Burdened By Guilt

by Michiko Katsu

  Mike stepped closer to the woman but kept an inoffensive distance. “What do you know about the girl?”

  “Horrible chile. Missin’ her mama‘sall I can say. Cain’t no youngin’ grow up in a house fulla’ men and be right. Gotta’ have a woman round to make her sweet. ‘Specially with those men. Evil I say. Never treatin’ her right. I don’t know how many times I called you cops to come check up on the racket goin’ on in that house. The screaming and cursin’ goin on just about kilt me some days. Cain’t stand hearin’ them take the Lord’s name in vain like that. I just cain’t stand it. Y’all never done nothin’ bout it a’course. Thank the Lord that chile finally lef. I jus hope she doin’ all right for herself. Cain’t say that I blame her if she don’t turn out right. Not havin’ her mama around’n’all. Never takin’ her to church or even bein’ friendly.”

  “Do you happen to remember the last time you saw the girl?” Mike asked.

  Henrietta’s face scrunched in contemplation. “No. Cain’t say’s I can. I’m not the nosey type so I’m not really sure a the date.”

  Mike smiled sweetly. “Do you remember what she looked like or the kind of car she drove?”

  She looked up at the sky and rubbed her hairy chin. “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Well, thanks for the information ma’am,” he said. “Please give us a call if she happens to come around again. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Before he could reach into his jacket to hand her one of his cards Kevin was already in front of her with his arm outstretched.

  “I’ll be sure’n do that.” She smiled. Her chest pumped with pride. She walked back to her own yard, slippers scuffing along the concrete driveway fingering Kevin’s card like she had just been given a lottery ticket.

  “We need to find that girl,” Kevin stated the obvious.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Mike confirmed.

  Chapter 44

  Suzanne walked into the station with a forced air of self-confidence and irritation at the inconvenience a trip to the station caused her. After letting the officer know she was here to see Lt. Daily she sat, arrow straight, in a tan resin chair as far from the other inhabitants as the seating would allow. The intentional starkness of the walls and absence of decorations or color made her feel scrutinized causing her to cross and uncross her legs in a futile attempt at comfort.

  A single strand of hair came loose from her usual bun causing her to constantly touch her face. She pulled at the bottom of her navy, suit jacket followed by the rub of her palms across the matching pants creating a dark patch from their perpetual dampness. From the outside her demeanor appeared calm but impatient. While on the inside her stomach was doing so many flips and turns it could work for Ringling Brothers.

  He surprised her by calling the night before requesting she come down to the station to talk about the cases. She told him her exposure was limited to the two meetings with Mike but he was undeterred. He had insisted, giving her some bullshit reason about hearing her insight directly.

  "I'd like to get an idea for myself what those books might have to do with the cases without going through Mike's, I mean Detective Anderson's notes," Daily had said. "I'd appreciate the time."

  She hesitated before answering. She had no idea who Lt. Daily was nor was she comfortable talking about the details of their conversations to anyone but Mike and he specifically told her not to say anything to anyone else.

  "Did something happen to Detective Anderson?" She finally asked.

  “No.”

  She waited for additional explanation. When it didn’t come she asked, “So why do I need to talk to you about the same things I’ve already discussed with Detective Anderson?”

  “Consider this a courtesy.”

  “Courtesy?”

  “Yes. A courtesy for you.”

  He left no room for further discussion. His “courteous” request wasn’t a request, it was an order. The rest of their conversation was simply a matter of an agreement on time and civil good-byes.

  She had called Mike for clarification but he never returned any of her messages. She went in blind unsure if he betrayed an unspoken trust or if Daily was some kind of incidental conspirator. Hundreds of scenarios ran through her mind from irrational to sane but none of them helped her at that moment. If only she had Mike’s reassurance that whatever Daily wanted had nothing to do with their previous conversation or the extent of their involvement she would have easily walked in and walked out without missing a beat. But there were too many questions, too many unknowns between them. There was no way to know what she was getting into and the level of Mike’s involvement.

  Now, she sat for almost a half hour waiting for Daily to retrieve her. Part of her wanted him to hurry up so she could get this over with and the other part hoped he forgot so she could leave. Unfortunately that opportunity came and went. Just as she was about to go Daily came around the corner.

  "Doctor Kelly?" He said with a wide smile on his face. "Thank you so much for coming down. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

  "I would appreciate a little more consideration for my time Officer Daily," she said hoping to discount his upper hand with indignation. "After all, I am here of my own free will. Doing you a favor. I would expect more courtesy given I can walk out of here at any minute."

  "It's Lieutenant," he corrected.

  "Excuse me?"

  "It's Lieutenant not Officer. You called me Officer Daily and it's Lieutenant Daily."

  She raised one eyebrow as her lids went to half-mast. "Shall we get started? I do have a class in an hour."

  His smile faded and he nodded curtly.

  He walked her through the doorway and took her into one of the interrogation rooms where she sat in the folding metal chair he offered her. She smoothed her jacket, crossed her legs and arms and stared at him without blinking.

