A Quiet Neighbor

by Harper Kim

They should have stopped thinking like executives, thrown their risk assessments to the wind, and supported their son. They should have taken his side and offered their unconditional love and support, for better or for worse. They should have done so much more than what they did. And I was to blame. Brett should be out on the golf course entertaining clients right now instead of being trapped behind these concrete walls, trapped in a mediocre life that wasn’t meant for him.

  The years that followed were rocky for the Ficks family. Emma became erratic, turning on the waterworks every time she passed Brett’s room. At times she would even lock herself in Brett’s room for days, which always led to an ambulance call and an overnight stay in the hospital to rehydrate with IV fluids. Gary would spend his free time drowning in a bottle of whiskey that he kept hidden in his office. The golf trips dwindled and his company was having impending financial issues with the CEO being mysteriously MIA.

  Leila told me it was awful watching their parents tear each other apart. The cursing and glass breaking was difficult, but the silence was worse. Days would pass when her parents wouldn’t utter a word. Emma with a haunted and faraway look, Gary with glossy eyes and bourbon heavy on his breath.

  Tensions finally relented to happier days when Leila came home and announced she was engaged to Arthur Grimwald III, famous criminal defense attorney. She was eighteen when she married Grimwald, and wished her brother was there to see her walk down the aisle. With everything that happened, Leila never thought she’d find her brother questioned by the police.

  Brett sits up straight when I walk in. He looks shocked that I am the one he is seeing. I take the seat across from him.

  A hard knot forms in my throat and my stomach churns.

  He pushes back from his seat and rubs his face with his hands. He seems agitated to see me. I know I caused him pain. He didn’t expect to ever see me again and now I’m here, for the second worst moment of his life.

  I clear my throat, drumming my fingers nervously on the table.

  He looks haggard and worn from days without sleep. Rumpled, red-rimmed, purplish. A man that has seen better days as a trust-fund baby in the bright golden sun, now withering in the impoverished light of the interrogation room instead.

  “Hello. Brett.” My voice hitches when I speak his name and fights the urge to crack. I cannot afford to lose the little rapport I have left with Brett. Not to mention the fact that another officer could decide to peek in the listening room beyond.

  “Ky.”

  I fight back the urge to shrink, to make myself small. His tired eyes hold contempt and his tone is cold and unwelcoming. Straightening, I plant my feet firmly onto the cold cement floor and square off my shoulders.

  “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to, but I want you to know that I came here under my own accord, separate from the case. I’m not her to interrogate you.”

  “You didn’t have to. You’d save me the worry if you just did the interrogation yourself and got it over with. I don’t have anything to hide, especially from you.”

  “I can’t be the one. But I needed to see you first. Talk to you first. I want to help you out.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “I know, but I’m here anyways…” I hesitate, “I’m sorry.”

  He scoffs. “About accusing me of my stepdaughter’s murder or about seventeen years ago?”

  My head throbs but I bite back a soft oath and pull myself together. The anger in his voice hurts even when I have prepared myself for it. “I’m going to ignore the dig because we don’t have much time. Your interrogation is scheduled to start in a half hour, which will be led by my partner, Detective Sean Pickering. He’s a hard man who won’t give you any slack unless you give me something to loosen it for you. I need you to try and ignore the past and focus on saving your future. I don’t believe that you’re the man we want but as it stands right now, you’re the only man we’ve got.”

  “What about—”

  “Michael Cobb? As of now he’s protected behind a platoon of lawyers, with his father in the lead. So you could say his story checks out, at least for the time being. Also,” I pause, unsure if I should divulge the “sleepover buddy” in question, worried that Tess has managed to keep it a secret and my mention of the name would only make matters worse. But, looking into his stormy eyes, I understand that Michael’s name isn’t the name he is thinking about, and against my better judgment, relinquish the information. “Yes, in answering your question, we also spoke to Jim Kingsbee, and we’re currently checking out his story against your wife’s statements.”

