“Because it turns out you aren’t exactly the most innocent-looking person I’ve ever spoken to.”
“Stop right there. You’ve got nothing on me.”
“You mean, other than evading a law enforcement officer?” David said.
“For the last time, I didn’t know you were the one behind the wheel,” Chuck said.
“That isn’t the only issue at play right now,” David said.
Chuck shrugged. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a case to be made that perhaps you came here tonight to kill Barbara. Or at least intimidate her.”
Chuck shook his head. “No. Why would I do that?”
“Maybe she knows too much about you. Perhaps she saw something that she shouldn’t have. So you came here to shut her up,” David said.
“That’s just crazy speculation.”
“You say that now, but Barbara might tell us a different story,” David said.
“The facts tell an even better story. For example, if I had come here to kill Barbara then why didn’t I have some sort of a weapon on me?” Chuck said.
“I’ve seen people killed with all sorts of household objects. You could have been planning to grab a blunt item from inside Barbara’s house to murder her,” David said.
Chuck groaned. “I can’t believe this. You made a huge deal about the importance of evidence, yet here you are making completely unfounded statements about me.”
“They might be unfounded now, but let’s see what Barbara has to say,” David replied.
“Go ahead. Talk to her. I’m not afraid,” Chuck said.
Chapter Eleven
Once again, David and I found ourselves with more questions than answers. Hopefully, Barbara would be able to clear up some of our confusion. But before we speak with her, we needed to make sure that Chuck didn’t go anywhere.
David dragged Chuck back to his car and detained him in the backseat. There was no way that David was going to give Chuck a chance to slip away, especially after he had been so eager to take off earlier.
David and I approached Barbara’s front door, hoping that she would be able to clear some things up for us.
Unfortunately, she didn’t answer her door. David knocked, rang the bell, and yelled out for Barbara, but he didn’t receive any response.
I had a feeling that was because Chuck had scared her. Although, there was also the possibility that she was making a concerted effort to ignore us in hopes that we would go away.
That wasn’t going to happen.
David was the most persistent man that I knew.
It took a number of additional knocks, and David yelling out “This is the police,” but Barbara finally answered.
While the black-haired, square-faced, curvy, fifty-year-old cracked the door open slightly, she did not come outside. “Detective Carlson. What are you doing here?” Barbara asked.
“Do you want to explain to me why it took you so long to answer the door?” David asked.
“I apologize for that. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Chuck Tillman was trying to pound my door down, so I’ve been trying stay as far away from the door as possible,” Barbara said.
“We were aware of that,” David said. “And we’ve spoken with Chuck about it.”
Barbara held her pointer finger out. “Do me a favor and tell that maniac to stay away from me.”
“What makes you so sure that he’s a maniac?” I asked.
“Weren’t you listening to me? He tried to break my door down,” Barbara said.
“He described the situation a little differently,” David said.
“You’re not seriously buying that nutcase’s story, are you?” Barbara asked.
“You didn’t answer our question. Other than pounding on your door, why do you think he’s a nutcase?” David said.
“That man isn’t right in the head. He’s still hung up on a woman who broke up with him six years ago,” Barbara said.
“If you believe this strongly that Chuck is crazy, then why didn’t you call 9-1-1 when he was pounding on your door?” David said.
“I was about to—”
David folded his arms. “Really?”
Barbara nodded. “Yes.”
I stared deep into her eyes. She avoided eye contact with me.
“Unfortunately, there’s no way of confirming that,” I said.
“Guess you’ll have to take my word for it,” Barbara said.
“That’s easier said than done,” David replied.
“No it’s not,” Barbara said.
“What if you never intended to call 9-1-1 at all?” I asked.
Barbara’s eyebrows knitted. “Where is this coming from?”
“The fact that you’re a murder suspect,” I said. “The last thing someone like you wants is for the police to come to their house. But if you called 9-1-1, that’s exactly what would have happened.”
“Yeah? Well you’re here now anyway. Which doesn’t bother me, by the way,” Barbara said.
I folded my arms and gave her a wary look. “Uh-huh.”
“I just think that you’re wasting your time talking to me,” Barbara said.
“I disagree. You’ve been awfully defensive during this entire conversation,” David said.
“That’s because you’re saying really offensive things,” Barbara replied.
“You mean, truthful things,” David said. “After all, you’re a murder suspect.”
“I can’t believe you’re wasting your time with me. Chuck is the maniac,” Barbara snapped.
“Barbara, I see what you’re doing,” David said.
“Trying to talk some sense into you,” Barbara said.
David shook his head. “No. You’re attempting to deflect the spotlight away from yourself. But the fact is, we have just as much reason to suspect you.”
Barbara groaned. “We already went over this—”
“Yes, and you had no verifiable alibi for the time of Mark’s murder. But you did have ample motive for wanting him dead,” David said.
