Red Blooded Murder

by Laura Caldwell

  He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket.

  My breath stopped. What was he doing?

  He pulled something from the jacket. It was square. Blue.

  “It’s my passport,” he said. “It says I was in Mexico on Monday, just like I told you.” He bent down and tossed the passport. It bounced and skidded to a step above me.

  I picked it up, looked at his photo-admittedly adorable, a sexy twist to his mouth. I flipped through the pages. And there it was-an entry stamp for Mexico on Monday. An exit stamp for yesterday.

  I looked up at him, my brain reeling with the surreal of him, of this situation. For a second, I craved the calm familiarity that I used to have with Sam, missed the days when we were together, when he understood every notion my mind seemed to register, every little twinge my body felt and I understood his.

  Theo sat down on a step and put his arms on his knees. He seemed to realize that my thoughts and my emotions were spinning, whirling, that they were having a very hard time landing.

  “I was going to tell you, you know,” he said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “About Jane. And me. Izzy, I’ve only known you for a week.” He no longer looked anxious or irritated but rather wistful and compassionate and something else I couldn’t read. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ears. “But it feels like I’ve known you longer.” He took a breath, then exhaled loud. “Look, inside my head, I’m older than twenty-one. But I’m still learning things-about relationships, about sex, about work. I’m changing all the time. And I’m different now than I was when I was with Jane. I’m into you in a whole different way.” He seemed earnest. He seemed as if he was telling me the truth. But it was obvious to me I had absolutely no fricking clue what the truth was anymore.

  “And yet the only reason you hit on me,” I said, “the only reason you slept with me, was to get back at Jane. Because you were in love with her.”

  “No, I’m over Jane. I have been for a while, and I hadn’t seen her in forever before that night. When I ran into you guys, and she introduced us, I was just playing at first, hitting on you to try to make her crazy, but she didn’t care, and then I realized I did. About you. There’s just something about you.”

  I looked at his passport again, and thought about everything I’d learned about Theo in that week. He had never lied to me, I realized. He had omitted information, certainly, but I understood what he was saying. We’d only known each other such a short time, just a weekend, really. When I thought about it, he had never really done anything wrong, not that I could tell. And his passport proved that he couldn’t have killed Jane.

  “I’m sorry I accused you,” I said.

  He smiled. “You didn’t accuse. You asked.”

  “I guess I was surprised. To hear about the Jane thing. And I think I felt stupid.”

  He nodded. “That’s not fun.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t. But it’s also not fun to be accused. I know that. So I’m…I’m sorry I accused you.”

  He gazed at me. “What can I do? I want to help you.” He was so big physically, and there was also the presence of him, which took up so much space. Yet right now, he looked helpless. And young.

  The stairwell was growing warm, stifling almost. Outside I could hear muted chatter from the media.

  “C’mere,” Theo said, standing.

  I stood, silent. Finally, I took a step up, then another and another until I was one above him and our faces were even, until I could breathe in that Theo scent that had made me crazy all last weekend. And it still worked. The human, sexual part of me that couldn’t be turned off was turned on. But my brain wouldn’t let me go there.

  “What can I do?” he said again. His voice was soft. I stared at his cushioned lips. “What can I do?” He put his hands on my waist.

  “Theo, I can’t,” I said, pulling back a little.

  “Shh,” he said. “We’re not…We’re just…” Slowly, his hands still on my waist, he drew me closer; slowly he wrapped his big arms around me, pulling me into him, curling me against his body, stroking my hair, holding me.

  I shuddered with comfort. And finally, I clung to him.

  We stayed like that for minutes. Five, maybe, then time stretched. It must have been ten minutes and then fifteen. Neither of us moved. Something about being there soothed me, restored me, almost.

  But then the calm of the moment was shattered by a banging sound, then a buzzing noise, then loud knocking. I could hear the buzzer reverberate upstairs in my apartment.

  “Do you want to answer it?” Theo asked.

