by Julia Derek
But my mind remained a big, black nothing. I lowered my gaze back to my hands and examined them. They were full of red marks and little cuts, like I had fallen hard onto the asphalted ground. Did I fall yesterday? I had no idea. I looked down at my legs and noted that my knees looked a little banged up, too, and there were bruises on my shins. So the marks on my hands must be from falling then, not strangling someone with a strap, I thought. I sat up straighter. Ricki would know if I had fallen.
I found my phone and texted Ricki about it.
It didn’t take long for a response to appear in my phone:
Yes, when I tried getting you to your apartment on my own.
As I read the text, tension left my body and I felt much better suddenly.
Thank God.
I got to my feet and pulled up the dark shade, taking in another perfect, sunny California day, the weather matching my mood better now. Of course I hadn’t done anything to Emma. I might have been drunk out of my mind yesterday, but that didn’t turn me into a murderer. I laughed at myself for even thinking I might have been capable of such a horrendous deed. How silly! I had never before shown any violent tendencies while intoxicated, so why would I yesterday? I was a happy drunk, the kind people loved hanging around, not fleeing from.
I decided to get a mani/pedi before heading off to the restaurant for the extra dinner shift I’d picked up. A relaxing afternoon was just what I needed after such a stressful morning. But before I’d head out, I’d take a long, hot shower to clean myself of what remained of yesterday, wash away every uncomfortable memory. It was only when I was about to leave my bedroom that I caught sight of my black, sparkly handbag that I must have thrown on the floor when getting home yesterday.
The long chain shoulder strap was broken in two, right where it attached to one side of the actual bag, making it the ideal tool to strangle a person to death with.
Dylan
“Did you go to the police?” Victor said on the other end of the phone line.
“As soon as I found out that she’d been strangled,” I replied. Victor had called me when he learned about the unfortunate news on TV a few hours after I had returned home from the police station. My uncle had simply called to see how I was handling the news, not expecting to learn that I was convinced Nina was behind the murder. “It has to be her. You should’ve seen the way this crazy girl was staring at us!”
“Well, good thing you talked to that detective. They’ll get to the bottom of this for sure.”
I exhaled with exasperation. “We can only hope. I’m not completely convinced that cop took what I had to say too seriously. It was hard to read him. But if he doesn’t, I’ll go after her myself! I mean, in a way it’s my fault Emma’s dead today. If I hadn’t gone out with that chick again and just left things alone, none of this would’ve ever happened!”
“Calm down, Dylan. If there’s anyone who should feel guilty it’s me. I was the one who encouraged you to go after her again. But really, it’s no one’s fault but that girl’s. She was the one who did it—if she did it—and no one could have foreseen such a thing. It’s not your fault that Emma happened to be at the same place at the same time as you and this nutcase.”
“I suppose that’s true. But I still feel terrible.”
“Me, too. Let’s just wait and see what the police come up with. If it really was she who did it, she’ll be behind bars soon. But let’s not jump to conclusion, Dylan. Maybe someone else killed Emma. There are plenty of crazies in Hollywood.”
“No, it must have been her. Emma didn’t have any enemies.”
“If that’s really the case, it’s only a matter of time until she gets what she deserves. In the meantime, Dylan, promise me this.”
“What?”
“That you’ll watch your back. Just to be safe. If she’s truly as crazy as you say she is, she might come after you next.”
Nina
The knock on my front door was hard and persistent, scaring Sam so much he crept under the green couch to hide. It was nine a.m. on a Sunday and I never had any visitors this early on a weekend morning. It must be someone for Lorna, I thought as I walked to open the front door, having wrapped myself in a robe. Before I had reached it, another forceful knock sounded through the apartment. I opened the door, finding a squat, middle-aged man with a wide nose standing behind it. He was dressed in a cheap, charcoal suit over which hung a light trench coat.
He held up an LAPD badge to my face.
“I’m Detective Brando. I’m looking for Nina Kapyl…ushana Dreyen…”
“Kapylyushnya Dresyianina,” I automatically corrected him, feeling suddenly cold, my stomach hurting. But I put on a brave face; maybe this had nothing to do with Emma’s murder after all. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
“I have some questions for you regarding the murder of Emma Patterson that took place this past Friday night. May I come in?”
My knees felt like they were about to give out and I wanted to throw up. And I who’d managed to convince myself the handbag strap had broken when I fell outside my building, not when strangling an innocent girl to death in a moment of intoxicated madness. Well, I was stupid to have thought this regarded something else. Why else would a cop come to visit me a Sunday morning? To arrest me for my one outstanding parking ticket? No, someone must have seen me commit the act and then told the police about it.
I restrained myself and stepped to the side, opening the door so Detective Brando could enter. I offered him to take a seat on the couch in the living room, glad Lorna and I had spent part of the afternoon yesterday cleaning up the place.
