The Aquittal

by Anne Laughlin

  *

  The file Bev emailed her was thin. It contained crime scene photos, various dry and unhelpful reports. A lab analysis confirmed the gun found at the scene was the murder weapon and the prints on it were Lauren’s, and the residue on her hands was from gunpowder. The time of death was established between 8:00 and 8:30.

  She set these aside and read through Bev’s notes. Bev’s partner took a statement from Kelly’s sister, Nikki, who let the police know about the affair Kelly was having with Ann-Marie Hessen. It was the first the cops had heard of it and probably shut down any thought of other possible suspects. Bev also had a list of Kelly’s friends, most of whom Josie recognized from the one Sarah had given her. The only signed statements in the file were from Nikki, Ann-Marie, and Lauren’s assistant, Eva, who could not establish an alibi for Lauren. There were brief interview notes on a few others. Josie added the new names to her own interview list. Bev’s notes also mentioned her inability to find Lauren’s parents and brother, who Nicholson, the senior detectie, wanted to interview. Josie would follow up on that as well. It looked to her like the investigation ended there. The file wasn’t going to be much help. Lauren owned the murder weapon, she had the motive of Kelly’s recent affair, and she had no alibi. Josie had to start somewhere, so she called Kelly’s friend Denise.

  It was seven o’clock on a Saturday evening and Denise was on her way out for the night. She agreed to talk with her later at Tillie’s. Josie hung up and felt something all too familiar buzzing through her. It was excitement and fear combining in a potent brew. In different times she might take it as a warning she was feeling a little manic, but she was well stabilized now on her medication. She was jazzed to start work again and scared she’d screw it up. Her nerves rumbled beneath her like a motorboat.

  Chapter Seven

  Josie walked through the door of Tillie’s for the first time in a year. She hoped she looked all right—dark jeans, a gray sweater that hadn’t lost all its shape, her trusty Frye boots. It should be fine unless Tillie’s had undergone a radical change from neighborhood tavern into a wine bar. She hadn’t been in any bar since her hospital stay. In the months before her breakdown there’d hardly been a night she wasn’t hunkered down in one. She was drinking so much in those days, she thought she’d join the rest of the alcoholic Harpers. But instead she got a bipolar diagnosis. Lucky her.

  At nine o’clock on a Saturday night, the bar was starting to get crowded. Tillie’s hybrid clientele of gays and lesbians and everyone not neatly gender labeled were spread out from the front bar, across a small dance floor, over two pool tables and into a back “quiet” room. Josie didn’t know what Denise looked like, but based on the photos she’d seen of Kelly, she guessed her to be in her thirties and very feminine. Denise said she’d be at Tillie’s with friends and Josie instantly imagined a pack of females like the ones that terrified her in high school and college.

  Her first pass through the bar didn’t turn up any likely candidates. The men far outnumbered the women and half of the women were at the pool tables. Some nodded at Josie as she walked through and one actually snarled. She hated to think what was behind that. When she returned to the front room she saw four women come through the door and she knew Denise was one of them. They were laughing, probably a little drunk, and peering around for somewhere to sit. She waited for them to settle at one end of the bar before she approached. She felt nervous and wondered how she could be the same person who’d questioned hundreds of witnesses while on the job, who’d easily picked up women with a babble of bullshit. Passing a calculus test would be easier than approaching these women.

  One of the four women eyed her as she drew near.

  “Are you Josie Harper?” she said, turning her bar stool fully around to face Josie. The woman’s friends all swiveled to take a look at her. They wore dresses and more accessories than Josie could comprehend. They whooshed and clacked with every move.

  “I am,” Josie said. “You must be Denise.”

  “Sarah said you were cute, and for once I agree with her.”

  One of the friends started laughing and Josie glanced at her before returning her gaze to Denise. She’d need to separate Denise from this herd if she wanted to have anything resembling an interview.

  “Can we go in the back to talk?” Josie said.