  "Can I get you anything before we begin? Coffee? Water?" He asked.

  "No."

  He tilted his head as a small smile creased his lips. "Direct and to the point. Okay, how long have you been a teacher at the college?"

  "Six years."

  "And what is it exactly that you teach?"

  "Comparative Literature and Creative Writing."

  "And do you like it?"

  She squinted. "Yes."

  He scribbled notes on his pad. "Can you tell me what you and Detective Anderson talked about during your first encounter?"

  "He asked me if I could help him with a note that came from an Edgar Allen Poe tale."

  "And?"

  "And, I didn't have time to talk to him because I had a class. I told him to come back later that night."

  "To your home?"

  "No. To my office in the Liberal Arts building on campus."

  "And what did you talk about then?"

  "He asked me to give him an overview of the tale, which I did."

  He took a deep breath, raised his chin toward her and asked again. "Can you be more specific about what you told him?"

  She placed her folded hands on the table and leaned forward. "I told him the tale was about one man killing another, chopping his body into pieces and then burying them in the floorboards of the man's home.”

  "Was that all?"

  "That was all in relation to the tale."

  "Did he mention anything about why he was asking?"

  "Not at first. But since I found his line of questioning easily answered with some research on his own he divulged that the note was found on a man killed and disposed of in the same manner as described in the tale. I also told him the note could be completely irrelevant to the murder."

  He stopped taking notes. "What made you say that?"

  "There was no context outside of the note and the body,” she said as she spread her hands. “Who’s to say it has any meaning outside of an overzealous Poe fan's need to express his or her admiration for his work in a rather morbid and completely inappropriate way. Detective Anderson was looking for some indication of the mu
rder via the tale. I told him that was an impossibility and that he wouldn't be able to say it had any relevance until there was another murder."

  "Until?" His eyebrows rose with his tone.

  "Yes, until."

  "What else did you tell Detective Anderson?" He asked.

  "There wasn't anything else to tell him."

  "What about during your second meeting. What did Detective Anderson ask you about then?"

  "He brought me a copy of another note, this time from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. I gave him the same type of overview I had given him on The Telltale Heart."

  "Did he mention the details of where he had gotten the second note?"

  "He didn't provide anything specific, just that it was found in a similar fashion as was the first."

  "He didn't give you any more information or indicate he might think they were connected?"

  "I would say finding the second note would be enough for me to draw my own conclusions regarding a connection."

  She watched him scribble on his notepad wondering why his focus was more on Mike than the investigation. Her stomach relaxed when she realized Daily’s questioning had less to do with her connection as they did to finding out information on Mike. This was a witch hunt and for the first time she wasn’t the witch.

  He leaned forward. "How well do you know Detective Anderson?"

  "Not very."

  "I understand he saved your life."

  “Is that a question?”

  “No.”

  She shifted in her chair but didn’t respond.

  "I imagine you would be very grateful to him for that."

  "You would be correct."

  "And I'm guessing someone like you would take that very seriously."

  "Someone like me?"

  “Yes,” Daily said. “Someone who obviously takes herself very seriously. No doubt if someone saved my life I would be indebted to him. I would image you feel the same way.”

  “I wouldn’t qualify that emotion as unusual. As you just said, even you would be indebted to him.”

  He leaned back but did not break eye contact. “Has Detective Anderson ever been in your home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you think that might be misconstrued as inappropriate under the circumstances?”

  “And what exactly are the circumstances?”

  “Look,” Daily said. “Detective Anderson is under investigation for stealing evidence from some of his previous cases. It has also been brought to my attention that the stolen evidence might be tied to the three murder cases he’s been investigating. Murder cases that you happen to be involved in, first by some strange coincidence as an advisor and now, as a relative to two out of the three victims.”

  Suzanne stiffened. Her relief came too soon.

  He continued. “There’s speculation that your relationship with Detective Anderson isn’t completely professional so obviously that makes me very nervous. A detective may be stealing evidence used to commit murder and having an inappropriate relationship with a suspect he’s using on the case. Now, you tell me what the circumstances are? I think I already know but I want to hear it from you.”

  Suzanne took a deep breath. “I tell you what.” She paused as she picked up her purse and stood. “Whenever you have something that you can prove…you let me know. Otherwise…” She paused again, leaned forward and put one hand on the table. “Go fuck yourself.”

  Chapter 45

  It was early evening when Mike and Kevin returned to the station. They had followed up on a few more leads which served no other purpose except to increase Mike’s frustration. After multiple interviews with co-workers, neighbors and acquaintances, the overall consensus was that Ingerstahl and Stanford were repugnant loners who thankfully kept to themselves. They functioned within their own world making contact only when necessary and doing the minimum needed to get by. If it wasn’t for the stench they left behind, no one would have even remembered who they were.

  There hadn’t been much conversation between them as they drove from one location to the next or even now as they headed back. Mike still hadn’t answered Kevin’s questions about Molly and Kevin hadn’t brought it up. He seemed disturbed by the day’s events and was having difficulty reconciling the details. Mike felt sorry for him knowing this was part of why he didn’t like the fact he was so inexperienced. The process to indifference was a difficult one for most rookies, especially the sensitive ones like Kevin.

