by Tim Kizer
Well, the police ought to be the least of your concerns right now, buddy. It’s Kelly’s relatives that you should be worried about.
“Well, Frank,” said Bluth, staring at his watch. “We've been sitting here for almost an hour. Did it finally sink into your brain how much trouble you could be in if I tell the police what I know?”
“I’m still thinking it over. Relax. I’ll pay for the ice-cream, okay?”
“I have to use the restroom.” Bluth got up. “Don’t go anywhere, bro. I'll be back soon.”
Frank watched Bluth disappear inside the store, thinking that the guy could be going to call his accomplice to report the latest developments and decide what to do next.
You think he may have a partner? Well, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.
Let him call whomever he wanted, let him feel desperate. He might have just realized he’d chosen the wrong guy to play this trick on.
Now, let’s get back to remembering Kelly's lover.
4.
After an eight minute silence, Warner asked, “How long have you known Frank?”
“About six months,” answered Marilyn.
Warner frowned.
“Six months?” He pensively scratched his chin, which was dark-gray with a five o’clock shadow. “Does he love you?”
“I hope he does.”
“And do you love him?”
There was a certain deliberateness in his voice, which signaled to Marilyn that Warner wasn’t just trying to make a small talk. He seemed to be fishing for information. She shifted her look from the road to the man’s face.
“Yes, I love him.”
Warner narrowed his eyes.
“Half a year,” he muttered with slight amazement. “Are you going to marry him?”
He was staring at the road, and Marilyn was unable to see the expression on his face. Marilyn suspected he was doing it on purpose.
“I don't know.” She budged a couple of inches closer to the passenger door. Sitting next to Warner had begun to worry her. “We haven't discussed that yet.”
“Yet,” Warner repeated after her. He wiped his palms on his shirt—first right, then left—and clutched the steering wheel very tight, as if it was trying to get out of his control.
Was it time for Marilyn to start panicking? This man was definitely growing more agitated by the minute.
“Are you married?” asked Warner.
And the questions had become weirder, too. Especially, taking into account the fact that Warner was Frank's friend.
Or was he?
“No, I’m not married.”
Marilyn thought about informing Warner that her personal was none of his business, but the sight of his big strong hands squeezing the wheel dampened that impulse. Of course, it would have been a different story, if she had carried a gun.
“Did Kelly know about you? How often do you see Frank? More than once a week?”
Marilyn felt her heart slowly sinking into her stomach. Now Warner had officially crossed the creepiness line. And was Warner even his real name?
It wouldn’t be very hard for him to kill her. But first he would rape her, cut her with a razor blade, and put out a dozen cigarettes on her beautiful skin.
“About once a week.” She decided to lie. “I don’t think Kelly knows about me.”
Warner giggled.
“You're smart,” he remarked. “You’ve been fucking for six months, and Kelly never knew.”
Stop being scared, Marilyn. You are too impressionable.
Could it be a practical joke? What if Frank had asked this son of Frankenstein to strike a little terror into her just to see how she reacted?
“It took me only two weeks to figure out that my wife was cheating on me. I’m very good at seeing through lies, you know. But I’m not angry at her. I didn’t make a scene or anything like that. I’m actually letting her fuck around.”
He breathed in deeply, cleared his throat. Marilyn’s eyes were fixed on his hands.
“Why are you asking all these questions?” Marilyn tried to speak in a confident voice. She had a lump in her throat.
Warner relaxed his left hand and then put it into his pants pocket.
“Just out of curiosity.” Warner forced a smile, which made him look as if he had just taken a bite of a lemon. “Seems like he’s mad about you.”
His right hand’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned his face to Marilyn; his eyes were lifeless.
They would crash into another car if he kept distracting himself from the road, thought Marilyn. Oddly, this idea didn’t scare her. She actually somewhat hoped that they ended up in an accident. Marilyn was not aware that she had turned pale.
What did he have in his pocket? Why did he put his hand in that pocket? Was it a knife? A blade?
“Did you kill Kelly?” he asked. “Did Frank and you kill her?”