  Denise slid off the stool and waggled her eyebrows suggestively at her girlfriends, who exploded in laughter. Charming. Depressingly, Josie knew a year ago she would have been hitting on Denise, probably successfully. Now nothing could have interested her less.

  They walked through the pool room to get to the back bar, which was small and noticeably subdued. A few couples sat at high-top tables, leaning toward each other on wobbly bar stools. The back bar was tended by a large woman with ornate tattoos and a huge nose ring. You could hitch a rope to it and lead her out to the back forty.

  They found a table and Josie got a good look at Denise. She was pretty and wore an elegant mauve dress and matching heels. Mauve? It wasn’t pink and it wasn’t purple. It wasn’t typical Tillie’s attire, which tended toward funk or indifference. Denise also had a prominent scar across her cheek, which Josie found the most attractive thing about her.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you on a Saturday night,” Josie said.

  “It’s no problem. I told my friends I’d be meeting you.”

  “Were any of them friends of Kelly’s?”

  “No, different crowd,” Denise said.

  Josie tried to imagine having so many friends they were sorted into different crowds.

  “I’ve been hired to try to identify the person who killed your friend Kelly.”

  Denise rested one butt cheek on the bar stool, not quite committing to the conversation. “Yes, and I’m really glad someone’s doing that.”

  “Why?” Josie asked.

  Denise looked confused, as if she’d been asked to solve a math problem. “Why? Because of Kelly, of course. I’m not entirely sure Lauren didn’t kill Kelly, but either way, Kelly’s killer is walking around scot-free. That’s not right.”

  “I’m trying to get a handle on Lauren and Kelly’s social life and I’m hoping you can fill me in.”

  Denise smiled. “I’d be happy to. I mean, I can tell you about Kelly. I was about as close to her as anyone was. I didn’t know Lauren well. She didn’t come out with Kelly all that often.”

  “Why was that?”

  “She and Kelly were very different people. Kelly was much more social than Lauren. But Lauren sometimes made an effort. I’ve double-dated with them, been to their house for dinner. Lauren even lasted a couple hours here at Tillie’s one night.”

  “Was Kelly unhappy about their differences? It sounds like they were incompatible,” Josie said.

  Denise shrugged. “Kelly mentioned it a couple of times. She thought Lauren was a bit too tightly wound. But Lauren didn’t complain about her going out, so Kelly didn’t complain about Lauren staying home or working late at the office. It seemed to work for them, though it wouldn’t have worked for me. They seemed more like roommates than lovers.” Denise looked at Josie with an eyebrow raised. “Do you know what I mean?”

  “I think I’ve got the picture.”

  Josie brought up Kelly’s infidelity and Denise sighed. She looked down at the table before looking back at Josie. “Do you want a drink? I could use one.”

  Josie stepped over to the back bar and ordered a beer and a glass of wine. While she waited for her change she saw a woman at the end of the bar glance at her. Twice. Josie felt a flicker of recognition and then nothing, like a firefly—a little flash of light that blinks and then moves out of reach. She knew it was entirely likely she’d either slept with her or otherwise made a complete ass of herself. When she saw her glance at her again, Josie gave a quick, thin-lipped smile and nodded. She hoped the woman, whoever she was, didn’t hate her. She was cute.

  Denise was fiddling with her phone when Josie returned with the drinks. She pic
ked up her wine and an impossible number of thin silver bracelets slid down her arm.

  “You were going to tell me about Kelly’s new girlfriend,” Josie said.

  “I wouldn’t say girlfriend at all. Kelly and Ann-Marie slept together a number of times. But Kelly didn’t intend to turn that into a relationship.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We’re best friends, remember? I asked her about it. I didn’t think it was right. Lauren didn’t deserve that, and Ann-Marie had a partner, too.”

  She was surprised by Denise’s reaction. She’d assumed Denise would be cheering Kelly on. Denise took a drink of wine before continuing. “Lauren found out, of course.”

  Josie saw the woman from the bar leave the room, turning before she reached the door and giving her an enigmatic look. It was halfway between an invitation to follow her and a look of pity. Christ. She turned back to Denise.

