by Morgana Best
Carl was still in the same terrified position. His eyes were clenched tightly shut and his hands were white as he gripped his hand rests. Eventually we stopping climbing and evened out, though there were no seatbelt lights like on a conventional plane. Not that it mattered, as the plane was too small for more than one person at a time to walk the aisle, and the flight attendants were already doing that and serving food.
“Carl,” I said, nudging him to get his attention. “Carl, we’re airborne. You should open your eyes, or you’ll be like that for the entire flight.”
“Can you close the shutter thing over the window?” he asked in a small, squeaky voice.
I sighed and obliged him, giving the amazing view one quick glimpse before shutting the shade. “It’s closed, you’re fine,” I said, patting him on the arm. Carl slowly opened his eyes and looked to make sure I was telling the truth before slumping back into his chair. “Are you doing all right?” I asked, knowing the answer before I’d even asked.
“Not really,” Carl said honestly. “I’ll just pretend we’re on a train, or a bus. One that’s hurtling through the air at two hundred miles per hour. Oh, no.” Carl closed his eyes again and covering his face with his hands.
“Oh, it’s not that bad, you big baby,” I teased, punching him lightly on the arm. “We’ll be there soon anyway, so just try to enjoy it.”
Carl groaned in response as a flight attendant approached. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked, looking into his food trolley. “We have chicken and egg sandwiches, or sausage rolls.” Carl didn’t respond, opting instead to assume the fetal position.
“I’d like some chocolate, please,” I asked politely.
The attendant gave me a distant look and appeared to be thinking for a moment. “I’m afraid we don’t have any chocolate,” he said. He continued to speak, but everything that came out of his mouth after those dreaded words was just a pointless waste of air. I hugged my legs, closed my eyes, and waited for the plane to land. Carl had been right all along. Flying was hell.
Eventually, we landed. The plane hit the ground with a jolt as the landing gear touched down, causing everybody inside to lurch violently. The plane taxied slowly to a stop, and Carl looked as though he’d won the lottery.
“We still have to fly back,” I said, causing all the color to drain from his face. At least I could stock up on chocolate before the return flight, but there wasn’t much Carl could do, short of heavy drinking. I decided not to give him that idea.
Eventually, we made our way out of the airport and into a taxi bay. “This is probably a strange time to ask,” I said. “But where are we actually going?”
“We’re meeting Betsy at a café she likes. I’ve got the address saved on my phone, and I’ve texted to say we landed, so we’re due to meet her there in half an hour. It’s her day off, so any time should suit, but I figured you’d want to get this done as soon as possible.”
I nodded in agreement and the two of us got in a taxi. I’d assumed that half an hour would have been plenty of time to get to a local café, but Brisbane traffic proved me wrong. We ended up taking a full hour to drive the short distance from the airport, and although Carl insisted that Betsy would be fine with it, he furiously texted her throughout the drive.
Finally, we arrived. Carl paid for the taxi and I agreed to pay for the return trip. We headed inside the café; it was a small, rustic shop that didn’t fit at all into the neighborhood. It was nestled between two huge office buildings.
“Do you see her?” I asked, scanning the room. As it turned out, I didn’t need a response. Sitting at the back of the room was a strong-looking woman who was wearing—to my surprise, given Carl said that it was her day off— full prison guard attire, hat included. She sat at the table sipping a coffee and beckoned to us as we entered.
We walked over and sat at the table with her. She seemed friendly enough when I introduced myself, though she shook my hand so hard I thought it was probably worth getting an x-ray when I got back home.
“Sorry for all the delays, Betsy. I thought it was your day off,” Carl said, nodding at her uniform.
“Oh, it is,” Betsy replied flatly. “I always have Mondays off.”
Carl and I exchanged glances. There was a long, awkward silence as we decided what to say next. Betsy seemed perfectly content sipping her coffee, but I thought it would be polite to make some small talk instead of jumping straight down to business. “I close my shop on Mondays, too,” I said, giving my friendliest smile. “At least, until I can afford some staff. Who really wants to work Mondays anyway?” I asked, laughing.
