I'll Kill Her for You

by Steve Richer

  “You found the body? I thought it was Addie Burgess who found it?”

  “I…” Lawson shut up as the waitress reappeared with the coffee and cheesecake.

  “Here you go, hon.”

  “Thanks.” Both men kept quiet until she walked away. Lawson leaned forward and kept his voice low. “I found the girl before Addie.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because there’s a mountain of shit against me, John! I had these text messages that implicated me, like Okay I’ll kill her for you. And the girl was in my room.”

  “I have to ask, Lawson. Did you kill her?”

  “No! Fuck no. But I panicked. It’s like somebody is trying to frame me. And you know how it is in this town, accusations stick to you forever. My family would be ruined.”

  John exhaled loudly and pushed himself back from the table, leaving his coffee and cake untouched.

  “Okay, let’s try to think about this rationally. You didn’t kill this girl.”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to frame you?”

  Lawson looked down, racking his brain. “I don’t know, I don’t think so. I don’t have any enemies.”

  “Think, this is important. Any girl you got pregnant, somebody you dumped, somebody you ripped off…”

  “No, it’s not my style. Unless…”

  “Unless what, Lawson?”

  “The only thing I have right now that’s not going well is my movie. Just tonight I got word that my financing was falling through.”

  John leaned forward again, certainly interested. “Tell me more about that.”

  “My movie, I raised capital overseas. I found some Saudi businessmen to bankroll the project. Then out of nowhere, their lawyer calls my office and says that the deal is off. I thought they were playing hardball, just trying to negotiate better terms. But now I’m wondering if it’s not a coincidence that this is happening at the same time.”

  “All right, this might be worth looking into. Now tell me about those text messages. Show them to me.”

  “I don’t have them anymore,” Lawson said before taking a huge bite of the cheesecake which unexpectedly made him feel good for the first time tonight.

  “What do you mean, you don’t have them anymore?”

  “I deleted the texts.”

  “You what?! Why?”

  “Because it was incriminating fucking evidence, John! You think I want anything on my person linking me to some dead girl I don’t know anything about?”

  “Dude, now it’s even more incriminating that you deleted the messages. It’s like you have something to hide?”

  “Who’s going to know? The messages are gone.”

  “They’re not gone, Lawson. They’re never gone. The phone company’s gonna have records of this.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Now you look even more guilty.”

  Lawson stopped chewing. Fuck me with a chainsaw.

  Chapter 8

  The hotel phone rang seven times before Lawson woke up and reached for it.

  “Yeah?”

  He glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost ten o’clock. He had a monster headache and he’d probably only slept five hours. He was exhausted.

  “Mr. Winslow?”

  “Yeah. Who is it?”

  “This is Detective Munson, NYPD. I’d like to ask you a few questions about last evening’s events.”

  The cop woman from last night? The woman who always got her perp? Lawson’s mouth went dry.

  “Can this wait? It’s way too early for me. I’m still in bed.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the woman said. “This is really important.”

  “Let’s make an appointment, all right?” He thought about invoking John, the fact that he had a lawyer, but somehow he figured this would also make him appear guilty. “How about later this afternoon?”

  “We’re downstairs, Mr. Winslow. We’re coming up.”

  The line went dead. Damn.

  He hung up and walked naked through his suite at the Sherry-Netherland Hotel, grabbing jeans and a T-shirt on the way to the bathroom. He only had time to get dressed and take a leak when there was a knock at his door. He glanced at himself in the mirror. He was disheveled and his face looked like hammered shit.

  There was another knock, this time more insistent. He couldn’t drag it out any longer without making himself look suspect. He answered and found two people looking at him: the woman and a younger man.

  “Mr. Winslow?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “I’m Detective Munson. This is my partner, Detective Kwon. It’s important that we talk to you.”

  “Yeah, sure. You didn’t bring coffee with you by any chance, did you?”

  “Sorry, no coffee. Fresh out.”

  Lawson moved aside to let them in before closing the door. He directed them to the living room area. The woman was about to speak but he shushed her with a finger as he grabbed the phone and ordered room service: coffee and pastries.

  “Like I said,” he told the cops. “I just woke up.”

  “We shouldn’t be long, we only have a few questions.”

  “Sure, sit down.”

  The detectives sat side-by-side on the couch while Lawson lowered himself in the armchair. He noticed that Munson’s suit was different from the one from last night but it was just as wrinkled. The white blouse was different as well but it too had a stain on it, this time what appeared to be strawberry jam. She was a messy eater.

  “Mr. Winslow – your name is Lawson David Winslow III, yes? What do you go by?”

  “Your Majesty,” he replied without thinking. It was a terrible time to joke. “Uh, sorry. People call me Lawson.”

  “Great, it’s just for our notes, trying to keep the narrative straight.”

  “What is this about anyway? I already gave my statement to an officer last night. I don’t know anything.”

  “Oh sure, of course! These are just formalities, you know how it is.”

  “Fire away,” Lawson said, eager to get it over with.

