by KyAnn Waters
“I think we should stay on the subject,” Albert Wells said, narrowing his eyes on the detective and then McKenna. “We need to remember the point of this meeting.”
A slow, triumphant smile crossed McKenna’s lips, but she quickly banked the sentiment. She had successfully redirected the conversation.
Dawn was right. She needed to forge a partnership with Detective Pearce if she wanted to find out what happened to her father without meeting the same fate. As long as she remembered their association served a purpose. It had been a long time since she’d spent any real time with a man. Detective Pearce was too attractive. She’d need Dawn to keep her focused. More importantly, she needed to keep her story straight.
“You’re right, Albert.” She looked across the table at the detective. “The concert ended a little after dark.”
“Did you go straight home?”
McKenna glanced down and to the right. This was where her story grew complicated. She spoke just as she’d rehearsed with Dawn. “No, Dawn and I stopped for dinner at the Chalet.” She glanced at the detective. “Have you eaten there?”
“Yes, but continue.”
“I picked up takeout for Elliot. He loves German food.” She wanted to be vague but give enough to convince the detective she’d given the whole story. Too much information and she risked blowing their story. “Dawn and I ended up talking. It was late when I got home. I thought Elliot was asleep. The house was dark. I put his dinner in the fridge.” She closed her eyes and swallowed the effects of the revolting memory. The roiling in her stomach continued. “Then I stepped in blood on my way upstairs.” She stopped speaking.
“Wait a second. You seemed to have left out some details. How did you get the injuries on your hands and face?”
She glanced down. Deep red welts and bandages marred her hands. “My feet are hurt, too,” she said in a distant voice. “I must have stepped on glass after I broke the vase.” Her face heated as she remembered sliding through the ribbons of blood crisscrossing the hall.
“That’s enough, Mickey.” Albert put his hand on hers. “Give her some time, Detective.” He stood and pulled McKenna’s chair out for her.
“She can have time when we’re finished, but I have a couple more questions,” Detective Pearce said as he leaned forward.
Albert reseated himself.
“What was your relationship with Elliot Porter?”
The question confused her.
“You refer to him as Elliot, not dad. I wondered why?”
“He preferred it after my mother died.”
“Then can you explain the note left on the counter? Did you have a fight?”
Like a deer caught in the site of a hunter’s rifle, she felt the approaching trap. The note had completely slipped her mind. She and Dawn had not thought of a contingency plan regarding the damn note. “No, we don’t argue.” We barely speak. “I can’t explain it.” She looked at Albert for help. “The note didn’t make any sense.”
Detective Peace took the folded paper from the envelope and placed it on the table in front of Albert and McKenna.
Albert took the note and looked carefully at the handwriting. “I fail to see the importance.” He slid the note back.
Next the detective pulled out a folder. “We tested the blood against hair from your father’s hairbrush. We ran your DNA report. Here are the results.” He placed the report in front of her. “Elliot Porter was not you father.”
Chapter Five
Tyson Jones sat across from Ms. Porter’s pal. He’d seen the type before. Strong exteriors, when hit hard enough in the right place, shattered like eggshells. “Ms. Wilson, what can I do for you?”
“I admit I’m impatient. Rather than waiting for you to get around to questioning me, I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
“That was thoughtful of you.”
“Mickey was with me Sunday night.”
“Ms. Porter is still a person of interest. Although at this time, she hasn’t been named as a suspect.”
“And she won’t.” Dawn folded her arms across her perky breasts. “Aren’t you supposed to turn on the bright lights? Sweat the truth out of me.”
“Are you planning to lie?”
“No, maybe I just like to sweat.” She winked at him then glanced around the tiny room with a video surveillance camera in the corner. Metal folding chairs and a card table were the only furniture. “In the movies the suspect is always offered a cigarette.”
“Clean Air Act.”
“Oh, well then, what about a glass of water?”
“You aren’t a suspect. I don’t exactly know why you’re here.”
“Don’t be dense. I’m stepping forward as McKenna Porter’s alibi.”
“Best friends don’t make good alibis.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I know I’d lie for my best friend.”
“Then maybe you have one redeeming quality.” She took lip-gloss from her purse and shined her smile.
“You don’t like cops?” Who in the hell is this woman? Dustin was right. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and opinionated seemed to be an understatement.
“Not particularly, but let’s not get off the subject. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”
“Why come here at all if not to try to convince me of your friend’s innocence? We’re conducting an investigation. This little act doesn’t help.”
“I’m scared for Mickey. She didn’t kill her father.”
“We know that.”
“Then why in the hell are you prowling like a pack of wolves looking for prey?”
“Elliot Porter was murdered in that house,” he said as he moved around the table to stand in front of her. “And honey, I think your friend killed him.”
“You aren’t making sense.”
“Elliot Porter wasn’t her father. Two DNA profiles were found at the scene. One belonged to the good doctor, the other your friend. Go back to the storyboard, Ms. Wilson. He wasn’t her father, but perhaps her sugar daddy.”
“Oh, my god!” Dawn covered her mouth with her hand. “I think I’m going to throw up.” Dawn visibly swallowed. “Does Mickey know?”
