by J. Conrad
“I can’t go home. I can’t just sit by and do nothing,” I said. “What should I do?”
“Trent, this is exactly what he wants you to do. You’re walking right into a trap and you know it. You won’t find Elizabeth this way.”
My stomach plunged. He was right. I was loaded up on medication and wasn’t thinking straight. I was playing the fool out of anger, desperation or both, just like the day I went to stake out the murder house and wound up not only getting shot at, but getting my truck smashed in by a semi. There was zero chance of finding Elizabeth this way.
“Can I wait at the park entrance for you?” I asked. I wanted to be there when they completed their investigation and retrieved her cell phone.
“No,” Reyes said. “I need you to go home. Now.”
I stood on the pebbly shoulder and sighed. I turned to put the wind at my back. In front of me was a tangly thicket of shrubs and cacti, the tall brown glass making a papery rustling sound in the wind. I couldn’t disobey the Deputy Sheriff’s order.
“All right,” I said. Relief flooded through me for a second, even though I was a ball of nerves, pain, and fear for Elizabeth’s life. The relief wouldn’t last but a minute or two, I knew, but it was still nice to feel it. For once I was going to listen to reason, like I should have done so many times before. Kyle would have been proud. “Will you call me if you find her?”
“I guarantee it,” Reyes said.
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He didn’t know any more than I did. Actually, he knew much less, unless he had been inside the murder house and read the message on the wall, which I doubted. I thanked him and we hung up, and I began the short walk back to the house. I dragged my feet, realizing how awful I felt.
I reached my gravel driveway and heard a dog barking in the distance. Silence ensued for a few seconds, and I strained to hear any birds. I studied the sunlit yard, the grass, the truck, the house – the house.
I saw something on the porch by the front door. It actually looked like a person lay there, but I couldn’t be sure. This could be trap number two. I wasn’t choosing to avoid one disaster only to walk right into another, so I hesitated. I slid my gun out of its holster, ducking behind my pickup to get a better look before approaching. Bending down like that hurt, and I gritted my teeth to keep from groaning. The wind picked up and I saw the person’s hair move. It was black – black like Elizabeth’s hair.
When I saw this, a panic attack made me nearly fall over, slamming the breath out of me. My heart raced so hard that I felt dizzy. Oh my God, this couldn’t be real.
With another grimace, I pushed myself to my feet, dropping the cane. I ran around to the other side of the house, with mind-splitting pain radiating into my pelvic bone. Gasping, I slid to a halt when I saw no one there. I continued around the back side of my place and turned to come around to the front again, this time heading straight for whoever was lying on the porch. I walked up slowly, holding my pistol. The person was lying face down, wearing a hoodie, with a few tendrils of dark hair spilling out the sides. The left arm was extended, and the soft, delicate hand definitely belonged to a woman. On her finger was an engagement ring. Elizabeth’s engagement ring, the one I had bought for her.
I dropped to my knees, barely noticing the pain this time. I put my hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and tried to turn her over. Maybe she had just got drunk, came looking for me and passed out on my porch. Like that would ever happen. But no, that was me thinking crazy, and her car wasn’t here.
“Elizabeth,” I said, my voice thick with dread. “Hey.”
I used both hands to lift her slightly and turn her over. When her head rolled around, her blue eyes stared up at me, blank and lifeless. Her lips were halfway parted, a cruel red gash extending from the corner of lips and through her cheek. Blood had dried over most of the left side of her face, thick and caked as it had bled into her hair. I tried to speak, but no words would come. My throat was closed and I coughed, my face contorting in grief as I picked up Elizabeth’s ruined body and rocked her in my arms.
My cell phone rang and I cried out, not able to do anything about it for several seconds. From somewhere deep in my mind a voice was telling me that it might be Reyes and I needed to answer it. I continued to sob, unable to stop looking at my fiancée’s butchered face, cradling her under the prying afternoon sun. The sun which shows all, and sees all, but did nothing as the February wind made frigid tears roll down my cheeks.