  “First, let us give you a little portrait of the situation. I mean, usually these cases are pretty much open and shut. Most homicides are crimes of passion or a fight gone wrong. Most of the time the victim and the killer know each other.”

  “Yeah,” Kwon added. “Despite what people think, our job is usually easy.”

  Munson nodded to ram home the point. “Usually, but not this time. First of all, there’s the victim. She was in your place…”

  “My parents’ place.”

  “Excuse me, you’re right. Your parents’ place. So she was in your parents’ place, dressed in a maid’s uniform, the kind your family uses, but she wasn’t one of your family’s employees.”

  “She wasn’t?”

  “We asked your mother, your father, your siblings. We went through the records, showed her picture to the other employees. Nobody has ever seen her before. So right off the bat this is mysterious, right?”

  “Yes,” Lawson agreed, puzzled by this new information.

  “So we started digging and it turns out the girl had a record. Shoplifting three years ago in Gary, Indiana. Her name was Sue Parnell, twenty years old.”

  “What was she doing at my parents’ then?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Kwon said.

  “Did you know her, Mr. Winslow?”

  “No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Look at this picture, please. Take a good look.”

  Munson produced a tablet, brought up a photograph, and handed it to Lawson. It was indeed the girl from last night and she was just as dead. This picture had been taken at the morgue, he presumed. She was lying flat on her back and there was a white sheet pulled up to her upper torso. Her eyes were closed.

  “Sorry, I’ve never seen her before.”

  He hated himself for lying. He had seen her but only for a moment when she was already d
ead. It occurred to him to tell the truth but he was afraid that this was a slippery slope from which he wouldn’t recover unscathed.

  “Okay,” Detective Munson said, taking back her tablet while her partner took notes. “Now the second reason why we’re here is that, as we’re certain you know by now, the victim was discovered in what used to be your bedroom.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Any idea why? Can you think of a significance to this?”

  “Listen, detectives, I moved out of that apartment when I was twenty-four years old and before that I was there only part-time as I went to college.”

  “Harvard, right?”

  “Right. So I haven’t had a connection to that place in a long time. It’s a wonder they haven’t already turned my room into a pottery exhibition or something.”

  “How do you know they haven’t, Mr. Winslow? When’s the last time you went up to your old room?”

  Lawson hesitated. He’d walked right into that one, he concluded. Again, he was forced into another stupid lie.

  “I don’t know,” he said with an exasperated shrug. “Years maybe? What does this have to do with anything anyway? Do you think the killer was one of my parents’ guests?”

  “We’re looking at every possible scenario,” Kwon said, not bothering to hide the threat in his tone.

  “Did you go upstairs last night, Mr. Winslow? Did you go to your room?”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “I see, I see. Hmmm it’s funny because we have a statement here…” Munson flipped through her notepad. “We have a statement from the woman who discovered the victim, Ms. Addie Burgess. Do you know her?”

  “She’s an old friend.”

  “Yes, an old friend. Anyway, in her statement she said that before she discovered the body she saw you coming from the direction of your room.”

  Lawson felt his hands shake and he steadied them on his knees. Would they notice?

  “The direction of my room, not my room.”

  “Care to explain, sir?”

  “The party was boring as shit, pardon the language. I went upstairs to get away from everyone. Nostalgia got the better of me and I started to go to my room. Then I remembered I hated this place, I didn’t need the memories, and I turned around. I didn’t go into my room.”

  “Ms. Burgess saw you.”

  “Ms. Burgess was sneaking around trying to find a place to get fucked by somebody else’s husband. Did she tell you that too?”

  “What if we said we found your fingerprints on the doorknob?” Kwon asked.

  “Of course you found my prints, it’s my room.”

  “Fresh fingerprints, sir. And you haven’t been up there in years, remember? That’s what you said. So can you see how this case is unusual? Pretty young girl found dead in your room. We have your fresh fingerprints. We have a witness who saw you coming from that direction.”

  Kwon spoke again. “Did we mention the sexual assault? Her underwear was yanked down. There are signs of violence to her genitalia.”

  “I have nothing to do with this!” Lawson said, his voice rising in spite of himself.

  “A baseball bat was used,” Kwon said, relishing the revelation. “And yes, the same baseball bat we found in your room with your prints on it.”

  “There’s a lot of evidence, Mr. Winslow. There are a lot of arrows pointing in a specific direction. Please tell us what happened, maybe we can help you.”

  Lawson was about to shout again, anything so they would understand he was innocent, when there was a knock at the door. He had a vision of a SWAT team barging in, dragging him away in cuffs. Then he remembered this had to be room service with the coffee. It calmed him down.

  “This meeting is over, detectives. The next time you want to talk to me, you can call my lawyer.”

  “Mr. Winslow…”

  “I have nothing left to say to you. Goodbye.”

  The investigators nodded and stood up reluctantly. Munson produced a business card and placed it on the coffee table.

  “It’s a shame you think we’re accusing you. We only want to find out the truth.”

