The Key

by Sarah May Palmer

Still no news, she uttered to herself.

  Her hands were tied. She couldn’t jump on a bus to see Scott. By now he’d be wide awake and aware of what she’d done. He’d be angry with her, and she still felt guilty about deceiving him the way that she did. He’d trusted her enough to give her a job, and now she had betrayed him.

  Carly sat quietly for a while and pondered over things until her head cleared. “Que Sera Sera, as granny used to say. What will be, will be.” Carly was talking to herself again. She knew that she had done the right thing by going to the police. And that was that, as far as she was concerned.

  I have no choice now. I just need to hang around the apartment watching the TV until the story breaks.

  FIFTEEN

  It was 8.05 a.m. when a red faced and flustered Edwin Cornelly rushed into the police station, brown leather briefcase in hand. He wasn’t looking his normal dapper self; it almost seemed as if he’d slept in his $2000 pin-striped suit. “Where’s my client,” he panted, slightly out of breath.

  By 8.55 a.m. Cornelly had finished speaking with Vincent. Detectives Abernethy and Murphy from Harvest Spring Junction had arrived earlier to fill in all the relevant paper work, and by 9.05 a.m. they were back on the road with their prisoner.

  The uneventful journey to Harvest Spring Junction took about half an hour, and there was a welcoming committee waiting to greet them. Everyone reckoned that Vincent would just admit his guilt as it was a ‘cut and dried’ case.

  Excitement levels were riding high in the station, because crimes such as murder didn’t really happen in places like this, and by 10 a.m., Detective Murphy had started the interview tape. After asking several questions regarding the last time Vincent saw Tracey Dawn Jackson, Detective Abernethy produced the attaché case.

  Vincent’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped!

  “I’m now showing the suspect one Samsonite aluminum attaché case with the initials L.H. on it. Have you seen this attaché case before, Mr. Halliday?”

  “Yes, that’s my case; where did you get it?” said Vincent nervously.

  Ignoring Vincent’s question, Abernethy opened the case and continued. “Have you seen the contents inside this case before?”

  As the detective was asking the question, he slowly started to remove the contents from the case, which were now protected by plastic evidence bags. One by one he laid them on the table. After doing so, he verbally listed the items for the benefit of the tape.

  “Three envelopes addressed to Mr. V. Halliday. Three large photographs of Mr. Vincent Halliday in uncompromising positions with an unknown woman….”

  “Yes, yes, they’re mine,” Vincent interrupted impatiently.

  “I haven’t finished yet, Mr. Halliday. May I continue? One pink ribbon, one red ribbon, one silver colored ring with a blue colored stone, one gold colored bracelet with charms attached, and one gold etched locket with the name ‘Tracey’ engraved on the back of it.”

  Vincent felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of stomach the moment he recognized the gold locket from recent news bulletins. “Now just hold on a minute! Stop right there. The envelopes and photographs are mine, but that other stuff; no way. Never seen any of it before in my life.”

  Cornelly cautioned his client. “Vincent, that’s enough. We talked about this. Don’t say another word.”

  “No way, I’m not sitting here and getting accused of doing something that I haven’t done. Yeh, that’s my case. Yeh, they’re my papers. If you must know, someone has been blackmailing me for years. Caught me ‘with my pants down’, so to speak. I couldn’t let my wife and kids find out; it would destroy them.”

  What he really meant was that he couldn’t let his wife find out, or his money flow and his lifestyle would come to an abrupt end.

  Looking visibly shaken, he continued, “I figured that once the kids grew up, I could find out who was blackmailing me. Until then, I was keeping the stuff hidden at my brother’s place. I gave it to Scott and he said he’d keep it safe till I needed it. Someone must have stolen it and the rest of the stuff belongs to them. Take my fingerprints. You might find my prints on the papers, but there’s no way you’ll find them on that other stuff. I’ve never seen it before. Well, that’s a lie. I do know that Tracey did wear a necklace like that one, but I never took it, I didn’t put it in my case, and I didn’t kill her.”

