by Riley Scott
“Don’t presume to know Chloe just because you’ve heard stories.” Louie shook his head. “In fact, I’d say no one, even those who knew her, had her all figured out.” He wanted to pop this young punk in the jaw but thought better of it, clasping his hands together. “She had told me a thing or two from time to time.” Louie eyed Clayton suspiciously. “Why does that matter?”
“It just does. Who had she dated? It doesn’t matter if it was in the past, I just need to know.”
Louie sighed. Looking down at the FBI patch, he figured he’d better stop being such a hard-ass and give in to the man’s persistent questioning. “A while back she was dating a girl from up the road in Oklahoma. It was some girl who didn’t live here, a pretty brunette she said, if memory serves me correctly. That was over two years ago, though. She told me about that girl because I pressed her for the information. I had told her I wanted her to be happy, regardless of what the other fools around here thought.”
“Did you have these conversations about her love life when others were around?”
“Never.” Louie shook his head. “She didn’t like to open up too much about things. She always told me no one wanted to hear about it, so she’d be happy in her own world. And she was. I don’t imagine she told things like that to anyone around this place.”
Clayton narrowed his eyes and then focused on the napkin in front of him. He moved it out of Louie’s eyesight and wrote down something. Louie thought he could make out two words but shook his head. He didn’t care what that man wrote down. This seemed irrelevant.
Clayton let out a sigh, and Louie hopped off his stool, pouring himself a glass of water and topping Clayton’s glass off. This entire process was irritating.
“Who else might have known who she was seeing when she died?”
“Why do you think she was seeing someone at the time of her death?” Louie threw his hands up in the air. “And what does that have to do with anything? I don’t know anything about it if she was in a relationship then. I know about the girl from Oklahoma and that’s all. I’ve got nothing else to give you.”
“It’s important to the case,” Clayton said, his words pointed and stern but quiet. “I need you to help me answer these questions as best as possible.”
“Fine.” Louie let out a sigh. “I’ll help, but only because this is for her. The truth is I don’t think anyone else knew. She might have told her father about that girl from Oklahoma, too. She seemed pretty happy about it and told me they had been together for a while. But I know they broke up or something didn’t work. All I know is she lost that happy-go-lucky bit of herself for a while and seemed a little down in the dumps probably a month or two after she told me about the girl. I asked how things were going with her new flame, she told me it was a ‘non-issue.’” Louie added air quotes for emphasis. “No one else was ever mentioned, even if I asked. She’d wink and tell me to be polite and not ask a lady about her personal matters. I don’t know if that’s because they wanted to keep it a secret or she did. All I know is that it was clearly unsafe for her to say anything. This…” he said, waving both hands through the air, “this whole thing happened because people couldn’t tolerate it, so I think she knew the environment she was in and knew better than to rock the boat. I’m sure she had other partners from time to time. I’m sure some of them were even people who might have lived or worked in the community. But she damn sure didn’t open her mouth about it.”
Clayton nodded, but his scowl grew deeper. “So you’re saying her father might have known, if anyone did? Did she have close friends?”
“She had a ton of friends,” Louie said. “She was a salt-of-the-earth, life-of-the-party girl. Her friends and acquaintances were numerous, but confidantes? She didn’t have those. She dealt with life on her own terms and in her own way. She actually told me one time that she didn’t need to burden people with the daily details of her life. I think that’s how she liked to live.”
“Thanks for your time,” Clayton said, standing. Louie overheard him mutter “Another dead end,” as he walked out the door.
* * *
Three visits and all had turned up useless. Clayton slammed his fists against his steering wheel. The beloved bartender, Chloe’s father, and the girl down at the salon who everyone said knew anything there was to know in Knell all knew nothing.
Chloe’s father had admitted that he knew of Chloe’s most recent partner, but even he was told only after her death. Clayton thought about the pain in Bill’s eyes as he’d recounted again all that he knew. Clayton shook his head. He had to stop putting that man in the hot seat, or it was going to drive him over the edge of an already jagged cliff. He looked over in the passenger seat at his useless heap of notes and snatched them. One by one: the bar napkin, the piece of paper torn from a notebook that had been lying in his car, and the back of a receipt from the barbershop. He hadn’t even been smart enough to remember his notebook today. He thought about tearing them up, but opted for crumpling them in his hands and throwing the ball into the floorboard. Stomping his feet, he let out a string of curses.
“Fuck this town!” he shouted, not caring that no one was around to listen. “Fuck this case. Fuck it all.”
Seething, he started the ignition to drive to his hotel. Another wasted day with nothing to report. He rolled down his windows and put his left arm outside, letting the breeze calm and ground him. He was supposed to be better than this—better than empty reports and certainly better than temper tantrums.
Taking a deep breath, he let everything from the day play back. A trained detective, he couldn’t give up this easily. There had to be something—anything. Louie didn’t know a thing. Although Chloe confided in him once, she hadn’t told him about Amelia. And although her father admitted he knew of her important past relationships, he hadn’t known at the time of her death.
She didn’t have confidantes.