  “Allow me to doubt that. Please leave.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Munson headed toward the door with her partner in tow. “You have to know that this isn’t over though.”

  Lawson believed her. It was only beginning.

  Chapter 9

  The Park Hyatt hotel was within walking distance of the Sherry-Netherland and Lawson left on foot. He needed the distraction, needed the cold air and stinging wind to clear his thoughts. It didn’t work but it was a nice fantasy to have.

  He liked to pretend that he preferred Los Angeles to New York but having so many people crammed in such a limited space here in the Big Apple was great for anonymity. Nobody gave him a second glance. He was just another commuter, just another pedestrian. He walked briskly with his hands down his pockets and his collar flipped up.

  It didn’t clear his mind as much as he wanted though.

  But what could he do about it anyway? He had spoken to the police and now it was out of his hands. He had John as his lawyer and he would do the heavy lifting if things eventually worsened.

  So for the time being, all he had to do was act like his old self. This wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He was expected to be a screw-up anyway so he might as well act the part.

  He reached the hotel. It was right across the street from Carnegie Hall and Lawson remembered his mother dragging him to see classical music concerts there as a kid. He’d hated it at the time.

  He walked into the hotel which was housed in a brand-new building. The entrance was actually sober, double doors flanked by potted trees. It opened on a minimalistic welcoming area peppered with hotel employees ready to check in guests using their tablets.

  “Lobby?” Lawson asked one of them as he headed to the elevators.

  “Third floor, sir.”

  He went upstairs, ready to charm a receptionist out of the information he wanted, and found himself in a beautiful lobby. The walls were made of marble and the floor matched the gray color. It was very modern but also understated. He looked around for the reception desk when he discovered there was no need for it.

  Further in was the sitting area which had sofas and big plushy chairs. Standing in the middle were some young women with shopping bags. Lawson recognized the tallest and went directly to her.

  “Hey, Chloe.”

  She had been laughing, in the midst of an animated discussion with her friends, but her face fell when she recognized the newcomer.

  “Oh.”

  “That’s all you have to say? The last time you said oh it was in a much more appreciative tone.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away from him. Chloe Duncan was the new rising star among Victoria’s Secret models and currently the hottest Australian export.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to take you out to lunch. That was the plan, remember?”

  “It was also the plan for you to meet me last night.”

  One of her friends came closer, clearly uncomfortable. “Chloe, we’ll be upstairs.”

  “Hey, Doutzen.”

  “Hello, Lawson,” she replied with distrust.

  He watched the other model walk away and then turned back toward Chloe.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You bailed on me last night, Lawson! I was waiting for you.”

  “I’m sorry, stuff came up. You know about my family, I told you about them. I tried calling you three times this morning. You never picked up.”

  “Whatever,” she said, beginning to walk away.

  “Whatever? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I will not be putting up with your shit, Lawson. We’re through.”

  “Come on, don’t be this way. So I didn’t call, big deal.”

  She stopped and spun on her heels. “Yes, it is a big deal! I’m not a videogame that you pick up when you feel bored. This isn’t
working out, all right? We tried being together and we’re not a good match.”

  “But…” Lawson stammered.

  “No. Besides, I’m seeing someone else. Let’s part as friends, okay?”

  She gave him a faint smile, as if to soften the blow, and then headed toward the elevators.

  He was stunned. This had never happened to him before and he didn’t know how to react. He gave her a few minutes to make sure she was long gone and then he left the hotel.

  So that’s what it feels like to get dumped, he thought. He headed north until Central Park was within view and, although he had no firm plans, he walked toward it. The cold was even more intense than before but he welcomed it. It was dulling his senses.

  He wasn’t sure why this made him so angry. It hadn’t been serious with Chloe and he never intended things to become so either. She was nice and gorgeous and the envy of everyone he knew but she wasn’t relationship material. He didn’t even know what it took to be in a relationship. His memories of Kelsey were nothing but a blip in the distant past.

  All his life had been built around short-term flings. That was such a perfect way to live. You go to parties, you drink, you sleep around, you have as much fun as you can. He was fortunate enough that he could afford that lifestyle.

  He didn’t want to be saddled with some clingy girlfriend who would make him stop living this way. At the first sign that a woman was getting too attached, leaving a toothbrush or talking about having her own drawer, he ended things. Better to rip off the band-aid quickly, he’d long ago decided.

  But Jesus, it felt weird to be on the receiving end. More importantly, the timing was awful. The movie, the dead girl, and now Chloe? What had he done to deserve his life being turned upside down this week?

  He glanced at his watch; it was almost one o’clock. He got his phone and called the office in LA.

  “Hi, Lawson!” Midori answered after the first ring.

  “That’s not a way to answer the phone. Whatever happened to Park Avenue Media, how can I direct your call?”

  “My caller ID says it’s you, Lawson.”

  “That’s not an excuse,” he said in a mocking fashion. Thankfully she got the lighthearted tone and chuckled. “Any news about our Saudi friends? Did you give them my message?”