  “Interview suspended,” said a straight faced and disappointed Abernethy. He placed the items back into the attaché case and closed the lid.

  Abernethy and Murphy looked at each other, but didn’t say a word until the prisoner had been taken back to his cell. “Let’s bring in Scott Halliday. Vincent might be able to keep up the pretence, but Scott’s another story. I’ll give him half an hour in an interview room and he’ll tell us everything we need to know. Can you believe the nerve of that Vincent guy? Someone must have stolen the case. He must think we’re stupid,” Murphy argued.

  Abernethy was fuming. He’d known the Halliday brothers for years, and he knew that while Vincent had repeatedly flaunted the law, Scott had never stepped out of line. The most he’d done was get into a fight here and there; and that was always when he’d had a drink. Still, thanks to Vincent implicating him, they had grounds for bringing Scott in.

  SIXTEEN

  Abernethy and Murphy wasted no time and immediately sped off to the Cabbage Tree to locate Scott Halliday. It was eerily quiet there when they arrived a few minutes later. They knocked on the door and shouted up to the slightly open window, but no one responded. They walked round to the side door and tried the handle; it opened.

  “Scott. Scott Halliday.” They repeatedly called out Scott’s name as they walked through the bar and up the stairs. Each room was empty; but in the bedroom they noticed some clothing and other belongings scattered on the floor.

  “Maybe Vincent was telling the truth. Maybe the place was robbed?” said Murphy.

  “Or maybe Vincent Halliday’s wife or Cornelly phoned Scott to tell him we’d arrested Vincent. Maybe they told him to clear off, so he wouldn’t be able to say anything that he shouldn’t. We need to put out an APB on him,” replied an irate Abernethy, “I’ll give the station a ring now.”

  Abernethy and Murphy continued to look around, but eventually concluded that if there had been anything else left here by Vincent, that Scott would have been ordered to remove it before he left.

  As they walked back to their car, Murphy came to an abrupt stop. “I wonder who the other stuff belongs to? The ribbons and things. We’ve been so busy concentrating on the locket that we’ve never checked out the other items. Still, if we get to Scott quickly enough he might be able to fill in the blanks for us.”

  By 10.40 a.m. the station had put out an APB, and notified the news channels and the local radio station. The quicker they got Scott the sooner they’d get what they needed to charge Vincent Halliday with the murder of Tracey Dawn Jackson.

  SEVENTEEN

  After busying herself for as long as she could, Carly once again started to cycle through the news channels. At 10.51 a.m. the story had hit the news, but the face that she saw on screen wasn’t Vincent’s as she’s expected. It was Scott’s!

  Feeling like she’d been hit by a truck, Carly dropped to the sofa in shock. “No. No. No. What are you talking about? You don’t want Scott, you want Vincent!” she yelled at the TV expecting it to understand.

  The lengthy news report was filled with innuendos and hearsay, but the gist of the report was that Scott was missing from the pub and the police wanted to talk to him urgently. It was reported that his car was still outside the pub, with a flat tire.

  The news report said that the police from Harvest Spring Junction were seeking Scott Halliday, in order for him to ‘help with their enquiries’. Carly knew from experience that whenever police said that, what they really meant was that they suspected someone of being involved in a crime.

  Damn it, what have I done. Scott must have woken up and panicked. He probably got scared
and ran off. What can I do? It’s no good going back in time and warning Scott, just in case he tries to stop me going to the police. I need to find him now and convince him to talk to the police. It’s no good him protecting his brother; it’s murder, and he needs to think of himself. But what if Scott goes crazy with me? This is all my fault, if he doesn’t give himself up the police will think he really has got something to hide! What a mess!

  In a blind panic, Carly decided that she needed to act fast. She had never tried to travel back in time during daylight hours before, but she urgently needed to get back to the point when Scott left the pub. If it worked, she’d follow him to see where he went.

  Hurrying to the bedroom, she lay down on top of the bed and set the CD to play. She hoped that her agitated state of mind and the brightness of her bedroom would not stand in her way.

