by Riley Scott
When he shook his head, she slapped the table in front of him. “I demand it, dammit. I demand you start showing some respect for the family in charge around here. And I demand that you recognize that the life that was lost was far inferior to the innocent life that is locked up. My boy has done nothing wrong, while that lesbian whore was a sinner through and through.”
“Enough!” Wes surprised himself with the bellow that emerged from his chest. “I’ll have none of that talk in my station, and you ought to be careful saying things like that around here in the middle of an active, ongoing investigation.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me, you bastard,” she shouted, stepping forward and reaching for his Taser.
In one swift movement, he jerked his hips to the right, securing his weapons behind the counter. As if in slow motion, her heel caught in the crack of the tile. She twisted left and twisted right, contorting her body and attempting to right herself, before face planting on the tile.
“Fuck you,” she shouted from the floor, completely forgoing what was left of her Southern charm and manners. “I’ll make sure you pay for this.”
“Your name won’t get you out of this one, ma’am,” he said, reaching down to help her up. She slapped his hand away, and he put his arms up in the air. As she stood, he pointed to the corner of the room. “If you’ll glance up there, you’ll note that whole mess was recorded on camera—everything from the words you spoke to threatening an officer by reaching for my weapon. So if I were you, I’d tread lightly. As it is, if you’ll behave, I’m sure you can go see him in County.”
She narrowed her eyes and dusted off her dress. Eyeing him carefully, she nodded after a moment of consideration. He thought about warning her again that every interaction they had would be recorded but decided he had given her plenty of warnings about recordings.
She spun on her heel to leave, but turned back, casting daggers at him with her eyes. “Even if he had killed the dyke, this wouldn’t be appropriate punishment for him,” she spat at him. “And there is no way his bond should be set at half a million dollars,” she added before rushing out of the office.
She was gone before he could remind her that, if any family in Knell could afford that level of bond, it was probably the Westwicks. With her gone, he stared after her, dumbfounded. No doubt there were huge skeletons in the closet of that family, but certainly nothing that warranted that kind of hate.
Scratching his head, he took a seat back in his office. Had it been the hatred fostered by growing up in his father’s house that bred that type of murderous anger? He took a deep breath and thought back. Trent’s early childhood had no doubt taken its toll on the boy’s development, but that didn’t account for this.
Flipping through the files on his desk, he racked his brain. None of it made sense. The two kids had gone to school together and, much like everyone else in town, they had been mainstays in the community, constantly seeing each other around town at various events. With roots that deep, there was no explanation.
That, coupled with the fact that Trent had a near-airtight alibi for where he was that evening, despite evidence of his truck having been in her driveway, made this more of a mystery than he had ever been tasked with solving.
Regardless of the fact it was no longer under his jurisdiction, he felt like he owed it to his community—to Chloe and everyone who knew and loved her—to figure it out, at least partially.
The coroner’s report had told them much of what they already knew. She had suffered multiple stab wounds and died as a result. Prior to being stabbed, she also suffered blunt force trauma to the head and abdomen. Nothing else had been revealed that would shine the light they needed to put Trent up for good. If history in this town had anything to show, it was that those in charge rarely paid for their crimes—be it shoplifting, running amok, drinking and driving, underage partying, and now murder.
It was a good ol’ boys’ club. Always had been. But this time had to be different. He had a gnawing in his gut telling him Trent was far from innocent, but he needed something solid. They had just enough to keep him locked up for now. But with his daddy’s money, there was no doubt he’d have the best lawyer, and they’d need an airtight case.
He gulped as he again looked at the photos on his desk. The knife was one of Chloe’s—a long chef’s knife with the sharpest blade he’d ever seen. Whoever had done this had gone in without a weapon and utilized what was already in place. He shook his head, remembering the sight of it lying on the floor, near her bloodied body.
Now in evidence, the knife had come back with two sets of prints on it—Chloe’s and one undetermined. Trent wasn’t a match. In fact, Trent’s prints and DNA were nowhere to be found at the scene.
He rubbed his eyes and in the darkness, all he could see were the smaller fingerprints next to Chloe’s on the knife’s handle. Maybe Trent was as innocent as he said he was, or maybe he had been smart about carrying out his anger. Flipping the binder of evidence shut, Wes stood.
There were too many questions, and other detectives were working on the case. One way or another, the truth would come to light. And someone would pay for what had been done here.
For now, he needed out of this place. He grabbed his belongings, got in his car, and headed across town to McCool’s.
When he opened the door of the old, darkened bar, a wave of air-conditioning swept past him. It felt as if it were a welcoming sign. Even if it wasn’t, he was going to take it as such.
“Hey, Wes,” Louie called out from behind the bar. Aside from an old timer at the corner of the bar, the place was dead—a rare sight on any evening.
“Hey, Lou,” he replied, tipping his hat in greeting. “Where’s the crowd?”
Louie shrugged, as he poured a beer for Wes. Looking over his shoulder while beer poured into the glass, he made eye contact with Wes. “It’s been this way all week. I don’t think it bodes well for business that this was the last place she was seen alive.”