  “Did Kelly tell you how Lauren took the news?”

  “Screaming and throwing things wouldn’t be Lauren’s style. She wasn’t a very demonstrative person and certainly not volatile like Kelly, who said their fights usually consisted of Kelly yelling and Lauren asking her to calm down. She said when Lauren heard about Ann-Marie, she simply left the room and went into her study. Kelly was murdered before I heard whether they were going to try to stay together or break up over it.”

  “Do you think Lauren was capable of killing Kelly over this?”

  Denise thought for a moment. “I think it’s possible. I don’t know Lauren well enough to guess what she’s capable of. I still think her silence at the trial doesn’t look good for her.”

  “So you lean toward Lauren being guilty.”

  “Let’s say I’m neutral.”

  Josie was about to ask her another question when Denise touched her hand. “Can we call it quits now?” she said. “I need to get back to my friends.”

  “Would you meet with me again?” Josie asked. She fumbled in her wallet for one of the new business cards she’d had made up at Kinko’s.

  Denise’s smile widened. “I’d like that. Give me a call. Or I’ll reach out to you.” Denise sounded like Josie had asked her on a date. She slid off her stool and went back to her friends and Josie stayed where she was, finishing her beer. The thought of dating had been out of mind for so long, even the hint of it felt startling. Denise didn’t tempt her, but maybe someone would. She was beginning to think it was possible.

  Then she thought of the woman who seemed to know her. Josie wondered if she was still in the bar. She hoped she could sneak past her; it was unlikely Josie would hear anything good from her. She was halfway through the front room before she saw her. There was nothing enigmatic about the look on her face. Her smile was inviting, her eyes friendly. She got up from her table and walked over to her.

  “Josie. I didn’t know if I’d ever run into you again. It’s been a while.”

  Nearly every social interaction Josie had since her diagnosis was difficult in some way, and usually embarrassing. But she saw warmth in this woman’s eyes. Maybe she hadn’t messed up with her. “I’m really sorry. I don’t remember your name.”

  “It’s Lucy. We met here a few times last year.” Lucy was looking up at Josie’s face. She was short and slender, with a shock of thick, curly red hair and expensive horn-rimmed glasses; she’d be easy to draw as a cartoon. She was distinctive enough looking that Josie should have recognized her, but she didn’t. There were times Josie wondered how she’d lived through those months of mania and heavy drinking. She seemed to have been in one long blackout.

  “Come on. Sit for a minute,” Lucy said, pulling her toward a table. Josie saw Denise and her friends still gathered together, laughing their heads off. She wondered if they were laughing about her. She turned a chair around and straddled it, facing Lucy from behind a barrier.

  “Are you here alone?” Josie asked.

  “For the moment. I’m supposed to meet a friend in a little while,” Lucy said. Josie didn’t say anything in response. “Can I get you a beer?”

  “No thanks. I’ve had my one.”

  “One?” Lucy looked curious.

  “I’ve changed my drinking habits quite a bit from last year.”

  Lucy looked at her for a long moment. “You seem really uncomfortable, Josie. Different than before.”

  Josie looked restlessly around the bar, avoiding Lucy’s eyes. “I have to be honest, I don’t even remember you. I’m sorry.”

  Lucy smiled. “I should be honest, too. I heard what happened to you, or at least the bar version. Is it true you ended up in the hospital for bipolar disorder?”

  Jesus. How’d that become news at the bar? Josie frowned and kept scanning the room. She saw a woman she hadn’t seen before sitting at the end of the bar opposite Denise. She looked like a street prostitute who was none too picky about her customers. Tillie’s wasn’t upscale, but tiny tube tops and micro skirts weren’t usually seen outside the annual drag show.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” Lucy said, continuing the conversation Josie had checked out of. “I want you to know I understand more about it than most people. My mother and my brother are bipolar.”

  Josie looked at her. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She truly was. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

  “If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. No judgment.”

  Lucy seemed earnest, at ease, welcoming. She smelled like herbal tea. Greta would love it if Josie opened up to someone like Lucy. Josie smeared on some Chapstick and scraped her chair back.