  “Kingsbee…”

  I cringe. The name, not the fact that there is a name, is news to him. “Who he is and how they met is not important,” I quickly add, “You can ask your wife about him the next time you see her.”

  He looks away, embarrassed.

  Suddenly exhausted, he slumps in the chair and asks, “What do you want to know?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he is speaking to me and not shutting me out. “Everything. Starting from what actually happened the night of Loral’s murder.” The look of surprise in his eyes makes me lift my chin and say, “Look. You’re not as good as you think you are at hiding your emotions and telling a lie. I’m not sure why Tess backed your story, but she did, and because she did, my partner thinks you’re the guy. So talk. Now.” I check my watch. “We only have fifteen minutes, so talk fast.”

  Hesitation laces his voice. “I—I don’t know.” He shakes his head and looks down. Worry strains his eyes, tugging on his conscience.

  “Brett,” I say in hushed tones, “I know this is difficult for you, but you need to trust that I want to get you out of here. I know what I did back then hurt you and your family. I’m sorry. I was eleven years old and I was in love.” I manage a half smile when he looks up. “I didn’t think about the repercussions of what I did. I just acted. You were going away. It was a crush and I thought I was going to lose my chance if I didn’t act fast. I thought…” I sigh and cast my eyes to the cold cement floor. “I thought if you saw me as a woman you would like me too. I know that’s ridiculous, but that’s what I thought when I was eleven.”

  “Ky,” he reaches out and touches my fingers. Startled, I look into his wistful blue eyes, sad and innocent. “I—,” Brett blinks and releases his hold, wringing his hands in his lap.

  Clenching my jaw, I hold back the tears bubbling inside.

  He looks away, embarrassed, and starts marching the short length of the room. “I don’t know where Loral was that night.” His voice is shaky, almost distant. He starts rubbing his arms as if he is suddenly cold. “She was home most of the day watching the girls because Tess and I were out…but she apparently left sometime during the night. She does…I mean did that a lot. Usually she just slipped out for an hour or two to take a walk or go for a bike ride. It wasn’t unusual, plus she was seventeen and had just graduated from high school. I figured she was with her boyfriend or something. He’s a good kid, that Mike…at least from what I could gather.” Sheepishly, he glances in my direction, “I wasn’t too involved in her life. I kept my distance for the most part…I probably shouldn’t have done that…but…well, I generally didn’t keep tabs on her, that was Tess’s job. When I came into the picture, Loral was eleven.” He pauses and clears his throat. “She was old enough not to want parental advice from a stand-in father.”

  I nod, noting the age. I say softly, already knowing the answer before asking it, “Did you avoid her?”

  “Yes. Not that I’m proud of it, but she…”

  I nod again, understanding. The girl was eleven, the same age I was when I tried seducing Brett. He never got over it. I always worried that he never would.

  “Tess wasn’t worried. She didn’t even notice because we were having a fight.”

  “Did you fight often?”

  “Yeah, recently. I guess you could say it had to do with that guy, Kingsbee, but our marriage was alrea
dy on the rocks before he came into the picture.”

  “How did you know there was a Kingsbee in the picture?”

  “She started coming home later than normal…and I could smell him on her,” he says, disgusted.

  I nod for him to continue, recalling what Tory said about Mommy’s funny smell.

  “Recently I decided to take control of my life and stop letting the past rule me. I started taking business classes and thinking more about my family…I was fed up with where I was in life and I wanted to make a change. I knew Tess was with him again that night so I called her and told her that I knew she was cheating on me and that she needed to come home right now or it was over.

  “I was at the Grossmont Center parking lot at the time, and I sat there for a while, debating what I should do next. I just couldn’t pretend to look the other way anymore. I got home about the same time as Tess did…I saw the front door slam when I pulled up the driveway. We started fighting right away and I left the house. Stormed out actually…I was furious and I didn’t want to stay inside. I went for a walk to cool off and returned about forty-five minutes to an hour later.”