  When they pulled into the parking lot Mike turned off the ignition and held Kevin back.

  “Shake it off kid,” Mike said. “It will eat you alive if you don’t learn to shake it off.”

  Kevin frowned. “I don’t want to shake it off.”

  Mike shook his head. “I know. You want to save the world. Make it a better place by not distancing yourself from it. I know kid. I’ve been there and I’ve seen it a hundred times. But you’re going to have a really short lifespan both as a cop and literally if you don’t learn to compartmentalize.”

  “Like you.”

  Mike sensed a tone of accusation in Kevin’s response, a bitterness of responsibility laid squarely on his shoulders but was not offended. He nodded. “Yeah. Just like me.”

  Kevin didn’t respond. He looked out the front window, the door still ajar.

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t care,” Mike continued. “But you can’t let it inside. You just can’t. Take it from me. It you take this shit home with you it permeates everything and everyone you touch. Ask yourself if that’s what you want. If your empathy is worth the price.”

  Kevin looked over at Mike, his fingers fiddled with nothing as his hands lay in his lap.

  Mike clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ve been cooped up in this car too long.”

  The mocking summons of Smythe’s ever-present yellow notes waved at Mike from him computer monitor when they walked into their office. “See me immediately. Lieutenant Ed Smythe” was written in solid black letters. He crumpled it up and threw it into the trashcan without the usual competitive NBA flare he and Rudy shared.

  He tried to put off their inevitable meeting as long as possible knowing that as soon as I.A. said to pull the trigger he would be yanked off the case, at minimum. Either Kevin would take point or someone new would be assigned and he knew neither scenario worked. They were already seven days from the first murder and every day that clicked off put them that much farther from proving Molly’s involvement. He needed to stay away from Smythe for as long as possible.

  He sat heavily in his chair. Kevin did the same. Neither spoke, reviewed notes nor engaged in anything more than their current thoughts. Their backs presented any onlooker with contemplation and meditation. While Mike sat quietly his mouth resting on his folded hands, Kevin shifted constantly. His chair squeaked under the steady assault, the room amplifying each movement as if they were the focus of their current circumstances.

  Ready to tie Kevin to his chair for a second of quiet Mike looked over at him only to be distracted by the blinking red light from his desk phone. The reminder brought him to the two unreturned messages Suzanne left on his cell. So focused on their interviews he never listed to either. Dedication or shame kept him from answering when he recognized her number.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed his voicemail.

  “Mike, it’s Suzanne. I received a call from someone named Lieutenant Daily. He wants me to come down to the station to talk about the murders and what we discussed. I don’t know what this is all about or why he would be calling me and not you. I would appreciate it if you would call me back so we can discuss it. Thank you.”

  Her second message was less congenial.

  “Mike, it’s Suzanne again. I would really like to talk to you before I talk to this Lieutenant Daily. I can’t help but wonder why I’m being asked to come down there and why I’m talking to someone whom I do not know. Did you say anything about our conversation the other night? No, no I don’t want to believe you di
d but you left without saying anything and I, well, I would really prefer to talk to you first. Please call me as soon as possible. I have to be there by noon. It’s eleven now. Please call me.”

  He did not miss the absent “thank you” from the second message nor did he miss the rejection in her voice. Her first message was questioning but calm an information gathering exercise borne of confusion but rooted in a tempered trust. The second message was accusatory, infused with insecurity, doubt and borderline panic. His self-preserving actions translated to insensitivity increasing an unbridgeable gap that grew with each unanswered minute. She trusted him with her intimacy and he punished her with his avoidance.

  His watch said six twenty three.

  Shit.

  He dialed Suzanne and listened impatiently as the unanswered rings went into voicemail. At that moment he fully understood her agitation at her inability to connect with him before the interview. He did not want to talk to Smythe without knowing what she said to Daily first. He dialed again with the same results.

  After a third call also sent him to voicemail he resigned himself to the fact that his conversation with Smythe would be dangerously weighted in Smythe’s favor. He had no way of knowing if Suzanne’s stoicism remained intact or if her emotional vulnerability made her susceptible to Daily’s manipulation. While her revelations wouldn’t put a knife in Mike’s hand, his fraternization would further compromise his already tenuous hold on innocence.

  He walked out of the office ignoring Kevin’s questioning stare. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Daily’s stay of execution was already running out and his inability to find any alternatives was further compromising his already diluted attention.

  Mike opened the door without knocking. He stood letting his size fill the doorframe as Smythe looked up from his desk. Daily, who sat across from him, did not turn around.

  “Detective,” Smythe said. He looked back down at his papers and continued writing as he spoke. “Shut the door and have a seat.”

  Mike walked in, grabbed the back of the empty chair and pulled it away from Daily before he sat. He leaned back and crossed his legs letting his foot bang into the front of Smythe’s desk. Folding his hands together he placed his elbows on the armrest and leaned back into the chair.