The detective sat across from me and smiled. “Sorry about the delay, Ms. Winters. We’ll try to go through this as fast as possible. We just have a few questions for you.”
“Emily. You can call me Emily.”
“Are you sure about that? Maybe we should call you Peyton.” Detective Bernard came into the room. We were going to play good cop/bad cop, and there was no doubt in my mind who the bad cop was going to be.
I looked him right in the eye and tried to be steely about it. “Emily will be fine, unless you’re paying for this conversation.” Okay, it was a smart-alec thing to say, probably not in my best interests, but I didn’t like Detective Bernard. I wanted him to know bullying me wasn’t going to be that easy. I hoped it worked because it was the only weapon in my arsenal. Bullying always worked on me.
Detective Braxton cleared his throat. “Yeah, let’s talk about your job. So Emily, you work for PK Times.”
“Yes sir.” Crime TV had taught me that you only answer what was asked.
He continued. “That’s a phone sex company, right?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“And in the performance of your duties there, you talked to James Alexander.”
“Yes sir, I did.”
“You know he was murdered, right?” Detective Bernard interrupted.
I took a moment to remind myself to breathe. In fact, I was making it a point to take a breath before I spoke. I wanted my answers to be short, sweet, and to the point. Typically, I was a blathering idiot, and I’m sure that my two detective friends would’ve loved that, but it wasn’t in my best interests.
“I read about it in the paper.”
Detective Braxton was working hard to be my new best friend. “So what did you two talk about?”
I just stared at him for a moment. “Mainly, I just moaned.”
He chuckled a little. “I could buy that, except that his calls to you lasted for a long time.”
Detective Bernard opened a manila folder and flipped through a few papers. “According to his phone records, most of his calls to you lasted about an hour. You can’t be saying that he lasted for an hour. I'd like to think I’m a pretty virile guy, and I know…”
I looked at Officer Braxton, please tell me that Detective Bernard was not going there. That was just asking for a smarty pants answer, and I wasn’t going to be able to say it, but I was already thinking it.
Braxton interrupted. “So we’re thinking that maybe you talked about more than…” I could tell that he was struggling to find the right word. “Well, more than what other guys might call you for.”
“Maybe not; it seems like you’re a talker. We have a copy of your phone log. You seem to have a very loyal consumer base. So why don’t you just tell us what else you and Jim talked about.”
I was starting to hate Detective Bernard. This good cop/bad cop thing actually worked. “We talked about everyday stuff.”
“Emily, we’re trying to solve a murder. We just need to know if he ever told you anything that might point us in the right direction. You talked to him a lot. I’m guessing that he was comfortable with you. He might’ve said some things to you that might’ve seemed like nothing at the time.”
It was easier to talk to Detective Braxton. “He wasn’t very happy at home. He had a lot of fantasies about his neighbor.”
“Did he mention anything else about his neighbor? Anything that happened in real life?”
I knew they were looking for information about the affair, and I did know all about that, but not from a phone call. Technically, they were only asking me about what Jim and I talked about. “Just fantasy stuff.”
“What about his wife? Did he ever say anything about her?”
“He made it pretty clear that they weren’t getting along. He told me she threatened him with divorce a few times. I got the impression that he wouldn’t be too upset about it. Look, half of the men I talk to have problems with their wives. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Good Lord! I felt like I was betraying Rachel-Ann. “If men got along with their wives, they wouldn’t call me.”
Detective Braxton continued with his questions. “Did he ever mention work? “
“He wasn’t happy there, either. Jim wasn’t a very happy guy.”
“Did he mention anyone at work he might be having problems with?”
“He didn’t like his boss very much, but most people don’t.”
Detective Bernard took over. “Let’s skip ahead. On the night of his disappearance, you were at The Alibi, right?”
I could actually hear myself gulp and I’m pretty sure that anyone in the station house heard it too. “Yes, I was there.”
“Jim Alexander was there, too. In fact, it was the last place he was seen alive. Did you see him there? Before you answer, know that we’ve talked to the bartender, and he told us that Jim met a girl there. Funny thing, that girl matches your description to a tee.”
Okay, that made me forget to breathe. “I didn’t go there to meet him. It just happened. I didn’t want it to. I was there on a… a date.”
He nodded. “Oh, we know that. You were there with Detective Diaz.”
I knew he was a cop when he came in with my coke and ice. Hearing it was something else entirely.
Bernard continued. “Did you have a good time with Detective Diaz?”
“I had a wonderful time.” I was hoping that, somewhere, Rick was listening. I hope that he knew I was telling the truth, too.
“See that’s the part that I don’t get. You had a good time with Detective Diaz. But you went back to hook up with Jim Alexander.” He leaned back in his chair. “Can you explain that to me?”
“I left my purse in the restaurant. I went back inside to get it, and he was holding it. He started talking to me. He insisted on getting me a drink, and that’s all that happened. He walked me to my car, and I went home.”