The cell phone was ringing. With one hand still around Elizabeth, my fingers were limp as I dragged it out of my pocket. I answered the call from Reyes.
“We found the phone,” Reyes said. “There was no sign of –”
I interrupting him with stilted speech, choking on my tears like a child. I barely understood myself when I answered, “She’s here. Oh God, she’s here and she’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.”
* * * * *
I numbly sat across from Detective Menard, my body placed in the metal chair in an impossible sideways sitting position. I was mostly on my hip. No one had heeded my argument that I couldn’t sit down because I had broken my tailbone. Maybe Reyes believed me, but nobody else did. In the end, I gave in when some officer whose name I didn’t know gave the old line that I needed to sit down or he’d make me, so I sat down. Sort of.
I was in one of those cop questioning rooms like I’d only seen on television. It actually didn’t look quite as grungy or dark as that, but it was certainly as small and intimidating. Now it was only Menard and me. Reyes had been here earlier as my most ardent defender, but he had since left the room. The detective felt there had been a lot of shady occurrences with my name attached to them and it was high time for this mess to get sorted out. I needed to answer up, and I wouldn’t be getting off the hook so easily. No, I wasn’t going to be treated like some poor dumb chap who just “stumbled into it” this time. Menard made sure I understood that.
By this point it was well into evening. The medication had worn off and my pain was immense, though in a way the pain was what kept me tied to the present moment. I kept slipping off into images of Elizabeth’s beautiful face. Beautiful, and utterly ruined. And dead. Then my mind was wholly consumed by a deep black void of loss, after which I’d see Aria’s body strung up against the wall, covered in her own dark red blood against the white dress. And Korey had a dog...
Menard cleared his throat and his Rolex clicked against the metal table as he repositioned his arm. I realized I had been staring at the gray wall again. My eyes were probably glazed over. I needed another one of those pink tablets the doctor at the hospital gave me. I dared not move my legs or back at all, knowing my injury would punish me for it.
“Tell me again,” Menard said. He was Reyes’ age, but instead of Latino, he was an overweight white guy with thinning hair.
I sighed. “Which part?” We weren’t only talking about Elizabeth’s murder now. Oh no, there were other things we needed to talk about, which apparently were equally as important.
He flipped back one page in his notebook. “You said you went to the house on County Road 118 and were shot at. Then you went inside and saw ‘She’s dead anyway’ on the wall, but you didn’t report it to us.” He glared at me, raising his eyebrows.
Yeah, that had come out, along with every other stupid thing I’d done. I nodded. “Yes, like I told you, he stole my cell phone and put it in the house. There seemed to be no chance that anyone would believe that, and I thought I’d get framed for the whole thing, so I went there myself to try and get it.”
“That’s the most ridiculous piece of bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Menard said. “You’re telling me you took a nap and this guy breaks into your house and takes your phone and your gun while you’re asleep? And then plants them at the crime scene?”
I rubbed my face with my hands. “Yes. That’s exactly why I didn’t call you. That’s exactly why I never mentioned it. It makes me look guilty.”
“And do you think y
ou look any less guilty now? You called us with a dead woman on your porch today. Now we find out you’ve got other skeletons in your closet. Things aren’t looking good for you boy, so I suggest you come clean,” Menard said.
“And what would have been the outcome if I had told you when it happened? Exactly the same,” I said.
“The outcome is that I want a confession. You’re not telling all. I want to know exactly what you did. I want to know exactly what part you played in all this.”
I shook my head. I looked at the ceiling. I looked at the umbilical cord gray wall again. “I didn’t play any part. I’ve told you everything. The only thing I can figure is this Korey Nemeth guy got pissed off that I discovered Aria Owen, and she lived, and now he’s been found out and is wanted for kidnapping and murder. Why he’s spent so much time on me I don’t know. But he wants to ruin me. And he has.” I clenched my jaw, putting my hands over my face.