Did it surprise her that he had asked such an inappropriate question? Not really.
Could he be one of those wacky people her brother had told her about a while ago? Warner knew Frank so anything was possible.
“No, we didn't,” replied Marilyn. “We didn't kill her, Peter.”
Peter Warner? Peter Warner her ass! She had no doubt by now that he had made this name up.
Warner's Adam's apple jerked. He smirked.
“Do you love him very much?” Warner tapped on the brakes.
He was probably slowing down to exit the highway. He would find an empty alley and murder her in cold blood.
Why would he do it? Who was he?
“I have feelings for him. But it doesn’t mean I want his wife to die.”
She was about to freak out. She was in a car with a psycho, and there was no way out!
Open the door and jump out. Open the door and jump out, Marilyn.
“And he loves you, too,” said Warner. “You love each other.”
Open the door. Now.
“Look here, Marilyn,” Warner said in a low voice. His left hand suddenly popped up in front of Marilyn, revealing a pair of shining handcuffs. He threw one handcuff on Marilyn's left wrist and the other on the steering wheel as the Ford Explorer came to a halt on the side of the road.
Realistically speaking, no one in the passing cars would hear her if she cried for help. She had to face a maniac, and with that shackle on her arm her chances of survival had just gotten slimmer.
“Peter,” muttered Marilyn, gazing at the handcuffs in bewilderment. She opened her mouth to say, ‘What are you doing?’ but her tongue froze.
“Now we can talk.” Warner carefully wiped sweat off his neck with a handkerchief. “Don't be scared. I won't hurt you, Marilyn.”
She watched Warner put the handkerchief back in the pocket of his shirt. Sweat was rolling down her temples and cheeks; Marilyn ignored it, focusing on the sensation of the weight of the handcuff on her wrist.
Cuffed, with no hope of help. It was the perfect time for panic.
“I’ll ask you a few questions, you’ll answer them, and I'll take you back to your car—simple as that,” Warner went on. “You shouldn’t be afraid of me, Marilyn. I used these handcuffs only to make sure that we could talk without an interruption. I don’t want you to run away before hearing what I have to tell you. I’m not some wacko. I don't have to kill you. You seem to be a nice person, Marilyn. I don’t kill nice people.” He cracked a wide smile.
Marilyn felt she wanted to trust Warner. He smelled of fine cologne, she just noticed that.
“What questions?” Now her anxiety was mixed with fatigue and an urge to return home as soon as possible. She would come home, he had promised.
“A couple of questions, Marilyn. And remember I will keep my word and take you back to your car. I’m not going to touch a hair on your head if you answer my questions honestly. I haven’t hurt you so far, have I?”
Marilyn nodded. Yes, he had only handcuffed her to the steering wheel, which was pretty benign on the scale of things a psycho could do.
“Have you calmed down? I won't start you until you calm down because stressed out people often can’t think straight, you understand? I want you to think your answers over carefully, okay?” He took a six pack of Coca-Cola from the back seat, separated one bottle, and thrust it into Marilyn’s right hand. “I must have scared you, and I'm sorry I have. I didn't want to scare you, Marilyn. I know that people lie a lot when they are frightened. You shouldn’t be afraid of me, Marilyn. I only want you to be truthful with me, that’s all.”
Warner was looking at her with conspicuous empathy.
“Take a sip.” He pointed at the bottle. “I want you to cast away your fear. I want you to trust me. Are you afraid that I'll kill you?”
Trust him, Marilyn. If you think about it, he really has no reason to kill you. He just wants to ask you a few questions.
“Yes, Peter, I'm afraid of that,” she said.
You should demand guarantees from him, Marilyn!
“I’m not going to kill you. You probably don’t believe me, but you’ll see soon enough that I’m not bullshitting you.” He produced a voice recorder out of his pants pocket and switched it on. “I’ll record our conversation.” Warner smiled. “Come on, have some soda. You’ll feel better right away.”
He had ordered her to drink. She should drink. It wasn’t like he had asked for a blowjob.
Marilyn twisted off the cap and took a sip from the bottle.