“I do,” Betsy said humorlessly. “I’d like to work seven days a week.”
Before I could say anything else, the waiter approached. I ordered two slices of chocolate cake and a large hot chocolate, deciding that I should make up for the horrendous lack of it during my flight. Carl ordered a Greek salad, and Betsy ordered the pork roast and vegetables.
“Let’s get down to business,” Betsy said suddenly, causing me to jump. She was overly intimidating, even if she did seem to want to help. “What’s happening, exactly? You didn’t explain much over the phone.”
“No,” Carl admitted. “I thought it was better discussed in person, especially since the police probably have our phones bugged.” Betsy raised an eyebrow as Carl spoke. “Wait, no, we’re not doing anything illegal. Narel here recently opened her gourmet chocolate shop back home, but on the opening night, one of the patrons was murdered. Nobody knows who did it, but Narel is the prime suspect. This is largely because it was her shop, of course, but also because Clint Stockland…”
Carl paused as Betsy jumped at the name. He cleared this throat before continuing. “Because Clint Stockland was in a hospital bed for four weeks in a room that was directly next to Narel’s. Despite all that, we were actually hoping you could give us some insight about Todd Cambridge.” Carl finished his explanation with a sigh.
Before Betsy could reply, our food arrived. I had to resist the urge to cheer when it arrived, as I hadn’t eaten anything before we’d left, since I had anticipated some in-flight food. We all ate in silence—or rather, Carl and I ate in silence, while Betsy noisily devoured her meal. It reminded me of how Mongrel ate, only Mongrel wasn’t a terrifying, jumpy, muscular prison guard.
She finished long before either of us, and took the opportunity to speak. “Clint’s a real piece of work, for sure. Are you sure Narel had nothing to do with this?” she asked Carl, as if I wasn’t even there.
“Yes, Betsy, trust me,” Carl said seriously. “There’s no chance she was involved. I trust her completely.”
“Well, okay. There aren’t many ways Todd could be involved. I see him every day I’m at work, so I can tell you for sure that he wasn’t involved personally,” Betsy said, stroking her chin.
“What can you tell us about him?” I asked.
“Well, he and Clint Stockland were good friends in the watch house, so there’s no surprise that you think there’s some link between them,” Betsy said. She turned to me. “The watch house is where people who’ve been arrested are kept while awaiting their bail hearing, or where people who have just been sentenced go until it’s decided which prison to send them to.”
I nodded. “Is there a chance Todd Cambridge could have ordered an assassination from the watch house?” I asked, desperate for answers.
“Actually, yes,” Betsy said, nodding furiously. “It’s happened before. It’s not easy, of course, but if anybody could do it, Clint could. He’s a heavy hitter. All they need to do is get a guard on their side. The right kind of bribe or threat is easy enough, and from there they can freely move letters or even money on the outside.”
Carl and I exchanged glances. It sounded as if we were starting to hone in on the solution to this whole mess, though we weren’t quite there yet. We finished our meals with Betsy and tried to learn as much as we could, though everything else that she had to offer was information we already
had.
The flight back was no better for Carl, but I had been wise enough to stock up on chocolates from the airport before we boarded. It was faster on the way back—something about tailwinds—and we arrived just as it was getting dark. Carl and I agreed to meet up in the morning to discuss it all, as we were both much too exhausted to do it that night.
Chapter 21
“Well, I think it’s best if we go to the police,” I said, not wanting to give Carl an inch of ground.
“But do you really think they’ll be able to help?” he asked with genuine concern. “It’s not like we have much evidence, and those detectives are, well, you know... scary. Maybe we should find some more evidence ourselves first,” Carl said with a shrug.
I pouted. “Detective Clyde isn’t scary! You see him at the gym all the time.”
