by J. M. Barlog
“This is ludicrous. I did not try to kill my wife! I love Jenny.”
“You sat across from her and ate your dinner. What did you have, prime rib? You entertained her with your sick witticisms, knowing that in less than an hour she was going to be killed. But you love her.”
“You are out of your mind!” Warren screamed.
Rick grabbed a fistful of Warren's hair, jerked his head back and seethed into his face.
“I hate fucking scum like you. Tell me how it felt, you sick fuck! Tell me, I want to know how it felt to raise a champagne glass in a toast. Were you toasting your freedom?”
Rick released him.
Warren rose out of his chair.
Rick stopped him with an iron hand to his chest.
“Sit the fuck down.”
Warren complied.
Rick's eyes turned to steel. This was no longer a game. Rick was no longer toying with him.
“How did you know you could make it work? We've been digging real deep into your background.”
“I didn't try to murder Jenny.”
Warren pushed the ashtray away, refusing to even look at the two bolts still sitting on the table before him.
“At any time, you can stop me, and we'll wait for your lawyer. I don't want scum like you finding a way to slip out of here. You're going down for this, you shitbag.”
Rick forced himself back into his chair, silently combing his fingers through his hair in what had to seem like an eternity to Warren. It was time for Rick to stop talking and Warren to start. If a confession were to be forthcoming, it would begin to flow now.
“I love my wife. I'd cut off my arms and legs before I'd do anything that might hurt her.”
“I get it, scumwad, you love your wife, but you fuck her best friend.”
Warren wanted to lash out against Rick, scream into his face, but the sudden rush of guilt stole his strength. Only through surveillance could Walker have known Warren was seeing her.
“Tell me where you went that Wednesday, September thirteenth? Two days before Jenny's accident.”
“What do you mean? I was at my office, working.”
“All day?”
“All day.”
“Maybe you need a little refresher, Warren. Maybe you don't understand my question. Where did you go on September thirteenth?”
“You're right, Detective, I don't understand your fucking question. I was working at my office in the financial district.”
“We're getting closer now. Where did you go in your wife's car on September thirteenth of this year?”
Warren swallowed involuntarily. He had forgotten about that. He had borrowed Jenny's car because his was acting up. He didn't want to risk the Saab stalling out in traffic, so he instead went to Jenny's office and borrowed her car.
“What are you trying to say?” Warren asked, staring directly into Rick's cold eyes.
Rick knew he needed the words. He needed Warren to say the words. Confess that he did it. Rick knew he had no case unless this scumbag confessed. All the circumstantial evidence in the world couldn't convict this asshole. And Rick knew it. He hoped Warren didn't know that. Rick needed a confession.
“I'm saying that you used your wife's car, the car destroyed the night of September fifteenth, two days prior to Jenny's accident. I'm asking you nicely where you went that day?”
“I met with a client. Edward...Jawecki...we had a meeting about an investment program I was putting together.”
“How long did the meeting last?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Where did you go afterward? Where did you go to rig the car? How did you know to cut that bolt?”
“I didn't rig the car. I never did anything to the car.”
“Okay, Warren, I'll let you think on that for awhile. Why don't we talk about Bridget Sterling?” Rick asked in a sardonically casual way. The words almost knocked Warren out of the chair.
“What about Bridget?” he stammered.
Rick tightened his proverbial grip around Warren's neck. Now it was time for the kill. Warren was hanging at the very edge of the precipice. Rick just needed to topple him over.
“Bridget is Jenny's best friend. What about Bridget?” Warren persisted, feigning innocence.
“We know about your affair with her. How long has it been going on?”
“I don't know what you're talking about. Bridget Sterling is Jenny's friend. I see her when she comes to visit Jenny.”
Rick opened his file, flipping to the interior sheets.
“And you also see her when you want to get your rocks off, don't you?”
Warren shifted uncomfortably on the chair.
“November eleventh, ten twenty-two, you entered the Glen Oaks Apartments.”
“Bridget had asked if I could take a look at her bathroom plumbing. Her shower was leaking.”
“You remained there the entire night. Jenny was in the hospital. How long did it take you to fix the shower?”
“How long....”
“Why was your hair wet when you left in the morning? Did you have to test the shower to make sure the leak was fixed?”
“I was upset. I needed someone to talk to. Bridget offered a sympathetic ear.”
“Yeah, she offered you a helluvalot more than just an ear, didn't she? You spent the night with her.”
“I did....”
“You didn't go home. You went for an all-nighter with Bridget. She's one hot lay, isn't she?”
“You've had me under surveillance since that first time you came to talk to Jenny, didn’t you? I’m the one you’ve been focused on the whole time.”
“We know all about you, Warren. We know exactly what you're doing. Is that why you wanted Jenny dead? Is that why you set up the accident? You wanted the money and Bridget?”
“No. All right. I've been seeing Bridget for a little more than a year. It was casual. We were lovers—but I still loved Jenny. I wouldn't leave Jenny for Bridget.”
“Did Bridget know that?”
“Yes. She didn't care.”
