Lala Thankyou_Dark Homecoming

by Erica Gerald Mason

  No matter how many times I applied a customer’s makeup, the steps where the same. A client might crave a new look for a million reasons, but they had one thing in common: they wanted to leave looking like themselves. It doesn’t matter how many times a client says she wants to look like a movie star or a model. She wants to look like herself first. Rookie makeup artist forget that all the time. It’s the thing that seperates drag from regular makeovers. Drag is about transformation. Makeovers are about illumination. A good makeup artist knows what her client wants; probably even more. We become mind readers and fortune tellers. And that's how I came up with the plan.

  The best way to find out about the killer would be to look at the evidence against me. Look at the evidence against me and maybe find a clue. At this point the killer knew I hadn’t been charged with Stern’s murder. Those blue penny loafers were a sign of confidence. No one wears such flashy shoes if they aren’t a little cocky. I know, because I own about 25 pairs of flashy shoes. Somewhere in Indianapolis, the killer was going over the crime scene again and again in his head, just like I was. I knew the killer was going crazy in frustration wondering why, with all the evidence against me, the police let me go. I could use that frustration. The strategy was to go return to the crime scene at the hotel, back to the room and the restaurant where I ordered dinner. Once at the hotel, I planned to retrace my footsteps for the police, showing the officers every step of my evening. It was a risky move; I could end up proving the case for the Indianapolis Police Department.

  If the killer was following me, the exercise might bring him into the open. We would follow him and get evidence that would lead to a way to catch the guy.

  "But what if he doesn't show up?" Olivia asked after I explained my plan to her.

  "I guess that’s a chance we take." I said. "We could do it again at the mall, I guess. Recreate the whole makeup event. Or do a press conference looking for the real killer."

  "What will we do if it doesn't work, Laz?" Olivia asked.

  "Let’s assume he knows it's a trap. He’s smart, right? But I think he wants to know why I’m not behind bars. He wants that more than anything. I'm know he’s watching me, Olivia. Trust me."

  I hoped Olivia trusted my plan. I hadn’t told her about the phone call. The killer wanted me to play his twisted game. I knew he wasn't worried about the police knocking on his door. He wasn’t worried about getting caught. But he should’ve been.

  4

  I stood in front of the world’s biggest potted fern and applied another slick of lip balm. I go through at least 3 tubes of lip balm a month, but I’m not picky. The stuff from any drugstore or gas station was fine. Which was fantastic, because I never bought the same tube two times in a row. There were too many excellent varieties on the market; fruit, mint, candy flavors - I liked the taste and the smell. Plus, pulling the tube across my mouth kept me calm and focused.

  I’d made Olivia stop by a drugstore on the way back to The Fern hotel; she didn’t complain too much about the side trip. I pulled the tube across my lips once more and tucked the container into the back pocket of my jeans. I thought about dressing in drag to recreate the previous day, but decided against it. I figured drag was a celebration, not an alibi. Jeans, a light sweater, and sneakers were perfect. I folded my hair into a low ponytail because I wasn’t in drag; I rolled the cuffs of my jeans because I’m not an animal.

  I walked through the lobby with a small entourage of officers, taking a moment to point out where I stood in the restaurant. As I walked to the elevator, I glimpsed the plain-clothes detectives pretending they were hotel guests as they roamed through the lobby waiting for the killer. After a few agonizing minutes of making terrible small talk with the police officers, we put on the same show upstairs as we did downstairs. The hotel room was as I had left it; the room was still messy and police tape still blocked the doorway. I stood close to the window as I explained my movements.

  I still don’t know how Olivia convinced the police to follow my hunch. The night before as I lay in Olivia’s spare bedroom, I’d heard her on the phone with her police officer boyfriend, then later with Stephens. She’d cried, she’d shouted. I ever heard her sing a little. Whatever she did, I appreciated that she convinced them to spend the morning following the barest of leads.

  I stood in front of my hotel room window as the little radio the private detective gave me squawked and buzzed. Stephens offered me an earpiece so he could tell me what to do in case of an emergency, but I told him no. I didn't want to risk the killer to see me with wires in my ear and catch on too quickly.

  "Lala, don't stare out the window, but I'm on the other side of the street. I see a guy staring up at your window. He’s was staring at you in the lobby and now he’s staring at you from outside. We’re gonna follow him." Stephens squawked through the radio.

  "He's turned the corner and he's walking away," Another police officer told us.

  "Does it look like he's in a rush?" I asked.

  "No. He's just walking,” said Stephens.

  "Make sure he doesn't see you," I warned.

  "This isn't my first time tailing a guy, Lala."

  While the officers worked, I returned to the lobby and waited in one of the overstuffed chairs. It was nice to have a few minutes by myself. Well... alone, with every move I made watched and noted by seven police officers. I looked around the hotel lobby, and watched a group of people check in. The group joked and laughed with each other as one man fumbled with his wallet. One woman pointed to the wallet and everyone laughed harder. The carefree joy on their faces was something I hadn't been a part of in a long time; more than anything, I wished I could be them. It wasn’t typical of me to want to be part of a group. Being accused of murder changes you in ways you don’t expect.

