m glad you mentioned him though—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupts quickly. “I’m sorry about that whole thing. I know I apologized before, but…I was such an idiot. I never should have dated him, especially while you were also dating him and I knew that.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I was going through this phase up till…well, now, where I didn’t feel good about myself unless I could make a guy like me, and it didn’t matter who he was or who I hurt. The bigger the challenge the better. I’ve changed though, honestly.”
I smile at her since she seems so nervous. “It’s water under the bridge. Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” She smiles and her shoulders relax with the movement, like a burden has been lifted. She reaches to cover my hand with hers and instead knocks my coffee right off the side of the table. “Omigosh!” She stands, grabbing towels from the little dispenser, knocking that to the ground too, attempting to sop up the mess that’s dripping onto the floor. “I’m so nervous, I can’t believe I just did that, here, you—you just stay here, I’ll get another coffee.”
“It’s okay,” I reassure her, grabbing the napkin dispenser from the ground and helping her clean up the mess.
“I’ll just—I’ll be right back.” She laughs, quick and sharp, her face flushing in embarrassment.
She walks over to the counter and orders another cup from the barista while I finish sopping up what’s left of the liquid on the table with a cheap napkin that dissolves as I’m wiping.
She seems entirely too nervous for a simple, friendly coffee date. Oh wait. Date? I really hope she doesn’t think that this is that kind of date. Maybe when she said she’s changed, she meant she’s batting for the other team? Should I tell her I don’t think of her that way?
When she returns, she sets the coffee in front of me.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that,” I say.
She waves me off and there’s a moment of silence while we sip our drinks.
I turn the subject back to why I asked her here in the first place. “About Cameron,” I say. “You actually did me a favor.” I laugh and fiddle with what’s left of a wet napkin on the table. “He was such a jerk, right?”
“Totally!” She laughs and shakes her head. “I have no idea what I saw in him.” Something dark passes through her eyes, and I wonder if she had a similar experience to mine, but I can’t think of that right now and this is neither the time nor the place. Now, I need to see if she knows who would want him dead. I can do this. I’ll ease her into it.
“So who do you think killed him?”
Maybe plunge would be better.
“Um.” She laughs again. “I have no idea. Didn’t they pick up that guy that runs the boxing matches every weekend? I guess he was implicated in those other murders.” She shrugs. “Who cares, at this point, right?”
I care! But I don’t want to tell her that. I don’t know why. She seems perfectly sincere, but I feel like what I have with Dean is my little secret and Liz the slut is the last person I want to know because she’ll do something to try and ruin it. Okay. Maybe that water isn’t quite running under the bridge as smoothly as I suggested.
She changes the subject to school—I didn’t realize she was in nursing school—and her internship at the hospital. She goes on and on for about five minutes about how she has to change a diaper for some old guy who keeps getting an erection, when I have to cut her off. By now, the caffeine from all the coffee should be hitting my bloodstream, but I�
�m getting more tired than anything. That’s weird.
“So, since you work at the hospital, did you see Cameron the night he died?”
“No, I didn’t work that night.”
“But did you hear about Cameron’s autopsy or anything?”
“Please,” she scoffs. “Pretty sure Cameron was DOA. They only autopsy if foul play is suspected or they can’t determine the cause of death. It’s pretty obvious when someone is shot in the head.”
“Right,” I smile and stare down into my coffee. It’s making pretty swirls. Did she get me a cappuccino? The kind where they make the foam into pretty stuff?
Wait. Back the truck up.
“How did you know he was shot in the head?” I ask. My tongue feels thick in my mouth. Am I slurring?
“What?” she asks.
“The detective told us that that information wasn’t released to the press. She told us, but she shouldn’t have told us.” Now my coffee isn’t just swirling, there’s literally colors flying off the top, like steam. Rainbow steam.
“This has been really great,” Liz says suddenly. “I have to go. Why don’t I walk you to your car?”
“Um.” I rub my eyes. They feel tired. And they just feel. Isn’t that weird? Feeling your eyeballs. I should definitely get home. “Right. Thanks.” I stand and feel immediately dizzy.
“Here, let me help you.” Liz rushes over to my side.
“That’s strange,” I say when I blink and we’re outside standing next to the open backseat door of a car. It’s not my car.
“Where’s my car?”
Liz smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Just get in.”
Something is wrong, but my mind is feeling too fuzzy to pick out what it is. This is just like the other time when Cameron drugged me! But wait...
“You,” I say to Liz as she gently puts me in the backseat of her car. My arms feel like noodles and my legs are rubber. I can’t get out. I can’t fight back. “You’re the douche,” I manage just before everything goes black.