  “A neighbor near Patrick Henry High School provided us their recollection of a person matching your description, walking and looking agitated near Patrick Henry High School the night of the murder. Since you already said on record that you were out for a walk that night, the eyewitness statement is sticking.” I sigh. “Did you honestly walk past the high school that night?”

  He pauses, and then in a whisper says, “Yes.” He hangs his head in defeat. “Ky, I don’t have an alibi. It was late and dark and I didn’t see anyone during that time. I guess a neighbor or driver could have seen me out walking. I was just so mad. I didn’t think to look around. Maybe if I was more aware…maybe I would have heard someone or seen something…I’ve been rolling everything around in my head…considering I’ve had so much time to think about it, but I just…I don’t—”

  “What time was it when you both got home?”

  “Uh…probably around nine? I checked the girls’ room before I went to resume the argument with Tess in our room. All the girls were asleep…or so I thought.”

  “Loral was in her bed?”

  “Yes. I saw the back of her head. She was turned away from the door so I just assumed she was sleeping.”

  “And when did you storm out?”

  “Not long after. Maybe nine-thirty or so…before ten.”

  Trying not to panic, I ask, “Where was your wife during that time?”

  “She said she was in her room drinking. I believe her. When I came back she was already knocked out in bed and she reeked of alcohol. I…I didn’t check the girls’ room when I got back…I didn’t think I needed to.”

  “Brett? I need you to focus.” I wait a beat for him to clear his head. “You don’t think Tess could have gotten so drunk she accidently killed Loral and placed her at the school, then came back and passed out?

  He shakes his head. Grim and tight-lipped he says, “No. When Tess gets drunk she pretty much just keeps to herself and passes out. She’s not violent. Also, although they had an unconventional relationship, Tess loved Loral.”

  “Okay. So then why did she cover for you?”

  “Probably because she didn’t want anyone knowing about her drinking problem and her affair. Also, I didn’t do it and I think she needs to believe that. Our marriage isn’t perfect but I hope she at least knows I would never hurt her, Loral, or our two girls. I hope she doesn’t believe I did it. I couldn’t really tell, she was so shaken up and still hung over.”

  “Got it.”

  “Ky. What I just told you…it doesn’t help me get out of this mess, does it?”

  Looking into his softening blue eyes, I want to make them crinkle with hope, to erase the years of pain I inflicted. But I can’t. “No.”

  “Ky, what do I do? Tell me what to do. I can’t go to jail. I have two girls that need me.”

  “You need to talk to your lawyer. For now, it’s all circumstantial. There’s no real evidence to tie you to the murder except for an eyewitness account and a cop’s hunch.” I tighten my ponytail and let out a heavy sigh. “I have to be honest. You don’t smell good, Brett. My partner’s going to try to break you down, gut you and then fry you on a stick. My advice is to contact Art and not say much. Got it?”

  Brett sits back down, confused. “What do you mean, contact Art?”

  “Leila’s husband.”

  “I know who he is, why would I contact him?”

  “Brett, he checked into the W hotel not that long ago. He’s your lawyer. Haven’t you been talking to your sister?”

  Brett sits, stunned.

  “Fuck. Apparently, I’m supposed to break the news.” I take out my cell and a business card from my back pocket. I slide the card toward him. “His number. I’ll call him and let him know you’re in interrogation. He should be here shortly after Pickering starts. Don’t say much until Art arrives, got it?”

  Brett nods, solemnly, a single tear escaping from his eye. “Leila contacted you?”

  I nod, uncomfortable.

  “Brett, I’m going to leave you now and give Art a call.”

  Brett stares at the business card and nods.

  Before stepping out, I stop and turn. “Oh, just curious, but have you taken martial arts before? Learned the art of something called Dim Mak?”

  He shakes his head, confused. No recognition or guilt registers in his eyes.

  “Good,” I breathe. “What about Tess? Or anyone else?”

  “No, no one. Wait. Does cardio kickboxing class count? I think Tess did something like that before.”