“Detective Pearce is with her now.”
“She’s going to be devastated.” She turned her worried eyes to Tyson. “Detective Jones, don’t fuck this up! You don’t understand, but she didn’t kill him.” She put her finger to his solid chest and poked him. “Mickey has been through enough. Imagine how betrayed you’d feel if you found out the man you believed was your father, the only family you had, wasn’t family.” Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t get so confident that you don’t look for who really murdered Elliot.” Dawn grabbed her purse. “Putting man hours into trying to find evidence against Mickey is fucking it up! In case you didn’t know.”
Tyson watched the door slam closed behind her. One thing was clear; Dawn was lying. He’d bet a week’s wages Dawn was not with McKenna Sunday night.
* * * * *
A few days later, McKenna pulled her vehicle into the garage next to Elliot’s Cadillac. The nondescript classical standard edition represented him perfectly. Or at least she had thought it had. Dizzied with the truth that he wasn’t her father left her to speculate exactly who he was and where was her biological father? More over, was Lauren really her mother? Had she been adopted? If so, they’d have to have adopted her when she was an infant. McKenna remembered her childhood, and she had photographs from when she was a baby.
A deep breath calmed her thumping heart. Of course, she was Lauren’s daughter. The resemblance was too acute to be anything but biological. Now with Elliot’s death, she wondered if there was anyone who could help her uncover the truth.
McKenna sat in her car and looked at the two white commercial vans parked one behind the other. They had hoses leading into the house, and loud engine noises coming from inside. She dialed Albert on her cell phone. “Do I have you to thank for this?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I got perm
ission from Detective Pearce after we left the station. He recommended the company.”
While talking, McKenna slid out of the car. This was her home, but the house didn’t offer comfort. Anxiety made her heart race. She quickly walked through the garage. Her heels clicked on the cement flooring. Before unlocking the backdoor, she pushed the button to close the garage door. Once sealed inside, she let out a breath. “Albert, I’m not sure where I go from here. My life is complete chaos.” She entered the house and paused in the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t be alone. Meet me for dinner tonight.”
She sighed into the phone. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll try to get some sleep. I need to go back to work tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a good start to putting your life back together. It’s time to live a normal life. Elliot—” He hesitated. “Elliot was a hard man to figure out. I wish I could tell you more. In all the years I’ve known him, I never understood why he shut you out.” He paused. “I guess we know now. I’m so sorry, McKenna. If you need anything, call me. Detective Pearce said he’ll keep me abreast of any developments in the investigation.”
“The five o’clock news will keep us informed. ‘Rich Daughter Offs Father’ will be the headline.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“I hope you’re right. I better go. Thanks Albert, for everything.” She ended the call.
The smell of disinfectant filled the air. The cleaning crew had been busy. The fingerprint powder that had coated everything had been wiped clean, as well as the bloody footprints throughout the house. McKenna suspected anything covered with blood, not collected by the police, filled the large, black trash bags lining the wall near the front door.
Stepping over a long hose stretching up the stairs, she followed it into her father’s bedroom. The mattress and rug were gone. The dismantled bed frame leaned against the wall next to the dresser. A man in a pair of baggy jeans and a maroon shirt embroidered with his company’s logo busily pushed and pulled an industrial strength carpet cleaner across the floor. McKenna could almost imagine she hadn’t seen the room drenched in blood. Almost.
“Don’t…uhh…touch the walls.”
Another man stepped out of the bathroom across the hall. “We had to paint.” He nervously stuffed his hands into his pockets. “If we missed something—” He stumbled on a polite way to discuss the condition of the house. “You can call us. I left our magnet on the fridge. Has the number and stuff.”
“Thank you.” She gave the men a smile and went to her room to try to forget Sunday night and the horrible images of blood and the heavy coppery scent of death. In her room, she lay on the bed, closed her eyes, and imagined she was anywhere but home.
Knowing the news speculated on her possible involvement, she understood the accusatory glances from the crew cleaning her house and she hated what they might think. If they knew her, they’d realize she couldn’t have killed her father. Public opinion always believed the worst. Until the police discovered what really happened, she could expect more of the same.
Best option for now was to avoid the public. So until the cleaning crew left she stayed out of sight.
When the sound of the carpet cleaners ceased and she hadn’t heard the echo of footfalls in the hall, McKenna sat up in bed. She checked the clock. It had been a while since she had anything to eat and could feel her blood sugar dropping. Maybe a bite to eat in the kitchen would settle her stomach.
She opened her bedroom door and listened. The house was quiet, too quiet. But then the house was always quiet, so McKenna didn’t want to acknowledge what really made her jumpy.
She didn’t want to be alone.
Moving from one room to the next, she checked the locks on the windows. Then she checked again. Intermittently, she peeked between the drapes to see if any suspicious vehicles materialized in front of her house.
Paranoia had set in.
Dawn had offered to come and stay, but McKenna refused. Not tonight, she had a mission. Pizza Hut was coming in thirty minutes, and she was going to do something that was completely forbidden. Although her insides trembled, she reminded herself that Elliot was no longer around. She was going to breach his office, his sanctuary. If there were answers in there, she’d find them.