“I see,” Wes nodded, taking a seat on a barstool directly across from Louie.
“Are you here to ask more questions?” Louie asked. “I’ve been answering them for days, and I don’t have much new to add.”
“No more questions tonight, I don’t think,” Wes said. “At least none that will give us the answers we need.” He lowered his voice. “Truth is, I don’t know what to think right now.”
“None of us do,” Louie said. He looked at the back wall and then back to Wes, nostalgia washing over his expression. “It’s not the same in here without her, you know? She wasn’t in here every day. But she came to see me often, and she was a ray of sunshine. All that stuff that made her so different really didn’t matter that much. She was who she was, and it’s a damn shame she’s not here anymore.”
Wes gulped his beer and nodded. He wished they could talk about anything else, but this was it. This was all there was to talk about these days. “She was.”
“I miss her,” Louie said. “And I don’t care what they say about evidence. It was Trent, and we all know it. I threw the bastard out of here that night for being so damn hateful. And then it happened. When the news hit, everyone who was in the bar that night knew who did it. No doubt in my mind, that boy’s guilty as sin.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it, I’m sure,” Wes said, wanting to echo Louie’s sentiments but careful about doing so with the ongoing investigation.
Louie tight-lined his lips, taking the cue. “I know you can’t talk about it and you’ve already got my statement. I just wanted to tell you again how I feel about the whole mess. I feel it in my gut. I know it. And soon everyone else will too.”
Wes nodded and held his beer glass up in a mock cheers symbol. It was the most he could do to show his solidarity. Louie grabbed his towel and wiped down the bar, letting Wes unwind in silence for a few minutes. After topping off the older man at the other side of the bar, Louie came back. “There’s a ball game on tonight. Why don’t we put that on, and I’ll ser
ve you up a burger?”
“You’ve got a deal,” Wes said, thankful for the chance to let his mind zone out on something of no importance in the scheme of life. That once was the way of life around here, and he was thankful for it to return, no matter how briefly.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. With a sigh, he fished it out, setting it on the table next to his beer.
We think the prints are from a female, it read.
He wanted to fling the damn phone. Of course they were. They were smaller than Chloe’s. Anyone could have deduced as much, but that still didn’t get them any closer to an answer—to justice. Closing his eyes, he forced a deep breath, but all he could see was that bloodstained knife. Jerking his head back up, he gulped down his beer and put money down on the table.
“Cancel the burger, Lou,” he called out, as he stood. He couldn’t be out in public, not like this. Maybe that’s why this place was empty. No one could face what had happened.
* * *
The wind whistled from the south side of the field, blowing dust along the breeze. Bill glanced up at the skies, his thoughts a million miles from where he stood. Cattle bellowing in the field reminded him that, even if he didn’t want to move an inch from this spot where it felt like he was able to glimpse a little bit of heaven, he still had work to do. Dutifully making his rounds, he threw the bales of hay and glanced down at his calloused hands.
He had never felt like more of a country song cliché than he currently did. Taking a seat on the last bale of hay, he buried his head in his hands.
The service today had been nice and it had been packed enough to fill the entire football stadium. He closed his eyes and thought back to the sea of faces, all familiar—but looking foreign in the moment. Many had loved his Chloe, and he was grateful they all showed up today. Even her old, childhood friends like Katy who had moved away had come down to celebrate her life. But it hadn’t felt like the proper goodbye. This was his proper goodbye, devoid of suits and stuffiness and filled with nothing but the earth and natural beauty he and Chloe had always shared. Tears fell as he thought of her climbing up on the hay bale next to him and realizing it would always be just a thought. Just a memory.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice drew him from his thoughts.
He cleared his throat and stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. In front of him stood a stranger with dark eyes, dark hair, and a gentle smile. “May I help you?” He cleared his throat and sniffed again to remove the remnants of the tears that had gathered but not yet fallen.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping forward slowly and extending her right hand. “I’m Dominique Velez.”
He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if he’d ever seen her before and why she would come on a day like this. She wasn’t wearing funeral clothes, but was dressed like she didn’t really belong here, in dark jeans and impractical shoes. Regardless, he removed his hat and returned her handshake. “Bill Stanton. Nice to meet you.”
“I know it’s probably a bad time.” She took a step back and shifted her weight from leg to leg.
He wanted to tell her she was right and that there probably wasn’t a good time, but he could tell she was as uncomfortable as he felt. His manners kicked in before he could tell her to scram. “It’s all right. What can I do for you?”
“That’s the question I should be asking you,” she said. “I’m here to help if you need anything.”
He looked out into the field, raising an eyebrow. What could this woman do? What could anyone do—especially someone he’d never met? He shook his head.
“I am in town from Austin. I should have started with that. I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you or your history here. But I came down here with hopes of lending a helping hand if I can. My organization works for social equality. We work to educate, counsel, and change hearts to help keep situations like what occurred here from happening.”
“Situations like the one that occurred here?” he asked, the words sounding hollow and useless. “This isn’t a situation. This is my daughter’s death…murder. My daughter’s murder.”