Louie’s words replayed in Clayton’s head. When he’d questioned Amelia, she’d been caught off guard, confused, and then bewildered. No one was supposed to know. But Trent did. Trent had known. How had he known? Whether he’d seen something or heard something, he had known.
As if a light bulb had turned on, Clayton pulled the car over on the shoulder. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together, he turned the wheel sharply, performed a U-turn and headed for the station. It was a long shot and he’d have hell proving it, but this dead-end of a day might just hold the answer he’d needed.
Fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket, he swerved into the other lane. Correcting the car quickly, he punched in numbers. “Gloria, it’s Clayton,” he said when the station receptionist picked up the phone. “I need to talk to Westwick when I get back. Go ahead and have his lawyer called. I think he’s going to want him there. Or give him the option. I don’t really care. Just let him know he’s being taken back into questioning and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He floored the accelerator. Even if it was only a thirty-minute drive out to the county facility, he didn’t want to waste time—not when he thought he was finally onto something that mattered in this godforsaken case.
Flipping through the stations, he settled for classic rock and turned it up. Mentally preparing himself to ask the right questions and make sure he didn’t miss his mark, he ticked off his to-do list.
Be smart, ask the right questions, be persistent, show no fear, show no emotion. Adrenaline coursed through his body. No longer feeling like a rookie, he was determined to make this one count. Maybe the dead ends weren’t a place to stop, but a place to find a new, undiscovered route.
As the guitar solo from a Guns N’ Roses classic kicked on, he was so lost in his jam session that he almost didn’t hear his phone ring. Rushing to turn down the volume, he caught the call on its last ring before voice mail.
“Detective Turner,” he answered.
“Hey Clayton. It’s Gloria.” Her voice was flat, defeated.
“What’s going on?”
He
heard her sigh. “Seems like today isn’t going to work out.”
“Why not? This needs to happen.”
“I know,” she sighed again. He could see her shaking her head the way she always did when she tried to remind the officers she didn’t run the world. “He refuses to speak without his lawyer, and his lawyer is preoccupied.”
“With what? Shouldn’t this be his most pressing issue?” Clayton knew he was being dramatic, but the Westwicks had spared no expense in getting their son the best lawyer, and he knew they were paying him hand over fist to defend Trent. “What’s he doing?”
“Turn on your television when you get home, or turn on your radio in about ten minutes. Mayor is holding a press conference, if office gossip is right.”
He slammed his palm into the steering wheel, but reminded himself to be polite. Thanking Gloria, he hung up the phone before spewing off a string of curses.
Gritting his teeth, he flipped through the local radio stations to the local all-day news station, where he heard an overly excited announcer commentating on waiting for the mayor’s speech.
“As you know, the mayor’s family has been wrapped up in a bit of a scandal,” the man’s voice boomed through Clayton’s speakers. “For the first time, the mayor is planning to publicly address his son’s case today.”
Chatter in the background made him want to scream. These people who had gathered were fools. Clayton grimaced as the announcer continued his overview of the case at hand.
“He’s on the stage,” the announcer said, and Clayton listened as the station’s clearly cheap equipment clicked over to the microphone on the podium.
“Good afternoon,” the mayor’s voice came across the speakers, pristine and pretentious. “I’m thankful to all who have gathered here to let me clear the air on a few issues. I know in a town this size there can be gossip and chatter. I’ve heard concerns from some of you that I’m failing you all as mayor because my family is involved in something of this magnitude.” He cleared his throat and his voice went up in pitch, as though he was smiling. “I want to assure you that’s not the case. I am a father and husband first and foremost. That is true. However, I am dedicated to running this incredible town and to ensuring each and every one of you has a safe place to live, work, and play.”
Clayton reached for the dial but stopped himself. It was political bullshit, straight from a canned response, but he needed to listen, if for nothing else to know what they were facing.
“I’ve had letters and phone calls. I know many of you, myself included, have been shaken to the core to remember that violence can strike anywhere, even here in our hometown. You all want to know that your families are safe, and that’s what I want for each of us. As far as my son is concerned,” he paused and cleared his throat, “I believe he is innocent. I know many of you grew up with Trent or watched him grow up into the fine young man he is. I have not addressed this issue publicly to date, as we know this is a conflict of interest. I just wanted to put rumors to rest and say that we are all working hard to ensure the safety and wellbeing of everyone in Knell.”
Clayton could hear the shuffling of people and their whispers and for a brief moment, he wished he were there. Was the crowd disappointed with his shitty response? Did they believe a word he was saying, or did they see it at face value for what it was?
“We all deserve a safe place to live, and I’m sure you’ve noticed the influx of law enforcement in town. They’ll get to the bottom of this case, make sure the right person is eventually placed behind bars, and most importantly, make sure nothing like this happens here again. I have been advocating for them to follow every possible lead, and I can assure you they are doing just that. There are several possibilities, and I want to make sure they’re not just focusing on the wrong person. We’re committed to providing safety, well-being, and a thorough investigation to sort this out together. We are a community. We’ve always been strong, more like family than neighbors. And I am working every day, as I know you all are, to make sure that legacy continues. In the meantime, my family and I will be sorting out our matters privately to help law enforcement and to help get our son out from behind bars and back in the community where he belongs. It is important to remember who we are. We stand behind our own, we help pick each other up, we offer each other a safe haven, a cup of sugar, a helping hand. We are neighbors, we are family, and we will rebuild.”