Chapter Six
Dustin and Tyson sat at their adjacent desks looking over the facts they had thus far collected.
“Shit.” Dustin leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. “That’s what we’ve got. Something else bothers me.” He took the glossy five by seven of the master bedroom. “Blood. That’s it. No unusual hairs, no bone chips.” He flipped the picture in front of Tyson. “Is it too clean, or was it a precision hit?”
Tyson looked at the picture from several angels. “My gut tells me it’s the princess. First,” Tyson held up his pinky finger, “we’ve established opportunity.” He held up his ring finger. “The dad note hints at a motive. What the motive is,” he shrugged, “who knows, but it’s something.” Lastly, he held up his middle finger making the okay sign with his hand. “Who else? Her feisty little pal cinched it for me. She tossed insults with the same enthusiasm that she tossed her hair. Lied right to my face without flinching. If the friend is lying for the princess, the princess must have something to hide.”
Dustin picked up the picture of McKenna taken in the emergency room. “In my interview with Ms. Porter, her demeanor was just the opposite. One minute she looked scared, then next she flirted.”
He dropped the photo, thinking back on the conversation. She actually flirted with him. Coyly tilting her head, blushing when their eyes met, she tried to play him like a high school boy. Dustin leaned forward in his chair. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms, then rubbed his thigh, deeply kneading the muscle.
“She might’ve been scared,” Dustin continued. “But she was lying, too. She kept looking down and to the right.” Dustin easily recognized the mannerisms of a downright liar. It wasn’t a simple play of words, but a term used for an involuntary action. Someone lying tended to look down and to the right.
Tyson stretched his hands over his head. “Like you said, we’ve got shit. I also got a problem with something Dawn said.” Tyson didn’t have to finish his thought.
“I know.” Unease churned in Dustin’s gut. He picked the photo back up and looked hard at the young woman with hollow eyes. He traced her form with his fingertip. “What if she didn’t do it?” He let out a long sigh and picked up the photo of the bloody bedroom. “This is overkill. Personal.”
“Dawn’s convinced the princess didn’t kill the doc, and she tried damn hard to convince me of the same.” Tyson put the pictures and papers back in the folder.
“I’ll have cadaver dogs in the hills above her house first thing in the morning. She didn’t have much time to remove the body.” He turned off the small green lamp on his desk. “If she is our perp.”
“If you find anything of the doc, it’ll only be parts. No way did she carry a dead man out of that house whole.”
“It would explain all the blood.” Dustin grabbed his keys. “You swing by the yoga studio tomorrow.” He looked at Tyson. “Ever try yoga?”
“Hell, no,” he said disgusted. “I don’t do aerobic classes either. Real men lift weights.”
Dustin laughed. “I’ll talk with the neighbors. Get the gossip.”
“If the good doctor made a few enemies, the princess might not be safe. That is if she’s telling the truth.” Tyson snorted.
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. Let the facts tell the story.”
“Yeah, so if she isn’t involved, we’ve got a problem. With nothing missing from the house and no vandalism, whoever did in Dad might not be satisfied.”
Dustin’s mind suddenly filled with the image of her smile as she asked him about music. Smooth and classy. At certain points in the interview she didn’t seem haughty, but rather elusive. Vulnerable and strong, she was a contradiction to herself. Looking innocent, but more
than likely, guilty.
“Might be wise to keep an eye on her.” Plus he needed to make the time to interview the men and women who worked with Dr. Porter and follow up on the countless leads phoned into the station, although it wasn’t likely any of the leads would get them any closer to knowing what happened. The conscientious public was always eager to help in an investigation.
“You do that. I think I’ll pull on the best friend’s chain. Shit,” he said long and drawn out. “She lied right to my face.” Tyson followed Dustin out of the precinct. “First, I’ll bust her alibi and then I’ll make her sweat. As I recall, that had been her challenge.”
Dustin chuckled. “You love trouble.”
* * * * *
McKenna looked up when the grandfather clock chimed in the corner of Elliot’s office. The contents of his desk lay in complete disarray. Every scrap of paper read, every file opened, but she found nothing regarding her paternity. In fact, she found very little in the realm of what she would consider important information.
Feeling like hell, and looking worse, she made herself presentable for work. If anything, she wanted the reprieve from worrying about spending her life in prison, or worse, ending up like Elliot. Not that the high exciting world of insurance would be able to push her fucked up reality far from her mind. However, dealing with client issues would keep her from thinking of her own.
Her stomach lurched. Strange, never seeing him again sitting behind this desk with a sour expression on his lips and an intense narrowing of his eyes when she inevitably disturbed something he was working on. It wasn’t the kind of relationship a person would miss, but it was all she had with him.
After a quick shower, she dressed for comfort in slacks and rayon blouse. A glimmer of happiness bloomed in her chest and began to overpower her morose mood. She had friends and warm faces at work. She grabbed her keys off the counter. Elliot’s car caused her breath to catch, but she tamped down the anxiety and hurried to her vehicle.