I took a seat on the purple armchair opposite the couch, trying not to look like I was guilty of anything but having eaten too much chocolate and pizza lately.
Detective Brando fished out a pen and a little notepad from inside his suit jacket and gave me a long, appreciative look. Then he opened his mouth. “Are you aware of the murder of Emma Patterson?”
“Yes, I am. I saw it on the news.”
“Where were you the night of her murder?”
“I was at the club where she was murdered. That’s why I know of it. I mean, remembered her name.”
“Uh-huh. So you didn’t know Ms. Patterson?”
“No. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“I see.” The detective nodded. “Why did you choose to go to the Blue Moon that evening?”
“My friend Ricki really wanted to go there. I wasn’t that keen on entering the club when I saw how many people were there. I hate crowded clubs. But she convinced me to go inside anyway.”
“Can you tell me what you did at the Blue Moon from the moment you stepped inside?”
“Sure. Ricki and I went straight to one of the bars. I really wanted to have a drink. We got served pretty fast.” I gave a nervous little laugh “The bartender in that bar is very efficient.”
“Did you have more than one drink?”
“Yeah, I had a few. More than I usually drink.” I might as well tell the truth. After all, it wasn’t illegal to get drunk. “I saw someone at the club that upset me a little.”
“Dylan Whitman?”
I stared at the detective. How had he known that? Did Dylan have anything to do with the fact that this detective was sitting on my couch, asking me all these questions? I was suddenly sure this was so. The pain that cut through my stomach was so intense I wanted to scream out loud, but I clamped my teeth together, blocking it from coming out. Oh, God, he must be so convinced I murdered that girl in his arms he went to the police and told them that…
“Are you okay?” Detective Brando looked at me with sincere concern in his small eyes.
With what was left of my resolve, I made myself calm down, pretend like I wasn’t nearly as upset as I was. My voice came out remarkably steady. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just a little surprised that you seem to know Dylan.”
“I see.” The detective scribbled something on his notepad. “How do you know Dylan W
hitman?”
“We went out a few times.”
“Okay. And why did you stop?”
There was no point in lying. “Because something about him made me freak out. Like really freak out.”
“Can you expand on that?”
“Sure. But it’s kind of… complicated.”
“That’s okay. Do your best to break it down to me.”
“Okay.” I sucked in a breath. “After our first date we… we ended up in bed.” I cleared my voice, feeling like a slut. Well, it couldn’t be helped. “Right when we finished, something about the way he looked at me made me extremely uncomfortable, like I was suffocating. At first I thought it was just me. That maybe I was coming down with a bad cold that made me unable to breathe or something. I know that sounds weird, but the whole moment was weird. Coming out of nowhere. The second time was during our last date when we went hiking. Something about his face made me so terrified I just had to get him off of me. I felt as though he was going to seriously hurt me. Like kill me. So I had to get away from him.” I was pretty sure this cop also knew about me having almost pushed Dylan off that cliff, but just in case he didn’t, I left that part out. Better to leave that last statement up to interpretation. I shrugged and added, “I guess I need to see a shrink or something.”
“That might be a good idea.” Detective Brando made a few notes on his pad. “What else happened at the club?”
“Not much. Ricki and I just hung at that same bar and drank our drinks. We didn’t really talk to anyone. I got drunk pretty fast, so Ricki suggested we go sit down somewhere.” I was not about to mention how furious I’d been at seeing Dylan embracing Emma. Surely Dylan had already done that, but there was no point in further incriminating myself by admitting this was the truth. “So we went to sit down at a table by the dance floor. Soon after that we went home.”
“That’s it?”
I contemplated whether I should be telling Detective Brando about the fact that I’d wandered around on my own and then passed out. It dawned on me that he would probably talk to Ricki to verify my story, so it was best if I did. “Well, Ricki went to see if the club still served food while I waited for her. We thought I’d sober up a little if I got something in me since I hadn’t eaten in many hours. I decided that I needed to get a little fresh air while waiting for her, so I walked to the exit. Sometime around then I passed out. Ricki found me in a corner and took me home.”
There was definitely no need to tell this cop I’d bumped into Emma right before I blacked out, though. For all I knew, that little piece of information might prompt him to arrest me on the spot. Besides, as drunk as I’d been, maybe I’d only imagined it was Emma I’d bumped into. It could have been another blonde, one that just looked like Emma.
The detective nodded, tapping the notepad with his pencil. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Should there be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“Not at the moment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? If I’m not a suspect, why did you come here?”
The detective took another long look at me. “Because Dylan Whitman told me you were looking at him and Emma like you wanted to kill both him and her. And that you tried to push him off a very high cliff when you and he were out hiking one day recently. Did you do such a thing?”
I stared at the middle-aged man on the couch, the thoughts racing in my mind. I soon concluded that there was no point in denying what he’d said. I’d already told Ricki about the push and if this detective brought it up to Ricki, pressed her a little, she’d instantly crack. When it came to any type of authorities, Ricki cracked open as easily as a hardboiled egg. But I would give my version of that unfortunate cliff incident, which was clearly much different from Dylan’s. Even now, after I’d emailed him and tried explaining myself.