  “No. I wasn’t looking for aerobic classes. I was thinking more like an Asian kung fu class type of thing.”

  “Then no.” His eyes widen as a spark of hope winks within his milky blues. “Is that what killed her? Did the killer use some type of crazy kung fu, karate-chop thing and kill her? Because that means it couldn’t have been me, right? Because I don’t know that kind of shit. Right, Ky? That’s proof it couldn’t have been me.”

  “Brett, it’s not that simple. But stay hopeful, okay?”

  Solemnly he nods again.

  “Oh, Brett?” He glances up. “I feel terrible about what I did seventeen years ago. I was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry.”

  The blue in his eyes clouds over, distant. Feigning a smile he says, “Thanks.”

  As I close the door behind me and dial Art’s number, I have a sudden thought and walk back into the room.

  “Sorry, one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “I was just curious…but, do you know anyone that owns a black pug in your neighborhood?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  Flashback to:

  Thursday, June 16, 1994

  11:00 A.M.

  Young Kylie Kang:

  It was a particularly sweltering day in the middle of June. School had ended for the summer; instead of reveling in the excitement of pool parties, family vacations, and no homework, I was dreading the days to come. For me, summer break was prison. I had to get up around the same time I would on a normal school day and work at my parent’s BBQ restaurant, then I had to do hours of English and Math workbook problems so I could be ahead of everyone else in my class next year, and on top of that, learn a new hobby. Not a fun, mindless hobby, but something that would put me one step closer to an Ivy League college, like learn an instrument, take up a sport, or go to art class. Then there was the fear that Brett would be out of my life forever.

  Emma Ficks had been busily planning Brett’s graduation barbeque for months. Leila was getting pouty about all the attention Brett was getting from her family. And I was counting down the days to when he would no longer be a part of my life. That was when I started to plan.

  Brett’s graduation party was everything but dull. Excitement filled the air. Teenagers swarmed the backyard, donning black caps with blue and gold
tassels swinging across their bright, exuberant faces. There were blue and gold balloons burgeoning from every post, patio chair, and table in sight. Crepe paper streamers festooned the rest.

  A string of misters was tacked along one side of the patio awning to prevent guests from overheating. Young siblings of the graduates were zooming through the curtain of mist, screeching with delight.

  Smoke billowed from the barbeque island set at the far corner of the yard, and the sugary smell of glazed chicken and ribs swirled in the air. Hungry teenagers lined up holding white paper plates, eyeing the grill greedily and helping themselves to a bounty of sliced fruit and veggies, baked beans, freshly baked rolls, potato salad, and ice cold cans of soda.

  Gifts from family and Gary’s co-workers piled high atop three folding tables situated alongside the house by the sliding door, while envelopes filled with money had been tucked safely away inside (kept under the watchful eye of Grandma Ficks).

  Brett was outside, huddled between a group of fellow graduates laughing and chatting up a storm. His dark hair glistened in the sun, while his blue eyes winked a light that drew me in. I gazed longingly at his broad shoulders and sculpted chin. His charming grin had a knack for making my heart flutter and when he waved in my direction, my knees buckled in response. I took the wave as a sign; a green light from the universe above.

  I couldn’t focus on the one-sided conversation I was having with Leila. More than once Leila had to stop mid-sentence, frown, and ask if there was anyone home up in that buzzing head of mine. Honestly, in my defense, it was difficult to pay attention to Leila bragging about the trip to Disneyworld her grandparents just promised. Yes, it was cool that Leila was going to attend an exclusive tea party with Snow White and Cinderella, but did she have to bore me with every detail, from what outfit to wear to what questions she should ask? Why would she even want my input? It wasn’t like I’d been to Florida or Disneyworld. It didn’t matter. My thoughts were only on Brett.

  Luckily, before Leila threw another hissy-fit because her so-called blood-sister wasn’t hanging on every word that came out of her mouth, Emma pulled Leila aside so she could help with the dessert trays. Leila rolled her eyes and flashed me a helpless look before following her mom into the kitchen.