“Yes, true, but Rieker is scary enough for the both of them,” Carl sighed. “I’m still a little worried that the evidence we have just isn’t concrete enough.”
“What did you want to do then, Carl?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “Because it seems like we either present what evidence we have, or I can just go get arrested for a crime I had absolutely no part in.”
“All right, all right, fair enough. We’ll go see them now then, yeah?” Carl shrugged. “I don’t know if it will help at all, but I guess you’re right in that it’s better than doing nothing at all.”
“Exactly,” I said, trying my best to sound authoritative. In truth, though, I felt extremely nervous about the idea. Waltzing into the police station when I was a prime suspect to deliver such a small amount of evidence was more than a little bit terrifying.
“Do you think the detectives are still working?” Carl asked, checking his watch.
I pulled a face. “It’s four thirty, Carl, so you’re not weaseling out of this. But yes, I’m sure they’re still working. They seem always to be working, actually.” I expected that perhaps detectives were simply very busy while a case was on. Then again, Peter Prentiss had been taking special cases in Sydney, so maybe it was unusual for two detectives to stay in one place for so long. I sighed, realizing that my thoughts were just going around in circles.
“Good point,” Carl admitted, clearly resigning himself to his fate.
“It’ll be fine, Carl. Calm down,” I said, playfully slapping him on the back. “Just let me give Mongrel his dinner and we’ll get going.” I started rummaging through the kitchen cupboard. It was always easy to find his food, as it was practically the only thing in the house that didn’t contain chocolate. I briefly wondered what would ever happen if Mongrel ever ate some chocolate. I couldn’t imagine anything as scary as Mongrel on a sugar-high. Except perhaps Detective Rieker. At any rate, I was a responsible cat mother, so that would never happen.
I opened a tin of Mongrel’s favorite expensive cat food and poured it into his bowl. I pushed it slightly closer to his carrier basket and said my goodbyes. He meowed his discontent and skulked further into his carrier basket as he eyed me suspiciously. I checked his water dish to make sure it was full and headed for the door.
“Let’s get our story straight before we go,” Carl suggested nervously.
“Carl, we don’t need to get our story straight, because our story is true,” I explained calmly. “We just need to tell them what Betsy said, essentially. Only in a less scary way, because she was, frankly, terrifying.”
Carl nodded in agreement and ran his hands through his perfectly groomed hair. “All right, let’s go.” He sighed in resignation and walked over to his car. I locked the door to my house and got in the passenger side. I noticed that I hardly felt nervous in cars at all any more, at least, not in Carl’s car. I was still a prime suspect in a brutal murder case, but a win is still a win.
We arrived at the police station in good time, barely hitting any stops along the way. Not that this was abnormal, but I found myself getting more and more nervous as we drew closer and was almost hoping for something to stop us.
It’s not that I thought we were wrong to present the evidence we had, though I’d admit that it wasn’t much to go on. More to the point, I was worried that I’d be arrested on the spot, even if it was an irrational thought. I was still the prime suspect in the murder case—or a prime suspect, at least—so being anywhere near the detectives investigating it made me unreasonably nervous, even though I was completely innocent.
Still, I was coming here to try to prove my innocence, and I knew that ignoring the problem would only make it worse. I’d tried to avoid thinking about it, but there was a very real possibility that I’d end up in jail for a long time, if not for the rest of my life. That would be bad enough as it was, but it was made all the worse because I hadn’t actually done anything to deserve it. I swallowed nervously as the car came to a complete stop.
“Are you doing okay?” Carl asked, looking at me with genuine concern.
“I’m not too bad,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Just more nervous than I probably should be. I’ll be fine once we start talking, and hopefully they start listening.”
Carl nodded and got out of the car. I took a deep breath and did the same, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I knew it was an irrational fear—mostly, anyway—but that did nothing to calm my nerves.