  I watched as the friends approached the front desk in pairs and squeezed themselves into the elevator on the way to their rooms. I sat amongst the ferns, relishing the hush that returned to the lobby as it cleared out. The radio chirped, breaking the silence.

  "Stephens, I lost him."

  The sound crackled through the room, snapping me back to reality.

  "What do you mean...he got away?! Did he know you were tailing him?" Stephens asked, his voice twisted into a growl.

  "No way. He didn't turn around even once. There is no way he saw me." Dannon said.

  I didn’t understand. How did he lose Dannon on a regular street?

  5

  After a half an hour of searching downtown Indianapolis, Stephens called everyone off and we went back to the police station. Dannon, Stephens and I sat in a conference room trying to figure out how the killer escaped. Again. Or more like Dannon and Stephens screamed at each other as I sat at the table drinking a glass of water.

  "Dannon, he saw you, how else do you explain it?" Stephens said.

  "Look, I'm telling you for the hundredth time...he didn't look back. He figured me out another way." Dannon shouted.

  "Ok then. Tell me what happened." Stephens said, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at Dannon.

  "Not much to tell. I followed him for five blocks. He went into the library. I followed him inside and couldn't find him. I looked everywhere. He walked inside and disappeared."

  "He knew you were following him."

  “I’m telling you. There’s no way he knew!”

  I listened to the two of them argue. Stephens was right. The killer recognized the trap, but how? Did he have an accomplice? A friend who tailed our tail? I knew it sounded crazy, but it sounded like the most likely explanation.

  If the killer worked with someone today, it was because he knew I’d try to catch him. But that would mean the friend would have to hang back...like way back, in case there was more than one police officer tailing the killer. It made little sense. It was like the killer knew there was only one person following him.

  "Laz, are you OK?" Olivia asked me. I hadn’t heard her come in. Everything felt wrong about the tail. The ease of which the guy
escaped couldn't just be coincidence. A few moments later I had it.

  "He knows what we know." I said.

  "Yes. We know that he knows." Dannon groaned. "That's how he got away."

  "No, that’s not what I mean. The killer knew about the plan. He knows what we know." I repeated. I turned to stare at the group; they looked confused.

  "Um. What? I don’t get it." Olivia said.

  "Here’s the thing: how could he have guessed that he was being followed? Do you think he saw Dannon in like, a mirror or something stupid like that? And then he came up with a plan to lose him... that worked? He had to have had help. Dannon says he didn't turn around—"

  "No, no...hold up...wait. If the killer figured it out, he could've shaken Dannon. The library is huge" Olivia said, cutting me off.

  "That’s it. That’s how I know. You can lose one guy in the library. Jow did the killer know there was only one guy on him?" I asked. "Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say he saw Dannon following him, that doesn't mean there couldn't have been a second or third or a fourth or a fifth on him he didn’t see."

  "Maybe he thought there was only one and got lucky," Olivia answered. “It happens more often than you think in police work.”

  "His escape worked too well for it to have been luck. We didn’t get learn anything about this guy. The killer didn’t drive a car, so we didn’t get a license plate. He didn’t talk to anyone, so we have no one to interview. The murder walked five blocks down a street and then he bailed. We’ve got nothing. He does all of this before figuring out we were watching him?"

  "But if he knew it was a setup, why did he come here?" Dannon asked.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The killer had nothing to gain from showing up, and everything to lose. The phone rang in the conference room. Stephens answered it and looked at me while he listened.

  “Yeah bring it in,” he said. "Guys, you will love this."

  The door opened and an officer came in. He placed a piece of paper on the table and pointed at it.

  "Look at this." he said, sliding the picture over to Stephens.

  "What is this?" Stephens demanded, glancing at the paper. "How did you get this?"

  “Someone faxed it to the station. Just now.”

  “When?”

  “When did someone take it? I don’t know. We got the fax a few minutes ago.”

  Olivia craned her neck to peek at the paper and gasped.

  "Laz is being set up. See?"

  Stephens picked up the paper and showed it to us. It was a picture of the lobby of The Fern. From the angle and the distance, it looked like a security camera photo. The picture showed the chairs, the group of people checking into the hotel, and ferns. Lots and lots of ferns. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. But then I saw it.

  It was me, sitting in the lobby. My head angled away from the camera, but you could tell it was me. And it was taken just over an hour ago. How did the killer take this security footage?

  "Someone took this picture and faxed it to the station...this...this...security camera footage. Lazarus has been with us all morning; he couldn't have taken the picture himself or put it under the windshield." Olivia explained to Stephens. “It proves he’s innocent.”

  "Or Lazarus has an accomplice and is leading you on some wild goose chase. Maybe Mr. Mercy is doing all of this to get away with murder. This doesn't prove a thing."

  My mouth turned sour as I listened. The killer worked hard to convince everyone I'd killed; I’d have to work harder. I needed to convince him I wasn't a killer. I slicked on another coat of lipgloss and I took a deep breath to speak to the room.

  "I know something that will prove to you all I'm not the killer." I said. All eyes turned to me. "Someone called my hotel room after the murder. After I came to the room. When I answered, it was a man. The only words he said were 'Welcome home'."