“Relax. I'm your friend, I won't hurt you.”
Well, Mister Warner, Marilyn Hancock was relaxing.
She settled back, laid her head on the headrest.
“I'm glad we've come to terms with each other,” said Warner. “Are you glad, too?”
“I'm glad you won't kill me, Peter. I hope you’re not going to deceive me.”
Warner nodded.
“I don't kill hot women.” He grinned. Then he tapped on the voice recorder. “Let’s cut to the chase. We've wasted enough time already on chit-chat.”
“Okay, Peter.”
“I know you are sleeping with Frank. And we both know that Frank’s wife went missing last month. I want you to tell me if Frank killed Kelly. I want to hear your thoughts on this. Do you think he killed her?” He paused. “You can trust me, Marilyn. I'm not a murderer, I respect the law. And even if you're involved in Kelly's death, I won't hurt you. You are Frank’s victim, too, if he made you help him. I understand it's not your fault; I’m not judging you. Frank is a dangerous man. I know very well how he manipulates people. He made you take part in this murder. In my book, you're innocent. Did he trick you into helping him?” He knitted his eyebrows. “Tell me the truth, Marilyn. Did he promise to marry you after you kill Kelly? He is a very good psychologist. What did he tell you?”
No, it was certainly not a practical joke. Why the hell did this guy want so badly to find out what had happened to Frank's wife? Was he a private investigator?
Private investigator? Handcuffs... Well, this was the best guess she could come up with at the moment. She doubted he worked for the police: a cop wouldn’t have had to kidnap her to ask a few questions.
Okay, she would assume that Warner was a PI. He had somehow found out that Frank had a mistress and decided that Frank and the mistress had killed Kelly. A very solid theory.
“Yes, he is a good psychologist,” said Marilyn.
“Did he tell you that Kelly got on his nerves? Did he tell you he was tired of her?”
Should she lie and say yes? No, it would jeopardize Frank.
But that’s what Warner wants to hear, honey. He’s not interested in the truth; he’s not going to leave you alone until you confirm his suspicions.
“Listen, Marilyn. I understand it's difficult for you to admit to a crime, and I'm not trying to push you. Calm down, relax, and tell me the truth. If you helped Frank kill Kelly, don't be afraid to tell me about it. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d like to know where you put Kelly's body.” He stroked her left hand gently and went on, “You have nothing to fear. I'm not a cop, and I won't rat you out to the police. After this conversation, you’ll go back home and get on with your life. Pretty soon you’ll forget this whole ordeal as a bad dream. But if you are not honest with me, there will be problems. As God is my witness, I hate to threaten you, Marilyn, but I have to do it because I need the answers.”
He needed the answers. He needed a certain type of answers, the one that would justify breaking Frank’s neck.
You have no choice, Marilyn. He’ll terrorize Frank whether you’ll give him the excuse to do so or not. Right now, it’s about your life. Your neck is on the line, Marilyn.
“I don’t think I know anything about it,” she replied.
“Come on, Marilyn, what are you afraid of? I’m not here for you. I’m here for Frank. It’s between Frank and me; you've got nothing to do with it. You are a victim just like Kelly. Both of you are Frank's victims, that's what I'm trying to explain to you.” Warner heaved a sigh. “I'll turn off the recorder if it makes you uncomfortable.” He pushed the stop button on the recorder. “See, it’s off. No one will hear what you’re going to tell me. You don’t have to worry about the police now. Please tell me the truth about Kelly’s death. Did Frank kill her?”
“Can you keep secrets?”
“I sure can. Believe me, Marilyn, no one will ever know what you did. I need certainty. I don’t want to have false hopes. We’ve wasted so much time looking for Kelly. This search would be over if you told us what you did with her body. Where did you bury it? Or did you toss it in the lake?”
He seems to be sincere. He’ll let you go, Marilyn, if you tell him that Frank killed Kelly. This small lie will save your life. Your main objective is to survive. You’ll be able to warn Frank once you are free.
“Why do you think Frank killed Kelly?” asked Marilyn.
You are playing with fire, Marilyn. Why do you have to be so dumb?