“I know, sir.” She took a deep breath. “I’m very sorry to hear about what happened to Chloe. I can’t imagine what you are feeling.”
“Don’t try. It’ll pull you under.” She cocked her head to the side and he sighed, taking his seat on the bale of hay. “You’d be better off going back to Austin and not getting caught up in this small town mess, not getting drawn into the heartache and confusion that comes with having one you love ripped from your life—all because she wasn’t what people wanted her to be. Hell, she wasn’t different from them. She was better than them. She was a hard worker, which is what people ’round here pride themselves on. She was kind, polite, maybe a little wild. She was exactly who we all want to be. Just ’cause she was free and lived life on her own terms, she’s suddenly gone. None of that is something you can wrap your mind around, especially if you didn’t know her. I don’t really think there’s anything you can do for me, but I appreciate you stopping by to offer your condolences.”
“I know I can’t do anything to make it hurt less or to make it easier,” she said, obviously reluctant to leave. “But what I’m hoping is I can be by your side if you do need anything.”
“What is it you’re offering?”
“I’m not offering anything other than someone to listen and if you need help with anything in the future.” She paused and picked over her words, moving her eyes side to side. “The thing is, I’m going to head back to Austin soon. And my visit out here would be pointless if I didn’t at least introduce myself to you. There’s never a really good time to talk about these things, but I want you to know who I am in case you choose to do something we can help with in the future. A lot of parents in these situations want to speak out after they’ve had time to process what happened. If you want to do that or would like a larger platform from which to speak, we can offer that help.”
“Again with the word ‘situation.’ What kind of situation are you referring to?”
“A hate crime.”
The words cut through every shroud of composure he had worked to hold. “Every crime is a hate crime, isn’t it? I mean, at least every murder.” His words were barely above a whisper, and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“This one was specific. You and I have both heard the details. I’m sure you’re more in-the-know than anyone, but you know why she was murdered.”
“No, I don’t,” he said, standing and shaking his head. “I have no idea who would take my sweet girl off this earth or what reason they could find for doing it. If you’re looking for a puppet to decry a hate crime, I’m not it. I think there was a lot more to my girl than just being gay. And I’ve read every story too. I’ve talked to the police. I know what they’re saying, and I guess it might be true that different might just not have fit in with Knell. But I’m not your guy. The only thing I’ll talk about is how amazing my Chloe was and the fact that she didn’t deserve this. She also didn’t deserve to be put on a poster telling the rest of the world to stop killing people. That much should go without saying.”
The woman in front of him gulped and nodded. “I’ll be going. I know it’s a bad time and I apologize. If you ever need anything though, we’re around and we’d love to do anything we can for you and your family.”
“There is no family,” he said, waving at her to seal her dismissal. “Just me now. Have a good evening, ma’am. And take my advice. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong around here. Even in these circumstances, I’m the friendliest guy you’ll meet here. Do my Chloe a favor and stop trying to exploit a ‘situation,’ as you call it.”
She bit her lip, and he prayed she wouldn’t dare speak again. Thankfully, she nodded and got back into her car.
Her words continued to play in his head like a broken record. Hate crime. She was right. He knew it. But the way he looked at it, Chloe’s killer should be punished to th
e full extent of the law for killing someone so innocent and beautiful—not just because she had been gay. She was a person, and that’s what he wanted to drive home to these people. It was the same as if any of these others had lost someone. It should hold the same merit, but clearly it didn’t. All he had to show for community support was a couple of casseroles, one or two people who stopped by, and an out-of-town equality lady who had tried to ruin his day. Other than that, everyone else had kept their distance.
That drove the “hate crime” language straight into his heart and made him want to leave this place as quickly as he could. But he couldn’t. He was stuck here—stuck in Knell without answers, without anyone, with a “hate crime” to deal with.
Chapter Eight
The scent of fresh blueberries wafted through the shop as Amelia pulled the oven door open to marvel at her creation. Blueberry muffins, baked from scratch.
“Mmm,” she breathed in, verbally succumbing to the simple beauty in something so small. If this was her life, she was going to have to start enjoying the bits and pieces that made sense, and muffins always made sense.
She sat her hot pad down on the counter, leaving the oven door open for one minute longer to give herself the chance to close her eyes and relish the moment. In the past three weeks, nothing had made her feel as whole as this moment—this silly, muffin-filled moment.
Snapping out of it, she sighed and opened her eyes. She cocked her head to the side and peered inside at her creations. They really were just muffins, even if seconds earlier they had felt like an answered prayer. Shaking her head, she pulled them from the oven and set them on the counter to cool.
She heard the ding of the door and straightened her shoulders. What a fool she would look like if someone had caught her marveling at her muffins. She stifled a giggle, the words replaying through her brain. Surely she was losing her mind. There was no other excuse for the way she was easing through the day, for the first time in the weeks that had passed seeing positives instead of just Chloe’s face. The thought of Chloe sent a pang of fresh agony through her heart. She stiffened and let the moment wash over her as she had learned to do in the moments of silence she’d been taking since Chloe’s passing. She dusted her hands on her apron and made her way to the front of the store.