Menard tapped his pen on the table. I heard the door open behind me and I raised my head just enough to turn and look. Reyes stepped into the room, his brow pinched into a hard frown.
“I think you should tell him,” Reyes said, looking at the detective. He crossed his arms.
Menard gave a little huff, letting his eyes flick up to Reyes before locking them on me again. “It’s inconsequential,” he said.
“I think he needs to know,” Reyes said.
I lifted my head a little higher. Was he about to tell me that if found guilty – for crimes I didn’t commit – I could go to jail for life? I guess technically speaking, it was pretty “inconsequential” next to my fiancée being murdered and her body left at my house for me to find. I’d been shot at, hunted, stolen from, baited, and now framed for murder – possibly two murders. What else could anyone possibly do to me, besides the final stroke of killing me, of course. Not sure I even cared about that now.
Menard peered up at Reyes, his eyes appearing small above his ample jowls. “You can tell him if you want. I’m done here. For now.” He pushed himself out of his chair and swiped the notebook from the table with his massive paw. His accusing gaze settled on me until he departed the room.
Reyes took his seat across from me. I had been glaring down at the table with my arms folded on top of it. I made myself meet his eyes. He searched my face before speaking. “Trent, Korey Nemeth was taken into custody last night.”
I blinked a few times at Reyes, then stared at the table again. I sniffed. I frowned and began squinting, because this new train of thought hurt my brain. I looked back to Reyes.
“When was Elizabeth murdered?” I asked. “Has the coroner been able to estimate the time of death?” In my mind, I saw the gash across her soft cheek, remembering the caked blood that had already begun to dry. But her body hadn’t grown stiff; her limbs were still supple as I turned her over.
“The time of death was approximately 1:30 p.m.,” Reyes said. “About two hours before she was found.”
I shook my head. So whoever carried this out did so even after the fact of Nemeth being apprehended.
“What about Emile Woodard, the guy who we think shot at me on Tim’s ranch? And someone shot at me from the house on County Road 118. That could have been him too. Do you think that’s the person who murdered Elizabeth for Nemeth?” My side and hip were screaming from the awkward sitting position and I tried to swivel my pelvis slightly. I gritted my teeth, groaning as pain shot into my tailbone again.
“There’s always that possibility,” Reyes said. “What else can you tell us? You said you were home all morning. Is that still your recollection?”
My alibi wasn’t very good. I was at my house all day, the same house where my fiancée turned up dead.
“I was home all morning. I can’t go back to work right now and I’m not even supposed to be sitting in a chair like this. Like I said, I can show you my discharge papers from the hospital. I had to have surgery.”
“From the fight you were in,” Reyes said, nodding and leaning back.
“Yeah, but I didn’t start it.” Defending myself for brawling outside the Salt Lick sounded juvenile, but at least it was true. I suppose if others had their way, I would have walked off after Jared clocked me with no warning.
The corners of Reyes’ mouth were turned up ever so slightly in the hint of a smile. His dark eyes probed mine, but I don’t know for what. From earlier I knew that he didn’t think I murdered anyone. He had defended me with a sort of nonchalant ambivalence when Menard was jumping down my throat and demanding answers I didn’t have. Or was that just the lame “good cop, bad cop” routine?
“Trent, I like you. I don’t know why, but I do. And I think you’re actually a good guy, despite the fact that you seem to manage to get yourself into some really stupid situations. But I need you to understand that you are now a prime suspect in these cases,” he said, folding his hands on the table. His forehead was starting to shine from being in the close, stuffy room.
“These cases?” I asked. It all seemed like one big case to me. County Road 118, the shooter by Tim’s ranch, Elizabeth’s murder. If I hadn’t found the victims, I wouldn’t be a target and Elizabeth wouldn’t be dead.
Deputy Reyes nodded. “Yes. It probably seems like there’s a lot of bad things happening and that those things are all part of more or less the same scene. Sometimes that turns out to be true, but not always. These different incidents are normally recorded as separate cases, each with their own files of information. As we investigate, often individual cases link to other cases, and we can see a bigger picture. With what happened today, we don’t yet have enough information to establish what Elizabeth’s murder links back to.