  It may have taken a little while longer, but the CD did its job. Carly was in a deep sleep and starting out on her travels once more.

  EIGHTEEN

  The next thing that Carly knew, she was standing across the road from the Cabbage Tree pub. Her fake orange-strapped Millage Luna watch indicated that it just after 9 a.m. She at first wondered if Scott had already left the pub, but then reasoned that so far she’d never arrived too late to sort out a problem.

  Waiting anxiously for Scott to appear from the pub, Carly wondered what she would do if he spotted her. Realizing he would probably be extremely angry with her, she decided to go with her gut instinct and stay well out of sight.

  When Scott did appear from the pub entrance, large duffle bag in hand, he looked furious. Carly had indeed made the right choice not to approach him. When he saw that he had a flat tire, he cursed it, kicked it, and then scurried away.

  Carly followed behind at a safe distance. “Oh, he looks really pissed. The flat tire hasn’t helped him, but it sure helps me,” she whispered to herself.

  She watched him enter the railway station and then make his way onto the platform. He obviously planned to buy a ticket when he was on the train. “Brilliant!” Carly muttered to herself in a sarcastic tone, “now he’s going to jump on a train, and I’m going to end up who knows where. Let’s hope it’s not too far and I’ve got enough for a ticket.”

  Checking the train timetable on the wall she could see there was only one train due, and that was in five minutes time. Thankfully the last stop on the train was to Sunholme, so even if she had to follow Scott all the way there, it wasn’t too far.

  Sunholme was a fairly large town; a town where a stranger would go unnoticed and where most people kept themselves to themselves. Many of the inhabitants had had ‘run ins’ with the law; it was a place that wouldn’t be at the top of your bucket list of places to visit.

  Lurking behind a pillar, Carly felt like a criminal herself, but she knew that she couldn’t let Scott see her. The five minutes waiting for the train seemed to last an eternity. When it eventually pulled into the station, she let Scott board first. She climbed aboard the adjoining carriage and positioned herself where she could clearly see him; a place that had a favorable balance of risk; a very small chance of being seen, but a clear line of view were it would be unlikely that she lost sight of him.

  Usually Carly enjoyed riding on a train, but today was different. She barely noticed the colorful green fields and other splendid views, because today she needed to keep her eyes on Scott.

  With only two stops of the journey remaining, Carly wondered what was in Scott’s mind. And when he didn’t leave his seat as it approached the penultimate station, she knew for sure that they would be getting off at Sunholme. Bloody marvelous bemoaned Carly, just where I didn’t want to be!

  It was almost 10.20 a.m., and that meant there was just over thirty minutes before the news broadcast would hit the airwaves. Pondering on whether to make the call to the police while they were still on a moving train, Carly checked her cell phone.

  Damn it. No signal. I hate this damned phone. Never works when you need it. Trains, subways, shopping malls, no signal. In the apartment when I don’t need it, I get a perfect signal; now when I could really use a signal. Nothing! Typical. I’ll just have to wait till he gets off in Sunholme and see where he goes from there.

  When the train pulled into Sunholme ten minutes later, Carly waited until Scott stepped off the train, and then she followed. She’d never been there before, so the fear of losing him was now greater than the fear of being spotted.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Carly discovered Scott’s destination, when he crossed the street and entered a rather grubby-looking motel. Spotting the sign, she didn’t miss the irony of the motel’s name; ‘Pleasant View’. The Pleasant View Motel, Sunholme, overlooked a piece of derelict land which housed a burnt out car, a selection of house bricks, and a battered supermarket shopping cart. Oh, very pleasant indeed, she tittered to herself.

  Carly watched as Scott walked into the motel, and continued to observe when a few minutes later he let himself into door number 11.

  It was now 10.42 a.m. so that meant she had to act fast. The news bulletin about Scott would air at 10.51 a.m., and if the Scott saw the broadcast he’d panic. If the motel staff saw the broadcast they might call the police, but they might also inadvertently or deliberately tip him off. After all, this wasn’t exactly the home of model citizens!