“Who else could do it?” Warner smiled. “Tell me the truth, don't be scared. I'm not bullshitting you, I'll let you go as soon as you tell me what Frank did to Kelly, you hear me?”
“I didn't kill Kelly, Peter. I swear.”
“Very well. Tell me who did. Was it Frank?” Warner waved the blank screen of the voice recorder in front of Marilyn’s eyes. “It’s off. You are not going to incriminate yourself, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Now please tell me where you buried the body. That's all I need to know.”
“Why do you need to know this? You can’t bring her back to life if she’s dead.”
Marilyn, tell him what he wants already and go home, warn Frank. Save yourself and you will save Frank. You don't have a choice.
“I believe Kelly deserves a proper burial.”
“Are you going to kill Frank?”
“Kill Frank? No, why would I kill him? Do I look like a killer? I’m a family man. I have a wife and a son. I'm not some violent psycho. I'm just trying to find out the truth about Kelly’s death. You want to protect Frank? You shouldn't. I’m sure you’re not the only chick he’s cheated with. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe any of his promises.”
Tell him what he wants, Marilyn! What are you waiting for?
Marilyn began to rub the area around the handcuff on her left wrist and said, “Could you remove the handcuff please, Peter? It hurts. I can’t think straight with it.”
Warner frowned. Squinting at her left hand, he extracted the key out of his pocket. Marilyn gave him the most pleading look she could muster.
“I shouldn't have scared you,” said Warner, squeezing the key in his fist. “You still don’t trust me. I should have simply asked you for a meeting and skipped this stupid charade. I’m still a bit surprised that you believed that story about the picnic.” He unclenched his fist and showed Marilyn the key. “You see, I have no doubt that Frank killed Kelly. The only thing that concerns me is what he did with the body. I'll remove the handcuffs, Marilyn, and I’ll let you go, but—”
But first she must confirm that Fr
ank killed Kelly, right?
Speak, Marilyn! What's the matter with you, dummy? Calm down and speak!
Marilyn emitted a faint moan, breathed in deeply, and said, “I'll tell you everything.”
Relax, Marilyn. Relax and speak.
5.
Warner kept silent for a couple of minutes, scrutinizing the key as if it were an expensive diamond ring he was about to buy, then, in a dramatic gesture, he brought the key within an inch of the handcuff on Marilyn's left hand. He looked at Marilyn from under his brows and asked, “How did he kill Kelly?”
The key touched the handcuff keyhole for a second and retreated; a burst of adrenaline rushed into Marilyn's bloodstream.
“He strangled her,” she said in a hoarse voice. She swallowed the hard lump stuck in her throat.
“Strangled?” Warner winced. “Did he tell you where he’d buried the body? Did he bury it?” He teasingly scratched the handcuff with the key.
Marilyn shrugged her shoulders.
What the hell was he waiting for? She had told him everything he wanted to hear, he had gotten all the answers. Had he caught her in a lie? Well, her defense would go like this: it was not her fault that Frank might have misled her about the circumstances of his wife’s death. Come on, Warner! Keep your word! Let this poor girl go!
Are you sure he will let you go, honey? Maybe he lied to you just to extract information? Ha-ha, Marilyn, you fell for a psycho’s promise. It was only words, you see!
“I don't know, I’ve never asked.” She emitted a weak moan. “Please take off the handcuffs, Peter. They make me very nervous.”
Warner nodded but made no effort to finally insert the key into the keyhole. Instead, he took the key a few inches further away from the cuffs.
“You don't know what he did with the body? You’ve never wondered about it?” He was looking straight into her eyes. “Maybe you just forgot?”
“No, I just don't care what he did with the body. I was shocked that he killed her. If I had known he was planning to kill her, I would have stopped him from doing it.”
“Really?” Warner raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Okay, I believe you. In this case, could you ask him now where he hid the body? I'll let you go so you can meet Frank and ask him where he buried Kelly. You must make sure that he doesn’t suspect anything fishy. Then we’ll meet again and you'll report everything to me. Sounds good?”