“The fact is, she was murdered this afternoon and was found dead at your home a couple hours later. You previously presented us with several threats you said you received. However, you’ve also crossed a police line, shown a history of violence of a jealous nature involving Elizabeth, and even admitted to shooting at someone on crime scene property, whom you hadn’t identified.
“There are a lot of pieces to this puzzle, Trent. And none of it’s fitting together yet.” A bead of sweat started to slowly drizzle down Reyes’ forehead, but he kept his gaze steady on me. Was he trying to tell me it looked like I was using the County Road 118 case to cover up Elizabeth’s murder?
I shook my head again. He wasn’t going to like this. “There is one thing I haven’t told you.”
“Yeah?” he said.
“Yeah. But it’s pretty unbelievable, like what I told you about my cell phone being stolen and planted in the abandoned house.”
“I’m listening,” Reyes said. He tilted his head and waited.
“Well, that same night that I went to Tim’s old property to try and retrieve my phone and 9mm, my pickup got smashed by a semi truck.” Reyes face blurred in front of me as I called up the image. The headlights way too bright and high, the diesel truck hauling a loaded trailer down a tiny country road in the middle of the night. The driver being so accommodating for the damage he caused me.
Reyes stayed silent, narrowing his eyes. He waited for me to explain why I mentioned that.
“It happened right outside the house on County Road 118. When I was parked. A diesel truck smashed into my pickup and totaled it. I barely got out in time. The driver’s name was Bradley Premshaw. He said he was ‘over time’ and he’d be happy to pay for my truck rather than report to the insurance and possibly lose his job, because that was his third strike on being late. He went and got me five thousand in cash, then drove me to a used car lot. I didn’t think much about it besides what a fluke accident it was – just one more crazy thing on top of everything else, but –”
Reyes started writing on the paper in his clipboard. He looked up at me. “Bradley Premshaw? What company did he drive for?”
“Uh, Pall Transport I think,” I said.
“Did you get a phone number for him, his license plate number, anything like that?” Reyes asked.
“He gave me hi
s card with his cell phone number,” I said. “And yeah, I got the license plate number off the Peterbilt.”
Reyes shook his head and sighed. “Well, that’s something. Write down the number for me. Were you hurt in the accident?”
“No, like I said, I got out in time and I ran straight for the house. That’s when someone started shooting at me,” I said.
“Why didn’t you tell this to Detective Menard?” Reyes asked. His frown was deeper than before. His eyes were wider.
“Number one, I didn’t think it was relevant, and number two, I didn’t think you’d believe me,” I said. On top of all the other things they didn’t believe.
“You didn’t think it was relevant that you got nailed by a diesel when you were staking out a thief at a crime scene?” Reyes asked.
“No, not really. It happened, but as far as being relevant? I shouldn’t have found Aria and her stepmother in the house in the first place. But that doesn’t mean finding them ‘means something.’ It happens. Sometimes awful things just happen, and discovering that crime was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” I said.
I stared at Reyes, not managing to keep the anger out of my eyes. With Elizabeth, though, I knew it was different. I was supposed to protect her and I didn’t do it. I couldn’t protect her because I chose to fight with her friend from work and landed myself in the hospital. I guess ultimately, there was no excuse for it. But as for the rest of it, there was only so much I could try and figure out.
“You said you shouldn’t have found Aria. Do you know her, or something?” Reyes asked.
“No, I don’t know her, I just met her at the hospital,” I said, and my stomach fell through the floor, along with my tailbone which was screaming for another pink tablet. There it was. I walked right into it yet again, right here and now with Deputy Reyes. I couldn’t keep the chaos of my life contained for one minute.
“You met Aria Owen at the hospital? You met the victim of a violent crime at the hospital, but you’re saying you don’t know her?” Reyes’ eyes were huge and glaring. A vein on his forehead was bulging as another drop of sweat ran down his face.