“You can keep saying anything you want. It won’t change the fact that you have no evidence pinning me to the crime,” Barbara said.
“Not at the moment, at least,” David said.
“Why don’t you stop talking to me like that?” Barbara asked. “I’m the victim here.”
“No. The victim is Mark Wilcox. And we’re going to find his killer,” David said.
“Not here you won’t,” Barbara said.
“Where will we find the killer then?” David said.
Barbara shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You know, after we finish up here, we’re going to be paying your estranged husband another visit,” David said.
“Good for you,” Barbara snapped.
“Is that all you have to say about Trevor?” David asked.
“He can speak for himself,” Barbara said.
“Fine,” David said. “Now back to you.”
Barbara shook her head. “No. I’ve already said my piece. Now why don’t you just leave me alone?”
Chapter Twelve
We were getting nowhere with Barbara. So instead of lobbing any additional questions her way, we elected to move on. David also decided to let Chuck go. Sure David could have dragged Chuck into the police station, but he didn’t have grounds to hold him there for very long. Instead, he assigned a patrol car to keep tabs on Chuck.
David and I then hopped into his car and headed over to the northeast side of town. With the Franklin’s marriage in shambles, Trevor and Barbara had been living apart from each other. While Barbara lived on Dinsmore Road, Trevor was currently renting a house in a community called Treasure Meadows.
The drive to Monroe Street was always an emotional one for me. With good reason. That was where my sister had been abducted and murdered twenty-nine years ago. Even though her killer had been caught and was now serving a life sentence behind bars, this neighborhood had never stopped haunting my m
emories.
I got a queasy feeling in my stomach as David’s car turned on to Monroe Street. As hard as it was to hold myself together, I had to find a way. I mustered all the resolve I could while David pulled into the driveway of Trevor Franklin’s brown Spanish-style rental home.
There was a blue sedan parked in the driveway. But when David and I got out of the car and knocked on the front door of the house, no one answered. That didn’t dissuade my husband. He kept knocking for the better part of five minutes.
After the most recent set of knocks, I turned to David.
“I don’t think he’s home,” I said.
David yelled at the door. “This is the police. If you’re in there, you’d better come on out.”
That demand didn’t produce any results.
David groaned. “You might be right.”
“How much longer do you want to stand here?” I asked. “It could be hours before he returns home.”
David grabbed his police radio. “True. Which is why I’m going to have a patrol car drive over here and keep an eye out for Trevor. That way you and I can go about our business.”
In a fortuitous twist, just as David began to call dispatch, a motorcycle driven by Trevor came down the street and started to slow down as it approached the house.
The moment Trevor spotted David and me on his doorstep, he sped up his motorcycle and drove right by his own house.
David gritted his teeth. “That punk.”
My forehead wrinkled. “What does he think he’s doing?”
David sprinted toward the driver’s side of his car. “Come on. We can’t let him get away.”
I darted to the passenger side of David’s car and got inside.
David fired up the ignition, backed out of the driveway, and chased after Trevor.
While David accelerated, I said a quick prayer that this would not turn into a crazy high-speed chase.
When Trevor encountered heavy traffic on Locust Boulevard, I felt like my prayer had been answered. I had never been happier to see a long string of cars in my entire life.
Thankfully, Trevor did not try to make a reckless maneuver with his bike and attempt to weave through the traffic. Instead, he pulled over to the side of the road.
David parked behind Trevor’s bike. David and I then got out of the car and walked over to Trevor to speak with him.
Trevor Franklin was a burly, long-haired man in his early fifties. Right then, I was less concerned with his physical characteristics than I was about his mental state.
David didn’t hesitate to get right to the heart of the matter. “What’s the matter with you?”
Trevor made an attempt to explain himself. “Look. I know what you’re thinking—”
“That you’re insane,” David said. “What made you think you could give us the slip?”
“I wasn’t trying to get away from you,” Trevor said.
David scoffed. “You’re the second suspect who has said that to me today, and I haven’t believed the story either time.”
“Listen. If I was really trying to get away, I would have cut through traffic. Instead, I just pulled over,” Trevor said.
“Don’t act like you did me this big favor. I’m not a moron. I saw you slow down as you approached your house, only to speed up the moment you spotted us,” David said.
Trevor shook his head. “That wasn’t why I sped up.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m a moron,” David said.
“I only sped up because it occurred to me that I had run out of cigarettes. So I was going to head over to the mini mart to pick up a new pack,” Trevor said.
“You know, that’s a really nasty habit. You should really quit,” David said.
“I’ve tried giving up smoking before. It’s too hard,” Trevor said.
“I wasn’t talking about smoking,” David said. “I was talking about lying.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Trevor said.
“You could see why I’d have a hard time believing that,” David said.
“It seems pretty easy to me,” Trevor said.