  I shook my head. “It’s just the press.” I curled myself into him for another moment. But the banging got louder, and the buzzing didn’t let up. Every few seconds or so, buzz, buzz, buzz. And then finally, whoever it was started laying on the buzzer, so that a long screech filled the stairwell.

  Theo stood straighter. “I’ll get rid of them.”

  “No, don’t. Don’t do anything.”

  More pounding, more buzzing.

  “Look, Theo,” I said, trying to ignore it. “You asked what you could do, and I think the only thing you can really do right now is stay away from me.” I thought of Maggie’s comments. “It doesn’t look good that you dated Jane and then me, and then Jane ended up dead, and I ended up with her job. And really, I’m in no shape to spend time with anyone.”

  He shrugged. “I want you however you are. Wherever you are.” He touched my jaw with the fingers of his left hand. He pulled my face toward him. He kissed me with those lips, that tongue. And for that moment, the world was vaporized, gone, nothing lingering except us.

  But then more banging, the buzzing. Whoever it was, they weren’t going to stop.

  I groaned, blinked a few times, pulled my face away. “I should get that. And you should go. Maybe when this is over…” I trailed off, struck with fear that it might never be over. But I shook that fear away. Enough with the fear, I thought. It would get me absolutely nowhere.

  Once more, his fingers on my jaw; once more, a kiss, this one quick. Too quick. “When this is over,” he said, nodding, as if he was very sure of something.

  Thumping, buzzing from the front door.

  I groaned. I turned and stormed down the stairs. “Who is it?” I shouted through the door.

  “Detective Vaughn.”

  I looked up at Theo, heard Maggie’s words-this doesn’t look good. Should I take him up to my apartment and leave down the back stairs? But that would look like I was hiding something. And I had nothing to hide.

  “McNeil,” I heard Vaughn yell, “I have a warrant.”

  75

  W hen I opened the door, Vaughn stood with two uniformed cops behind him. The cameras and reporters formed a half circle around them, clicking and shooting like mad.

  Oh God, what was happening? I zeroed in on Vaughn’s face, which bore his usual self-satisfied half grin.

  “Izzy! Izzy!” the reporters yelled. They were a pulsing mass.

  Vaughn’s eyes shot over my head to Theo. And he grinned. “How about that?”

  “He was here to show me his passport,” I said. “He’s leaving.”

  Theo touched the small of my back-a gentle, lingering touch that said so many things-and then he stepped outside, moved around Vaughn and the officers and walked right across my lawn. I watched him until he reached the street. A few of the reporters followed him. He said nothing to them. He kept walking.

  And then he stopped for one minute, turned around and met my eyes. He raised his arm. He gave a wave, and then Theo kept walking away from me, just as I’d asked him to do.

  “You better let me in,” Vaughn said with a full, cold grin, “or I’m going to make a statement to these guys.”

  Damn it. I didn’t know what to do. I needed to call Maggie.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the retreating figure of Theo. “The press love a good sex triangle. It won’t just make the headlines here. You’ll probably get international c
overage when I tell them this one.”

  Vaughn turned around and held up a hand. The media went silent. I felt the situation spiraling away from me. I had no idea what he was going to say or do. All I knew was that the last time he made a statement I got fired.

  “No,” I said, before he could start.

  He threw a glance at me over his shoulder. I gestured for him to step inside the door.

  He did so with a smirk, and then it was just the two of us in the dark stairwell, the door shutting, bringing a relative silence.

  For a weird second, it felt as if we had gone on a date, and we were saying goodbye. I’d never been that close to him before.

  And I didn’t want to be. “What do you want?”

  “To come into your apartment.”

  “No way.”

  He smiled again. “Like I said, I’ve got a warrant.”

  “An-” I could hardly get myself to say it “-an arrest warrant?”