Rick felt a burning in his gut. The words were ripping him apart. In a flash, he saw Bridget's outstretched body on the bed, beckoning him. She was so beautiful. Now Rick was glad he never told Bridget how he really felt.
“Why don't you tell me about you and Bridget.”
“What do you mean?”
“What happened on March third of this year?”
“Are we playing Jeopardy or something?”
“We're not fucking playing anymore. What happened with you and Bridget on March third of this year?”
“I want my fucking lawyer,” Warren said, then he picked through his pocket for another cigarette.
“Yeah, I figured you were going to say that.”
****
“You can't call for help, Jenny,” Bridget's cold voice rasped. She was no longer the sweet woman Jenny thought of as her friend. Bridget had become some kind of demon out of a nightmare.
Jenny screamed into the night.
Minutes later, exactly how many Jenny couldn’t be sure of, all the lights in the house went dead. The only light entering her bedroom sifted in from the moon overhead.
Jenny shuddered, suddenly afraid.
“God, no please…”
She felt a presence in the darkness. The thing that had haunted her had returned. She listened to more than one heart beating in that bedroom. And the other wasn’t Bridget’s; she knew that for certain because the bedroom door remained intact.
Her spirit had entered the room with her.
But beyond the bedroom door, Jenny heard Bridget's pounding feet moving frantically up the stairs.
****
Rick sat behind the mirrored glass panel, browsing through the notes in the Garrett file. He was dead tired. He wanted to go home to sleep and forget about this damn Garrett case. But Warren refused to crack, so Rick needed to stay, hoping for a break. He had played his hand as skillfully as he could. Now he had to wait
and hope it was good enough to trip Warren up.
Rick’s only worry was that Warren's attorney might materialize and ruin everything. He would end up having to release Warren and be forced to close the investigation for good.
Inside the interrogation room, Warren rose from his chair to pace. He moved in a tight circle around the table with his head down, his eyes tracking his feet. In doing so, he defied the guilty suspect's behavior profile. Guilty suspects, once confronted with the evidence against them, and then left alone, invariably put their heads to the table and sleep, unfazed by having been confronted with their crime. Either Warren was innocent, or he was breaking the unwritten criminal code.
Warren stopped pacing, walked directly to the mirror and tapped lightly on the glass.
“All right. I want to talk.”
Rick slammed the file closed and rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes. He was too tired to even become excited about this turn of events.
Warren stood at the table when Rick returned, sat in his chair as Rick settled into the chair beside from him.
“Bridget and I had been lovers for about six months when she told me she was pregnant. I didn't believe her at the time. I figured it was just some lame trick to pry me away from Jenny. You know the scam. The girl tells the guy she's pregnant so he will split from his wife. Then she says: Surprise! I just missed my period. That never happened before. Initially, I didn't bite.”
“When was this?”
“February.”
“Why didn't you believe her?”
“Because she had hinted she was looking for more than just a sleeping arrangement. She whined regularly about how she wanted a real life. You know, a husband and someday, children. I figured she was just trying to manipulate me. I...”
“You planned on leaving Jenny?”
“No. Bridget knew I would never leave Jenny. I made no promises, nor did she ever come out and say she expected me to.”
“So then what?”
“So then...we met with her doctor, and I confirmed that she really was pregnant.”
“Then she asked you to leave your wife?”
“No. I told her...I demanded...she abort it. There was no way I'd leave Jenny under those circumstances. It's not that I didn't want children. I just wouldn't have them under those circumstances.”
“So, on March third you accompanied Bridget to the abortion clinic and paid for her abortion.”
“That's right.”
“How did Bridget handle it?”
“Good, I guess. She understood.”
“Did you lead her to believe there was a future for the two of you?”
“No...well maybe. I don't know.”
“What happened after that?”
“When I learned that Jenny was pregnant, I broke it off with Bridget. I knew I couldn't keep it...”
“What do you mean, when you learned Jenny was pregnant?”
“Jenny and I were going to have a baby. I learned by mistake just before Labor Day.”
“How did you learn?”
“Bridget told me.”
“Bridget told you?”
The words triggered something in Rick's mind. His gut began rumbling and bile backed up into his throat.
“Yeah, she said Jenny got it confirmed a few days before and was planning a big surprise to tell me about it. Why Jenny confided in Bridget before me is beyond my comprehension.”
“Wait a minute. Jenny told Bridget she was pregnant?”
“I guess so. I figured Bridget told me out of spite. Figured she'd ruin the surprise as a way of getting back at me.”
“Jenny told Bridget she was going to have a baby. And Bridget told you.”
“Yeah, I had to play dumb, so I wouldn’t spoil the surprise.”
“Yeah right, scumbag. You had to play dumb or Jenny would know about you and Bridget.”
Rick suddenly sat back in his chair. Something Warren had just said had knocked his whole thought process helter-skelter. He forgot about everything and turned in a new, uncharted direction.
“Why would Jenny tell Bridget that she was pregnant?”
“I don't know? But Bridget knew. She flew into a rage when I told her it was over.”
“You told her this when?”
“I guess around the fifth of September.”