David shook his head. “It’s far more difficult than you seem to realize. Especially given the suspicions surrounding you.”
“You can stop right there. I already told you I had nothing to do with Mark Wilcox’s death. You’re not really going to make me go over everything again, are you?” Trevor asked.
“No,” David said.
Trevor breathed a sigh of relief.
“Instead, we have new suspicions to address,” I said.
Trevor threw out his arms. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever threatened Chuck Tillman?” I asked.
Trevor scoffed. “Where would you get that idea?”
“He seems awfully afraid of you,” I said.
“What he should be afraid of is spending the rest of his life in jail,” Trevor said.
“Do you think he killed Mark?” I said.
“He sure had reason to,” Trevor said.
“Do you have any evidence that points to Chuck being the killer?” I asked.
“It’s your job to get evidence,” Trevor said.
David snickered. “You sound like your wife.” He corrected himself. “I mean, your estranged wife.”
“Barbara’s a smart woman,” Trevor said.
“She might also be a murderer,” David said.
Trevor shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“You’re pretty defensive of a woman that you can’t wait to divorce,” David said.
“Despite what happened in our marriage, I know Barbara well enough to say that she isn’t a killer,” Trevor said.
“What if I told you she’s not as defensive of you?” David asked.
Trevor’s eyes widened. “Did she say something bad about me?”
“Would that change your opinion of her? Or are you still going to defend your estranged wife?” David said.
“What did she say about me?” Trevor snapped.
“She didn’t come to your defense, that’s for sure,” David said.
Trevor gritted his teeth. “That’s disappointing.”
“Maybe it’s more than that,” David said. “Perhaps it’s very telling.”
Trevor scowled. “Don’t go reading into things.”
“I don’t have to read very far. I mean, Mark Wilcox’s affair with your wife destroyed your marriage. If that’s not a killer motive for murder, I don’t know what is,” David said.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I didn’t kill Mark,” Trevor barked.
“It would be a lot easier to believe you if you weren’t so quick to snap at me. Or if you had an alibi for the time of the murder,” David said.
“I don’t care how easy it is to believe. It’s the truth,” Trevor said.
“Unfortunately, you have no way of proving that,” David said.
“So what, are you going to arrest me?” Trevor asked.
David became tightlipped.
“That’s what I thought,” Trevor said. “We both know you don’t have any evidence against me. Otherwise you would have dragged me away in cuffs already.”
David remained quiet.
“Since you’ve got nothing on me, I’m out of here,” Trevor said.
David made sure to get the last word in. “Don’t even think about leaving town.”
Chapter Thirteen
No matter how much David tried, he couldn’t ignore his frustration any longer. There were very few things that he hated more than being told off by a suspect. Especially when that suspect had a valid point. Despite the mounting suspicions that we had against Trevor, there was no concrete evidence in our possession that conclusively proved he had committed the murder.
In addition to hitting a wall with the suspects, what was left of our patience was rapidly eroding. In light of that, and the fact that it was our normal dinner time, it seemed like it was a good time to take a break
.
Since we were near the outskirts of town already, Treasures of the Cove Café was the logical spot to grab a bite of food from.
As David’s car pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, I realized that I would need to wait a little longer before I got some food in my stomach.
For a reason that was completely unknown to me, Gavin Zeller was dancing in the middle of the parking lot.
David turned to me from the driver’s seat of his car. “What do you think that’s about?”
I replied from the passenger seat, “I have no clue.”
“That makes two of us,” he said. “We should probably go check it out.”
“You first,” I said.
David got out of his car. I followed behind him.
“Gavin. What’s going on?” David asked.
Gavin was a rotund, brown-haired, round-faced, forty-seven-year-old. Nine years of heavy drinking had bloated his formerly athletic body. He finally hit rock bottom two years ago and sobered up. But by then, the damage had been done to his figure. Sure, he could always diet, but he didn’t seem to have any inclination to do so.
The size of his belly wasn’t the only thing that had changed over the last fifteen years. His entire life had been a roller coaster of ups and downs, starting with his eighteen-million-dollar lottery jackpot win a decade and a half ago. Unfortunately, Gavin began spending money like crazy. He also married a shameless gold digger of a woman who went on a spending spree of her own with his winnings.
When all was said and done, it only took four years for Gavin to burn through all of his money. To add insult to injury, the second the money dried up, his gold digger wife filed for divorce. From there, the heavy drinking began. He ended up having to take a low-level job at a restaurant in order to pay his bills.
After that, Gavin could have turned into nothing more than a cautionary tale. But in the last couple of years, he had started to turn his life around. In addition to getting sober, he also got a new job counseling professional athletes about being wise with their money.
When he first told me about the job, I couldn’t believe it. Only in America could a person who blew through all of his money make a living telling people how to be smart about their finances.
Murder and Layer Cake Page 4