I quickly swallowed back the sudden sob that threatened to escape me and said, “Yes, I did, but not on purpose. It was really an accident. Kind of like a reflex, because, like I just told you, something about him totally freaked me out. I really thought he’d kill me. I know that sounds a bit out there, but that’s how I felt. I just had to get him off of me.”
The detective wrinkled his bushy eyebrows and contemplated me like I was an insect under a magnifying glass. Then he said, “May I ask you a personal question?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Are you the victim of some sort of sexual assault?”
“No.” I was the victim of other types of assault, but none of them had ever been remotely sexual. I didn’t feel like talking about my traumatic high school year, though, nor did I feel it was pertinent. I looked at the detective with earnestness. “For whatever it’s worth, you should know I’m truly grateful I didn’t succeed in pushing Dylan off that cliff. I don’t think I would’ve been able to live with myself if I’d done that.”
“I don’t blame you.” Brando got to his feet. “Well, I think we’re done here for now. Thanks so much for your time, Ms….” The detective looked down at his notepad, obviously searching for my surname.
“Nina. You can call me Nina. And I’m happy to help.”
I followed him to the door. When he was gone, I sank to the floor and began to cry.
Dylan
“What the hell?” I was reading articles online about the Emma Patterson murder. Almost a week had passed since the incident and no one had been arrested. How come Nina was still going free? Had that detective not listened to what I had told him? It had to have been she who did it!
I dialed up the station and asked to get connected to Detective Brando, who, miraculously, happened to be at his desk despite that it was a quarter to nine a Thursday evening.
“Brando,” a gruff voice said in my ear.
“Good evening, detective. This is Dylan Whitman. I came by your office last Saturday to tell you about the girl I used to date who I believe murdered Emma Patterson. Nina, Russian last name. Do you remember me?”
“Yes, I do. What can I do for you?”
“How come she hasn’t been arrested? Did you even speak to her?”
“Yes, I did speak to her and to the friend who was there with her that night. There isn’t any evidence or witnesses to warrant an arrest. All the girl was guilty of was drinking too much alcohol. So much so that she passed out at the club and had to be carried out. Being drunk and glaring at a guy with his ex in his arms isn’t a crime.”
“What about trying to push someone off a cliff to his death?”
“She told me something about you freaked her out and that the push was an unfortunate defense mechanism. An accident.”
“I freaked her out? I did nothing to freak her out! I’m telling you, this girl’s not right in the head!” But even as I said those words, something within me began to turn. The moment when Nina had pushed me materialized in my head. I tried to picture her face right before the push. But I couldn’t. Which wasn’t strange since I didn’t think I’d ever gotten a glimpse of it. An image of her face as she sat in my bed our first night appeared instead. An image of that weird expression on her face.
Had she actually been scared of me that night? Had I freaked her out somehow, prompting her to bolt?
“Besides,” Detective Brando continued, “you haven’t pressed charges against her. Do you want to press charges?”
“Press charges?” I thought about the detective’s unexpected question. Did I want to press charges against Nina? Why hadn’t I done so already if I truly thought she’d wanted to kill me?
Was it possible it had all been a misunderstanding after all?
“What exactly did she tell you about the incident?” I said. “Can you expand on the ‘unfortunate defense mechanism’ part?”
“Certainly. She told me something about the way you looked at one point made her think you were about to kill her. So she had no choice but to get you off of her by shoving you.”
“I looked like I was about to kil
l her? Why would she think that?”
“Who knows? Maybe something happened to her when she was a kid. Could be many reasons. What’s more important is that I think she truly believed that. Do you want to press charges or not?”
I sighed, no longer sure what to believe.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to press charges. Not at the moment.”
“All righty then. Have a good evening.”
As we disconnected, I remained seated in my office chair, mulling over Nina’s extreme behavior. Was it possible I had in fact done something that caused her to freak out to the point she’d seen no other choice but to do what she’d done? I really hadn’t thought so—-especially since she hadn’t contacted me to try to explain herself. But after hearing Brando’s take on the situation, I had to admit to myself that maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d jumped to conclusion about what had actually happened up on that mountain.
I thought back to the night at the Blue Moon. Was it possible I’d only imagined the fury on Nina’s face? Seen things that hadn’t really been there because I’d wanted to see them, thought they had to be there. I supposed it was possible. It had after all been dark at the club and I hadn’t exactly been sober either. And Nina was smaller than Emma, a lot smaller. Now that I thought about it some more, wouldn’t it have been hard for her to strangle Emma in the middle of a club? Especially if she had been so incredibly drunk? Wouldn’t someone have seen Nina struggling with the much taller girl at least? According to Brando, no one had.