Detective Braxton leaned in closer to me. “Emily, you talked to Jim Alexander on the phone almost daily. You met him at an out-of-the-way place. You see where we might have a problem believing that you went there without the intention of meeting him.”
Detective Bernard had no patience for Braxton’s technique. “When did you start sleeping with him, Emily? When did your little phone affair carry over into real life?”
“Never!” It felt like someone was squeezing my brain and at any moment it might come oozing out my ears. Is that what Rick thought? That I was sleeping with Jim?
Braxton wasn’t happy with his partner’s harsh tone. “Hey, I get it. He was a rich, older man, someone that might provide you with guidance, make your life a little more comfortable.”
“Exactly how out of the way is The Alibi? Everyone knows about their lasagna, so it’s not like some big secret.” Remaining calm was becoming a struggle. “I never intended to meet him. Did you know that Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer called phone sex lines? I would never meet a caller in person, at least not on purpose.” Was I really using the Dahmer defense?
The two detectives exchanged glances. Bernard took over the questioning. “So after he walked you to the car, what happened?”
I took a deep breath. I was not going to cry. “Nothing. He went back inside and I went home. Honest, that‘s all that happened.” Could they actually think I was the one who murdered Jim? I could see Dani’s headline now: PHONE KITTEN KILLER.
Detective Bernard looked down at his papers. “You met Detective Diaz later that week. He mentioned Jim Alexander being at the same restaurant the night you were killed. You told him that you didn’t see him. You lied to him.”
I had to think how to word this. I had lied to him. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“You don’t think it was important? Ms. Winters, you lied to a police officer about a murder.”
“We were at a café and I didn’t know he was a police officer.”
“Oh, so you were just lying to your boyfriend? You had drinks with a guy after your date…”
I interrupted him. “It was our first date. The way you say it makes it sound like I went back looking for Jim, and that’s not the way it was. I was worried Rick would think the same thing, and I didn’t want that. It’s not what happened. I wanted to see Rick again, so I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. There was no ulterior motive. I just wanted to see him again.”
That was about as close to a confession as I could make. It seemed to satisfy Bernard a little.
“Did you see Alexander leave The Alibi?”
“No, he went back in. I’m sure the bartender told you that.”
Detective Bernard ignored my little attempt at sarcasm. He pulled a picture out of the folder. “Do you recognize this man?”
Did I ever.
“No.” I tried to sound like a sweet little lamb. “Is he the one who killed Jim?”
Detective Braxton stood up. “Thanks for coming down, Ms. Winters. If we have any other questions, we’ll be in contact.”
Detective Bernard smirked at me. “Do us a favor; don’t leave town.”
Did he really say that? I thought that was just something they said in the movies.
“Wait here, and I’ll get you a ride home.” Detective Braxton shook my hand, and they both left the room.
A few moments later, Rick opened the door. “Come on, Emily. I’m taking you home.”
He held the door open for me and followed me out of the room. “I think the two of us need to have a little talk, don’t you?”
Something told me the interrogation I was about to receive was going to be worse than anything Bernard or Braxton could come up with.
Rick didn’t say anything to me until we pulled up to my apartment. In fact, he didn’t even look at me. He just stared straight ahead, grinding his teeth the whole way home. We sat in front of my house for a few moments. “You don’t think I‘m a killer, do you?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“That’s good to know.” I sat there for what might have been seconds, but seemed like hours. “Well, I should get inside. Thanks for the ride home.” I went to open the door.
“I said we needed to talk.” He was still staring straight ahead.
“I thought maybe we would’ve talked on the way here. Since you didn’t say anything, I figured maybe you’d given up on the idea.”
Finally, he turned and looked me in the eyes. “I was trying to calm down. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“Oh.”
Of course, now he wouldn’t stop looking at me. I felt a little less wilty when he wasn’t making eye contact with me.
“Emily, you lied to me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t mean to? Emily, you made an effort not to tell me the truth. It was a deliberate act. You knew what you were doing. You should’ve told me what you were.”
I raised my voice more than I wanted to. “It’s not what I am.”
“You told me you were a waitress.”
“Technically, Craig told you I was a waitress.”
“Technically? You want to get off on a technicality? You went along with it. You led me to believe it was true. I want to know why you lied to me.” Let’s see, could it be I knew you would react like some leech was stuffing twenties in my g-string while I waved my hooie in his face? The answer was pretty obvious.
“Because of this. I wanted you to like me, and I knew the minute you found out about my job, you’d freak. So I didn’t tell you. It’s not really a lie. I just omitted.”
“Then it was a deliberate omission. It’s the same as lying, Emily.”
I sighed. “Rick, I know it’s not the greatest job in the world, but it pays well. It’s how I pay for school. I don’t do the things I talk about on the phone, and I’ve never met any of the guys who call me.”
He laughed. “Except for Jim Alexander.”