“What did Bridget do?”
“Nothing. I mean she calmed down and said she understood.”
Rick left his chair. It became his turn to pace. Something Bridget had said to him earlier was now toying with his brain like a spiteful child. Something elusive sidetracked his thinking, steering him away from Warren and into a new...
“Warren, could Bridget have had access to Jenny's car?”
“I guess. Jenny often let her borrow it if she needed to go out of town on a shoot. The agency's insurance covered a list of people on the car. I think Jenny put Bridget's name on the list a year or so ago.”
Rick swallowed the coppery fluid accumulating in his throat. Bridget knew Jenny was pregnant; she might have wanted to harm Jenny in an attempt to force a miscarriage. Or could Bridget have decided to kill Jenny and keep Warren all for herself?
Rick left the interrogation room and dialed Jenny's number. The busy signal sent a shudder through his insides. He dialed for an operator.
“Operator, this is Detective Rick Walker. I have an emergency situation. Could you break into 555-6980?”
Rick waited a long moment.
“I'm sorry, sir, I get an off-hook indication for that line. There is no call in progress.”
Rick slammed the receiver down. He tried Bridget's number. No answer.
****
Bridget hammered at the bedroom door until the wood jamb finally splintered. The door moved inward.
Jenny screamed when the door creaked and gave way.
Despite gut-wrenching pain, Jenny managed to slide the corner of the bureau in front of the door. But even that did not long deter the determined Bridget.
When Bridget heaved against the door the first time, it moved the bureau a few inches. She forced her fingers in through the slit to gain a better leverage point.
“You fucking bitch!” Bridget scowled from the hall, seething and puffing. Saliva drooled from the sides of her mouth as if she had become some kind of crazed animal. She squeezed more of her hand through the opening, running it down until she came to the bureau.
“You stupid bitch, do you think you can stop me? Do you think I'd ever let you keep Warren's baby?”
“Please Bridget, please, don't do this.”
“You're going to die for this, bitch.”
Grunting, Bridget pushed at the door. Her effort backed the bureau another inch further into the room. She had almost enough space to stick her head through.
“Let me in, you bitch!” Bridget screeched.
In the pale moonlight that washed over the door, Bridget’s eyes were wide white bulges against a pallid face. Dripping blood lined her chin. With another heave, she gained another inch of opening and stretched her neck full length to get her head completely inside the bedroom.
Jenny screamed, backing into the corner. Then she saw her ghost emerge through the wall at the far side of the room. The black orbs stared at Jenny, indifferent to Bridget's scowling face at the door. Somehow the apparition knew. She had arrived to witness the final moment; the moment when she would be set free from her prison.
“God, no,” Jenny whimpered.
Then Jenny heard her name being called. It rose from down below her window. Someone was outside.
Dwight screamed her name from the yard.
“I'm up here!” Jenny screamed, pulling herself to her feet.
“Damn you, Jenny. I'm going to kill you for killing my baby!”
Jenny clutched her side, ignored the spectral image standing across the room staring at her, and started moving toward the door.
Bridget's eyes flashed with terror when she realized Jenny's intent. In a panic, Bridget knew
what she must do. She squirmed to pull her head free of the opening before Jenny could get there to ram the door closed.
And she almost made it. Almost. Bridget's fingers failed to clear the door before Jenny crashed into it and forced it closed.
A scream of pure agony wailed through the entire house.
Dwight attacked the front door a second time with his full body weight. It held solid and locked.
“Jenny!” he screamed with all the force his lungs could muster.
A faint cry came back from deep within the bowels of the darkened house. The cry of a desperate woman trapped by both a mortal killer and a spectral one.
Bridget pushed with all her might and forced the bedroom door back into the room. She would let nothing stop her. The harder she pushed, the more the crease widened. She rammed first her leg in, then her arm.
Jenny tried to push against the bureau, but her strength was frail compared to Bridget's. For Bridget, adrenaline had taken over, pumping her veins with the strength of three men.
The bureau slid further—Bridget now filled the doorway with her entire body.
“This time I'll make sure you're dead!”
With a weight-lifter's grunt, Bridget pushed her way completely into the bedroom, forcing Jenny to retreat to the bed.
But Jenny was not ready to succumb.
As Bridget lunged toward her, Jenny grabbed the lamp and crashed it into the side of Bridget's face. Bridget silenced Jenny’s scream with a hand to her mouth, partially deflecting the lamp with her other arm. A ceramic shard cut into the side of Bridget’s face, sending a steady stream of inky blood running down her cheek.
As Jenny fell back against the mattress, she could see her ghost rising above Bridget and drifting further into the room.
Bridget's hands circled Jenny's neck, clamped over her throat and squeezed with a force driven by hatred and loathing.
Jenny gurgled a scream.
Her ghost closed in, but made no attempt to interfere.
Downstairs, glass shattered. Jenny knew she just had to hold on—help was here. Dwight was in the house. She forced two fingers under Bridget's hands to break the death grip.
Bridget scowled as she pulled her hands away and grabbed the pillow to cover Jenny's entire head.