Someone in the crowd shouted a question, but it was too muffled for Clayton to understand.
“Have a good evening,” the mayor said in closing.
Disgusted, Clayton reached up and turned off the radio. That prick was abusing his position to sway public opinion on an ongoing investigation. It was bad enough that he’d been putting so much pressure on the officers and detectives that they were wasting manpower on stupid witch hunts to disqualify any other suspects when the facts of the case were pretty damn obvious. But this was too much. And worse yet, Clayton knew that no one would hold him accountable for his egregious misuse of power. His stomach turned.
The Westwicks, mayor included, would get what was coming to them when he was done with them.
Chapter Eighteen
As Katy Perry’s “Rise” played loudly over her speakers, freshly baked goods and coffee filled the air with a pleasant aroma. It seemed as though the world was working to create an aura of peace and empowerment, but Amelia was more intrigued and pleased by the smell of the newspaper in her hands.
“Hot off the presses,” she said, smiling to herself as she unwound the rubber band holding the rolled paper together. As she slid it off the roll, she took note of her hands, thankful and a bit proud at the way they didn’t shake. As she had been doing, she sat back on the couch, reflecting on her journey and what she felt. For the first time, she didn’t feel afraid.
Perhaps it had something to do with growing up and coming into her own, or perhaps it had to do with the utter bliss in which she had been immersed. Her thoughts lingered for a second on the sweet way she had been woken up this morning, with Dominique nuzzling her neck and trailing kisses down her shoulders.
She shook her head, snapping out of her daydream. There would be time for that later. A giggle bubbled up inside her and sprang forth with such intensity, she figured if anyone could have been watching, they’d have deemed her crazy. But she didn’t care.
With excitement bubbling through every nerve, she pulled open the paper and saw her picture on the front page. Her heartbeat accelerated. She hadn’t expected to be the feature story. Regardless, her eyes tore through the article.
There in the middle of the page, she saw her quote pulled out to the side and italicized. She read it twice, making sure they had followed her instructions. Relieved, her smile grew. No more hiding. As she had asked, the quote was printed in full. No partial quote would do it justice. She let out a deep breath, exhaling gratitude for living in a small town where one could make such requests of the media. Even so, she found it comical that her quote—probably the most unimportant part of the story—had been a featured segment.
As more details come forward in the ongoing murder case, it will inevitably be said that I was Chloe Stanton’s lover, girlfriend, or whatever term deemed appropriate by the one telling the story. For this reason and for the sake of authenticity in a town I have always called my home, I am breaking the silence. What you will hear is true. I am a lesbian, and I am proud of this part of my identity. I was dating Chloe Stanton, and facts will likely emerge that I was often at her house. I have chosen to speak out prior to these facts becoming common knowledge, as I would like to make our town a more open place, where we accept people for who they are. May what happened here in the name of hatred never occur again.
She read through the rest of the story and shook her head. Laughing, she set the paper down. Some reporting. But what could be expected in a town that hired kids fresh out of high school for news staff? Nothing was even mentioned about the knife. She scratched her head, wondering why something
so important to the story would be redacted. The only pertinent revelations unearthed in the article were that she was gay, that her fingerprints were found around Chloe’s house, and that the police had ruled out finding suspects by the prints that were found. They were moving onto other avenues of evidence to proceed with Trent Westwick’s trial.
Ongoing case. The words flashed in her head like a neon sign. This was all too new to her, but either way, she was excited for what was to come. More than anything, she was excited to move forward with her life out in the open and to see Trent face justice.
Would he face any type of suitable justice? And for that matter, was there any suitable type of justice? She shook her head, knowing if she wallowed in the thoughts, she’d lose half of her morning trying to solve the world’s problems, when she really should be getting to work.
Glancing around the coffee shop, she relished the peace and quiet. Even if it might stay this way for an entire day or even two, she figured they’d come back sooner or later. After all, when you had a monopoly on coffee and pastries to-go in a town of this size, full of busy people on the go, you had something worth stopping for.
As she set to work cleaning, she heard the door chime and scurried to the front.
“Congratulations,” Dominique said, smiling and holding out a bouquet of roses.
Amelia threw caution to the wind and her cleaning rag to the ground and ran around the counter to throw her arms around Dominique’s neck.
“I like this kind of welcome,” Dominique said, before Amelia covered her mouth with a kiss.
Dominique smiled, mid-kiss, breaking the contact. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m just invigorated, I think,” she said, her own smile growing. “It’s nice to know that I can just be me. I don’t have to put on a mask anymore. I don’t have to hide out or pretend to be someone I’m not.” She looked around and twirled, holding her arms outstretched and letting the moment of pure ecstasy take its course. “This place will be busy again sometime. Not today, but I’m confident it will. And it will do so with my customers knowing exactly who I am. That is reason enough to celebrate.”