  “Thanks, but I’m fine now. And I should go.” She tried to smile at Lucy. “I guess I wasn’t a complete ass when we spent time together. You’re being too nice for that.”

  “You were great, Josie. I really enjoyed our time together.” Lucy looked perfectly relaxed as she gazed back at Josie.

  Josie was horrified to feel a lump in her throat, a physiological reaction to someone being nice to her. She had to fight to not cry, something that was happening more frequently. She reached for her Chapstick again, as if it were a drink.

  “I’m very glad to hear that,” she said, her voice thin with strain.

  “Though I know a couple of women who aren’t thrilled with you,” Lucy said, easing Josie’s tension considerably.

  “There are a surprising number of women in that club,” Josie said with a laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually laughed.

  Lucy laughed also. “I’m serious, though. I’d like to hang out. I loved our conversations and I didn’t even think you seemed particularly manic.”

  “I was busy self-medicating. Maybe the worst of my symptoms were tamped down.”

  Lucy reached into her bag and brought out a card. “Call me,” she said, standing up and pressing the card in Josie’s hand.

  Josie walked away, heading to the bathroom in the back before going home. She felt almost buoyant, lighter than she had before. She entered the bathroom and found three empty stalls; when she finished in one of them and went to the sink, the woman she’d seen at the bar dressed in slutty clothes walked in. She was teetering on ridiculous high heels and her wig was listing to starboard. She stopped when she saw Josie and for a brief moment they stared at each other. Then she careened toward an open stall. Josie was embarrassed for her and tried not to look her way as she held her hands under the old, noisy dryer. She heard something fall to the floor and turned to look. The contents of the poor woman’s purse were scattered at her feet.

  “Oh, no,” she said. Josie thought that sounded odd. She would have said “Oh, fuck,” herself, so she presumed a prostitute, or someone who doesn’t mind looking like one, would swear with the same vigor. Without thinking, Josie dropped to her knees and started gathering the things together.

  “You don’t have to do that,” the woman said. She was standing over Josie holding her hand over her mouth, as if she were hiding bad teeth.

  “Frankly, the way you’re dressed and with those shoe
s? This maneuver may be beyond you,” Josie said. The woman now covered her entire face with her hands.

  Josie looked at the items as she dropped them into a gold sequin clutch purse. House keys, Lexus key fob, an iPhone, a slim billfold, and a small Moleskine notebook. What any modern prostitute would carry on a working night. Josie had been a street cop for a long time. All she knew was this woman looked like a pro, but not the sort who did well enough to drive a Lexus or own an iPhone.

  Josie rose and handed the purse to her. She had a hard time looking at her with her lopsided wig.

  “Thank you,” said the woman. She looked down and Josie could see the tears fall down her cheeks.

  “Are you okay? You don’t seem like you’re okay,” Josie asked.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for your help.”

  Apparently she was also a very polite, Lexus-driving street whore who kept track of her business in her Moleskine notebook and checked in with her pimp on the latest model iPhone.

  The woman glanced at Josie and tried out a seductive smile. “Maybe there’s a way I can thank you. Would you like to take me to your place?”

  Josie felt her mouth drop open. “You’re kidding, right?”

  The woman grabbed onto Josie’s collar as she leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I can make you very happy. You won’t regret it.” Her voice was more strangled than husky.

  Josie took her wrist and gently pushed the woman away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what your story is, but I’m not interested.”

  Someone walked into the bathroom and Josie took the opportunity to scoot out the door. She walked to her car, confused as hell by the woman in the bathroom and trying to think who she reminded her of. There was something about the face that was familiar.

  Chapter Eight

  Lauren finished off her second Cosmo and quickly ordered another. Her only chance of completing Tim’s assignment was to be drunk enough to go through with it. The alcohol blunted the sting of the bartender’s smirk, of the people next to her shifting as far away from her as possible. It was going to be hard to seduce anyone when she was repelling more people than attracting them.