  “Not yet. That’s next.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded sheets of paper. He opened them up and handed them to me. The top of the first sheet read, Search Warrant. I tried to read it, but my breath was short and the words seemed to skitter around. I could see that it listed my name and address, as well as the address for Trial TV, and it was signed by a judge. I flipped to the other sheets. There was an affidavit and a complaint requesting the warrant.

  “I didn’t get a copy of this,” I said. “In order for this to be valid, I should have received notice.”

  Vaughn smiled. “You’re not so good of a lawyer, are you? We don’t have to give you notice of anything.”

  My mind whirled over conversations I’d had with Maggie and realized he was right-they didn’t have to give notice for a request of a search warrant. They just had to tell you when they got it.

  “Ever seen an Emmy Award?” he asked.

  “What?” I said, irritated.

  “An Emmy Award.”

  “I’ve seen the show.”

  “I mean the award. The trophy. Ever seen one?”

  I shook my head. What was he going on about? Then I remembered something. “I guess I saw Jane’s.”

  “Really?” He cocked his head to the side. “When did you see that?”

  “The Saturday before she died. When she found the flowers in her house and asked me to come over. I told you about that.”

  “You told me you went there. You didn’t tell me you’d looked at the Emmy, picked it up, whatever.”

  “I didn’t pick it up. My brother did.”

  “Your brother? Really?” His eyebrows shot up. “What’s your brother’s name?”

  I hesitated. Should I tell him? But he could easily find it out. “Charlie. Charlie McNeil.”

  “Charles McNeil.” He seemed to be saying it as though he was memorizing the name. “And what about the day Jane died, when you were there that day. You see the Emmy then?”

  “Enough,” I said. “I’m not answering any questions without my lawyer.”

  He looked at me and blinked. Then blinked again. Then once more. The blinking was making me think of the way he clicked his pen. Instead of click, click, click, it was now blink, blink, blink.

  “Let me ask you a question,” I said. “What did you tell a judge in order to get this warrant?”

  He guffawed. “Are you kidding me? What didn’t we tell them? You were the one who was supposed to see Jane before the party. You took over her job the next day. You were seen kissing Jane a few days before she died.”

  “We did not kiss. I told you that. Just like I told you I wasn’t with her on Friday.”

  He cocked his head. “I’ll give you that one. Your boyfriend, Theodore, came in.” He gave me a mocking look. “Isn’t he a little young for you?”

  Ignoring the crack, I said, “He told you everything.”

  “Yeah, yeah he did. Boy, that was fun.” Vaughn, the jerk, really looked as if he meant it, as though questioning Theo had been a party for him. What was wrong with this guy? Why did he dislike me so much?

  I said nothing. I could feel myself scowl. And then a thought occurred to me-maybe it wasn’t so simple as Vaughn not liking me. Maybe he really thought I was guilty. The feeling of being wrongfully accused was a terrible one, an unbelievably vulnerable one. And to have someone truly believe something horrible about you-that you killed someone-was even worse than the accusation.

  Vaughn kept talking. “And boy, then what does Theodore tell me? He says that he used to sleep with Jane. And now you two are together.”

  I swallowed hard. “We’re not together.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, whatever. You were obsessed with Jane. You had some weird love triangle going on.”

  I pictured Maggie screaming at me, and I finally clamped my mouth shut.

  “Look,” Vaughn said, “the point is, we didn’t have a problem getting this warrant, even before I heard from Theodore. We told the judge everything about you, and we told her some other interesting tidbits about Jane and the crime scene, too.”

  “Like what?” I couldn’t help it. It shot out of my mouth. Interesting tidbits about the crime scene. What did that mean?

  “Don’t worry. All I’m saying is we had way, way more than we needed to get this.” He held up the warrant again. “So it has been issued, and now you and I and those guys outside…” He jerked a thumb at the door. “We’re going upstairs to your apartment.”

  I felt terrified suddenly. “You’re not going in my condo until my lawyer gets here.”