  Carly pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, but immediately realized that the police would be able to trace her after the call. Looking around, she spotted a nearby payphone, which she quickly made her way over to. She rang the Harvest Spring Junction police station anonymously and gave the location of Scott Halliday. Then she hung up abruptly before the inevitable questions of who she was could be asked.

  Carly felt the urge to convince herself that she had done the right thing. I know I’ve made the right decision to help Scott. Yes, I have. Definitely. It was the best thing to do for sure. And I’m going to stay here and watch until I see him climbing into the patrol car.

  Carly watched each minute slowly tick by on her watch. It’s true what they say about a watched pot never boiling, she reflected. At 10.50 a.m. she saw a patrol car silently approach. No sirens. And no flashing lights. It felt strange to her how people in the vicinity suddenly started to walk more quickly the moment a police car came into view. And by the time the patrol car came to a stop outside room number 11, the street was devoid of people.

  The next minute or two were just a haze, but Carly snapped out of it when she saw the two officers leading Scott to their car. He looked bemused. He looked like a lost little boy. But she knew it was for the best. As the police pulled away, the street started to fill with all sorts of characters once again. Carly became aware that a group of dubious-looking youths were coming in her direction, and she didn’t think it wise to stick around to find out what their intentions might be.

  Carly turned on her heels and started to quickly head back towards the train station. The faster she walked, the louder the footsteps behind her became. Carly’s heart was beating like a big bass drum. Perspiration was streaming down her face. Her legs felt like mush. Then a tap on her shoulder made Carly let out an almighty scream. “Arghhhhhh.”

  Carly opened her eyes and realized she was now back in her apartment.

  NINETEEN

  Carly turned on the TV to catch the latest update. She knew it would take a while before the officers got back to Harvest Spring Junction, and even longer before the news was relayed to the news channels.

  There were several big news stories on TV that day, and although she personally knew all about Vincent Halliday, his attaché case and Tracey Dawn Jackson’s locket, the media were still blissfully unaware of those things. All they knew was that the police were looking for Scott to help with enquiries.

  Of course by now there would be reporter’s sniffing around like bloodhounds, but Carly knew that when it was murder, everyone in law enforcement stayed tight lipped. Too many previous cases had been thrown out of court over a technicality, a
nd no one wanted a murderer to walk free.

  Considering her options, Carly pondered on what to do next.

  Maybe I should call in at the radio station. Just say I was passing. I could do some fishing about to find out exactly what the media does know. On second thoughts, I better not risk it. I need to stay quiet until they charge Vincent Halliday with the murder of Tracey Dawn Jackson.

  She concluded, only after a suspect is charged with murder would more details be released. It has to be another waiting game. Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long.

  Relaxing on the sofa for the first time in a long while, Carly had time to reflect on the past few days. It had been scary, exciting, and exhausting all at the same time, but although a million emotions were going through her mind, she knew she’d do it all again. In fact, she was coming to the conclusion that it would soon be time to make some very drastic changes about the direction her life was heading in.

  It was only after going over in her mind about the moment she opened the attaché case, that she remembered the other items in the case. There was no mention of items such as ribbons, rings or bracelets being missing from Tracey Dawn Jackson. Why would other female items be with the locket? Was Vincent Halliday some sort of weirdo with a fetish for hoarding girl’s stuff, or was he something even more sinister?

  Questions rattled through Carly’s mind, and it would be a good ten hours later before she got the answers to her questions.

  TWENTY

  It was late into the evening when Carly saw the beginning of the news item about Tracey Dawn Jackson. It went on for some considerable time about the disappearance of Tracey, the years of searching for her, and the eventual discovery of her buried body.

  Then came a shocking twist.

  It wasn’t Vincent Halliday that had been charged with the murder of Tracey Dawn Jackson, it was Scott. And on top of that revelation, there were even more victims. Carly sat watching in amazement as the newscaster read out the story.