“You want to know the truth about it? Yeah, he called me that day, and he told me he was going to The Alibi.”
“So now you’re telling me you lied in your interview with Barry and Ken?”
Barry and Ken? Had I known their names were Barry and Ken, my interview would have gone a lot smoother. They sounded like Barbie’s neutered boyfriends.
“No, I didn’t. You called right afterwards, and you asked me to dinner, and I wanted to see you. I was excited.” I could feel tears beginning to well up in my eyes.
He turned away from me and was staring straight ahead again. “So you couldn’t say, ‘Hey, Rick, how about we go out for Chinese food instead?'”
What the hell? Was my love of General Tsao’s chicken general knowledge in the Greater Bay Area?
“You’re not listening. No one like you has ever been interested in me before.” Oh God, I was starting to cry. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. Then, when we started going out more, I didn’t want to lose it.”
“When I asked you about Jim Alexander, you should’ve said something.” He was trying his best not to look at me, but he wasn’t succeeding.
“Why? I didn’t know you were a cop. I didn’t know I was being interrogated.”
He exhaled heavily. “That’s different. Tell me the truth. Sonny Damone. Did you know he was there? You have to tell me. He’s a dangerous man, Emily. If he thinks you know something…”
“I don’t know who Sonny Damone is.” He had to be the guy in the picture.
“We got a subpoena for your company’s records, and I saw your name, your number, and your address. Do you know what it was like for me? I thought I knew you.”
“Rick, I don‘t know how to say this and make you understand.” I could feel the hot tears starting to roll down my face, and I was going to get all snotty in a few minutes. “I’ve been invisible to the male population all of my life. Men just don’t notice me unless they want something from me, and men like you…” I was starting to choke a little. “Men like you don’t see me, and it was nice being with you. I never had anyone like you really enjoy me. It felt good, and I wanted to… I just wanted to be with you for a little while longer. I knew if I told you about my job, it would change things. I didn‘t want this to end.”
His head snapped around, and he was staring at me. “You don’t know if anything would have changed. You never gave me that chance.”
Teary eyes, snotty nose, and now a trembling lip. It was official, I was pile of goo. “Yeah, I think I do.”
My heart sank a little when I opened the door and he didn’t insist I stay. “Rick, I’m not my job. You know who I really am.” I took a deep breath. “You didn’t tell me you were a cop. I thought maybe you were a stripper…”
“You thought I was a stripper?”
I nodded. “Craig suggested it. My point is, I didn’t care.”
“Craig thought I was a stripper.”
I nodded. “Dennis thought you might be Batman.” He smiled a little at that. I cleared my throat so he could hear me perfectly. “I’m sorry, Rick. I should’ve been honest. I should have trusted you.”
My heart was throbbing in my throat. I closed the car door as quietly as I could. I wasn’t going to lose my dignity in some divaesque dramatic door slamming incident. I walked up the front stairs of my apartment building. I was pretty sure we were breaking up; at least, that was what my surging stomach told me. I finally realized Rick had been my boyfriend, at least for a little while.
I hid behind the curtain of my bedroom window. Was he ever going to leave? Rick stayed right there for at least an hour. Okay, it was really more like three minutes, but I don’t think most people realize how long three minutes can be, especially when you’re hoping the man you just realized was your boyfriend will get out of the car, come to the door, and insist on working things out.
That didn’t happen.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So listen, we’re expanding. I’m getting a few new websites. I just bought phonecherry.com. Do you like it? I was thinking we’d put all the co-eds on it.” Leena chattered away.
/> Considering my recent heartbreak, it was hard to get excited about phonecherry.com. “It sounds good.”
Leena went on about the colors and the designs. Besides being a phone entrepreneur and dominatrix, Leena was also a pretty good web designer. If she had a fault, it was that she was a rotten speller. I hoped she had indeed purchased phonecherry, because if she had purchased phonecheery.com, I would’ve died. There was no way I could talk to the depressed and downtrodden who were paying two dollars a minute for a happy and perky little thought of the day. I figured dirty talk was easier.
I knew she was checking on me. I was feeling okay about the whole police thing. Basically, I was pumped for a lot of useless information. If the cops didn’t know Rachel-Ann wasn’t getting along with Jim at the time of his death, and if they didn’t know about Video Kaz, then they weren’t doing their job. It was the Rick thing that had me moping around the house.
At least now I didn’t have to worry about whether or not calling Damon would constitute cheating or not. No Rick, no cheating. It always helped to look on the positive side of things.
I found Damon’s card and dialed his number. There was a real chance he wouldn’t remember me. For all I knew, I was one in a long line of grieving women he hit on at funerals. It wasn’t like I could use my sexy voice either; he’d already seen me.
“Damon McCormick.”
Wow, he didn’t mess around. It was all business with this one. “Hi Damon. It’s Emily Summers.”
He gave me nothing.
“We met at Jim Alexander‘s funeral.”
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 17