  Again that cold smile. “Doesn’t work like that. We don’t have to wait for anything. And under Illinois law, we can force you to be there while we conduct the search.” He opened the front door. “Let’s do it,” he said to the two cops.

  76

  E verything I owned was pawed through, shaken, opened, poked at.

  Initially, Vaughn mostly stood around while his uniformed cops did the dirty work, and somehow that was worse. He walked back and forth from cop to cop, looking over their shoulders as they rifled through my shelves, ran their fingers over my clothes, dug their hands deep into the drawer where I kept my underwear. Vaughn watched it all-a voyeur who seemed to get off not from the act of the search but from my reaction to it. I could tell that he read my face, that he saw my mortification, my sense of violation.

  I kept calling and texting Maggie. Where was she?

  I walked, arms crossed, from room to room, helpless, watching them.

  I stopped in my living room and over the bar top saw a cop paw through my kitchen drawers.

  My phone rang. Mayburn.

  “You did it!” he was saying as I answered. His voice was loud and happy.

  “I did what?”

  The officer closed the utensil drawer and started on my cabinets.

  “You nailed Josie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just got off the phone with the lab who analyzed the thong.”

  “You got them to do it on a weekend?”

  “They owed me one. So guess what they found? The pearls on the black thong you lifted-you know what they’re made of?”

  “Plastic?”

  “Cocaine!”

  “Are you kidding me?” My mind shot to my own pearl thong. “But mine…The one I had…?” When I wore that thing, did I have eight-balls lining my ass?

  “No, I told you this week-the kind you had was made of plastic. Anyway, this is great. I mean, it’s not great for my client to find out that her manager was selling cocaine out of her store in the form of a pearl thong, but she knew something was wrong, and it turns out, she was right. Now she’s got to decide how to deal with it. But the thing is we did our job. Or I should say you did.”

  “Thanks.” At least I hadn’t been fired from this gig. I was about to tell him the cops were at my house when my phone beeped. Maggie. “Mayburn, gotta go.”

  I answered the phone. “Mags!” I turned my back and dropped my voice. “The police are
here.”

  “Got your messages. Sorry. I’ve been with Wyatt.”

  “With Wyatt, like with Wyatt?”

  “With Wyatt, like breaking up with Wyatt. What’s happening over there?”

  “I’m standing in my living room, watching a cop go through my kitchen.”

  Over the bar top, I could see the cop bending down, digging through the drawers next to the stove. He was a burly black guy. When he heard me mention him, he stood up and gave me a just-my-job kind of a look, then bent down again. He seemed like the nicer one of the two. The other one I could hear guffawing with Vaughn in my bedroom. They’d probably found the pearl thong.

  “Did they show you the warrant?” Maggie asked. “They have to have it in their hand and show it to you.”

  “Yeah, he showed it to me.”

  “Okay, and you haven’t said anything, have you? Anything that could be construed as a statement?”

  “Well…” I said again.

  “Oh, no.”

  “He asked me whether I’d ever seen the Emmy Awards.” I thought about it. “No, I take that back. He asked me if I had ever seen an Emmy Award.”

  “What? Look, don’t say anything else. Nothing, okay? I’m on my way.”

  Maggie arrived fifteen minutes later. She was still wearing jeans. With her lack of makeup and her red eyes, she looked like a forlorn teenager. But she didn’t act like one.

  She gave me a quick hug. “Jesus, those newspeople are tenacious,” she said, standing on her tiny tiptoes to grab me tight around the neck. “Is Vaughn here?”

  “Yeah.” Gratitude filled me. No matter what happened here, I wasn’t alone.

  She let me go. “Vaughn!” she bellowed. Maggie can be surprisingly loud for such a small person.

  Vaughn came out of my bedroom, wearing one of his patented smug looks.

  “Where’s the warrant?” she demanded.

  He reached in his pocket, handed it to her.

  She flipped through the pages. “How did you establish probable cause?”

  “Easy. I already told your friend here.”

  “Well, her attorney is here, so tell me.”