We walked inside the police station, and I realized that I’d become more familiar with the building than I would have liked. I’d been in here so many times that I knew exactly where to go and what to do, though I almost missed the mystery. It was definitely better than having to deal with murder this often.
I walked up to the receptionist, the entire conversation already planned out in my head. I’d ask to speak to Detectives Rieker and Clyde, the receptionist would regard me suspiciously for a moment and call them, then Carl and I would wait for an unreasonable amount of time for the detectives to come and meet us.
In reality, I was only half-right. The receptionist looked at me and pointedly sighed. He picked up a phone without so much as talking to me and asked for Rieker and Clyde. “They won’t be too long,” the receptionist said with all the emotional range of a cardboard box. I smiled at him, somewhat embarrassed, and sat down next to Carl in the waiting area.
“Did you just ask for the usual?” Carl asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure how to feel about it, but we’ve been here often enough that we’re basically regular customers,” I said, staring at my feet. “At least we’re always here for the right reasons, I suppose.”
Carl laughed and nodded. “I’m sure they have regulars that they’re a lot less pleased to see,” he said, which I suspected was correct. It made me feel a little better, but I knew we’d be waiting a long time to see the detectives, despite the receptionist’s assurances.
After an hour and a half had passed, I couldn’t help but wonder if they just enjoyed making us wait or if they were genuinely too busy to make it here quickly. Maybe it was an interrogation technique, I thought, designed to soften us up, so to speak.
Another half an hour later the detectives arrived, both holding takeout coffee cups. I guess that was evidence that they weren’t simply busy.
“What do you want?” Detective Rieker asked as Clyde smiled at both of us.
I swallowed, struggling to stop my nerves from overwhelming me. “We have evidence to present,” I said, trying to keep my voice as stable as I could. Rieker motioned for us to follow him as the pair of detectives led us into an interrogation room.
The four of us sat at the table, Carl and I opposite Rieker and Clyde. It wasn’t the room we were usually brought to, though I suspected the other one might simply be busy, as this one seemed identical in every way, complete with a wall that was comprised entirely of a one-way mirror.
“You’re not carrying anything on you,” Detective Rieker said pointedly. “So please tell me that this isn’t going to be circumstantial verbal evidence.”
I felt my heart beating faster as my stomach raised into my throat. “Well, we spoke to Bet
sy,” I explained poorly, somehow assuming that it was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. There was a long awkward silence as I tried to compose myself.
“Who is Betsy and why does it matter?” Clyde asked. He sounded polite, despite the pointed way he’d worded the question.
Carl looked at me and sighed. “Betsy Baker. She’s my cousin. She’s a prison guard and she said that Clint Stockland and Todd Cambridge spent time in the watch house together. She also thinks it’s perfectly reasonable that Clint could have ordered a hit from prison,” Carl explained calmly.
“A hit?” Rieker asked. “As in, an assassination?”
“Yes,” I chimed in, nodding furiously. “Betsy is a prison guard at the prison that Clint Stockland is in now, which just adds to the point.” I felt my nerves lift as I finished the explanation, hoping that it would be enough to persuade the pair.
Rieker and Clyde were silent for a moment before Clyde motioned for Rieker to talk to him outside. The interrogation room seemed to be completely soundproof, as I couldn’t hear a word of what was happening outside. I started to feel nervous again. What if they had decided to arrest me? What if they thought we were crazy? Eventually they returned and sat opposite us once more.
“We’ll look into it,” Clyde said. “Thank you for bringing it to our attention. Remember, though, it’s nothing that will hold up in court. If we can’t dig up any real, solid evidence, then this means nothing at all,” he said sternly, no doubt making sure he got his point across.
“Thank you!” I said more loudly than I probably should have.
“Is there anything else?” Rieker asked impatiently.
I looked at Carl and he nodded to me. “We saw Herb Green and Paula Prentiss,” I said, clearing my throat. “They were in Herb Green’s house and they were, um, friendly.”