  "Lazarus! You never told me about a phone! Why didn’t you tell me?!" Olivia began, but I ignored her and kept my eyes on Stephens.

  "Are you a betting man, Stephens? How much would you like to wager that the number that called me that night matches the same number that faxed the picture to the station?" I asked the detective.

  "Are you willing to bet your life on it, Mr. Mercy? Even if what you say is true, anyone still could've made those calls. You still could've had a friend follow you around, pretending to be the person who framed you. Your friend could have faxed the picture and made the call. It doesn’t even need to be a friend. It could be a fan you convinced to do you a favor. doesn't mean a thing." Stephens went back to his favorite pose, his arms crossed and his head cocked to the side.

  Dammit, he was right. I’d seen enough crime shows to know a person accused of murder would try his hardest to make it look like he was framed. The detective had a point, but he forgot about one thing.

  "Hold on a second there, Stephens. This goes against your theory; your case falls apart quickly. You said it had to be a crime of passion. Now you turn around and say it was premeditated?" I said as my voice got higher and higher with each word.

  “Premeditated. Crime of passion. It doesn’t matter. You’re still guilty.”

  "So your entire case is that I killed Stern and then I had a guy call my hotel room. Then the next day the same person wandered the city in front of Dannon. The same person sent the photo to the station to make it look like I had to have done it?"

  "You got it buddy."

  "Ok then. Why would I do all of that planning and then kill him in my hotel room with a gun registered to me if it was supposed to look like a fast and reckless thing?" I asked, voice shaking. “Why would I risk my friend getting caught by Dannon today? Why would I set up this plan to catch him, if I was the one who convinced him to help me? It makes little sense.”

  Boom. Stephens squared his shoulder as he considered what I said. My theory worked; I could tell he was starting to believe me. His jaw clenched as he came to the same conclusion I had after the murder. The problem for Stephens was that yesterday we didn’t have evidence to suggest the murder wasn't a crime of passion. But now we did. The killer had given it to us.

  "You...might be right." Stephens eyed at me as if he saw me for the first time.

  I took a deep breath and let it out, maybe the detective believed me. I said nothing, so he kept talking.

  "Ok. So I’m willing to dig into your theory a little more. This doesn’t get you off the hook, Mr. Mercy. You were in the area, you had the motive and the opportunity; you’re still a suspect. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't check out this hunch. Which is what this still is at the moment. You understand that, right?"

  I nodded. Ok, so maybe he didn’t believe in my innocence 100%, but something was better than nothing.

  "As far as I can tell, it looks like this guy is following us. He doubled back on Dannon and got his hands on the security footage." Olivia said, talking to the room now. "The guy is fast….too fast. Maybe he planted a wire or some kind of listening device and got the information from us. And if he is framing Laz, it's gotta be about revenge, so we're looking at someone that went to college with us or lived in Bloomington with us back then."

  "That doesn’t narrow the suspect list down." Stephens sighed. “The college has about 30,000 students.”

  "At least we have a place to start: someone who went to the college, knows technology and knows Laz."

  I stretched and left the room to clear my mind. Dannon followed.

  “Look, Lazarus,” he said, stretching out my name to as many syllables as possible. “You gave us good information in there. But it’s not enough. I don’t like you; and I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t understand,” I shrugged my shoulders and moved away from him. “What did I do to you?”

  “More like what you did, asshole,” Dannon said, lowering his voice as he took a step toward me.

  The door to the conference room opened and Olivia stepped into the hallway. Dannon backed up, his face returning to a soft s
mile.

  “Hey guys,” Olivia began. Her eyes darted from me to Dannon and back again. “What’s going on?”

  “I was just giving my friend Lazarus here change for the vending machine,” Dannon reached into his pants pocket and gave me two quarters. “Here ya go, buddy.”

  I kept my mouth shut and stared at Dannon. Olivia cleared her throat and moved to step between us.

  “Nah,” she said. “That machine doesn't have anything good, and the food always gets stuck. The brand new one at the other side of the building is supposed to be 10 times better.”

  Olivia pulled two quarters and offered them in her palm.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said, stepping away from them both. “But I’ll grab a drink of water from the fountain.”

  I turned my heel and left the pair, I turned the corner, slid with my back pressed against the wall and sat down on the floor. The afternoon shocked the hell out of me. How did I come up with that much hellfire? I wasn't the reserved, shy, nervous Lazarus back there. I was someone Lala, even when I wan’t in drag. I liked having Lala around in my everyday life.

  I shook my head and made myself focus on the case. Now I had convinced Stephens that perhaps I wasn't the killer, I felt like some of the pressure was off of me. But something bothered me about the case. Why would the killer give us the security camera footage? It was a major mistake. It took away my motive for killing Stern, but it also told the police he was watching us? Why would he give up such important information?

  There was only one answer. It was that he did it to cover up something he did. Either a mistake or some plans he had in store for me. And how did he pick up the security footage? Did he hack into the hotel system? Did he walk up to the front desk and demand it? I was grasping at straws, and I still hadn’t explained how he knew about our plans to trap him. Nothing made any sense.