“It wasn’t as much of an argument as it was Trevor threatening me,” Chuck said.
“About what?” David said.
“He told me to stay away from Barbara,” Chuck said.
David squinted. “What business do you have with Barbara?”
“I told you this before. There’s something fishy with her. Although, Trevor is a real piece of work too,” Chuck said.
“Let’s focus on Barbara for a moment. You keep telling us you’re suspicious of her, but do you have even the slightest bit of evidence that she’s done anything wrong?” David asked.
“I just know what I feel in my gut,” Chuck said.
“And your gut instinct about Barbara hasn’t changed, even after Jeremy Bradford’s suicide?” David said.
“Not in the least,” Chuck said.
I spoke up. “I have a gut feeling of my own—”
“About Barbara?” Chuck asked.
I shook my head. “About Jeremy Bradford.”
Chuck gave me a blank stare. “What about him?”
“What if I told you there’s a chance that Jeremy didn’t really kill himself?” I said.
“Then how did he die?” Chuck asked.
“I believe he was murdered,” I said.
I paid close attention to Chuck’s reaction.
He became very tense the moment I said murder.
“That’s crazy,” Chuck said.
“Is that all you have to say?” I asked.
“What do you want from me? I don’t know anything about Jeremy’s death except what I heard on the news,” Chuck replied.
“You could see why we’d have a hard time believing that,” I said. “Especially given this recent outburst between you and Trevor—”
Chuck groaned. “I know what you’re thinking, and I had nothing to do with Jeremy’s death.”
“It would be nice if you could prove it,” I said.
“That’s simple. Tell us where you were yesterday between one and two o’clock in the afternoon,” I said.
“Uh…” Chuck trailed off and became pensive. “I was at home.”
“Alone?” David asked.
“I was at home, all right?” Chuck snapped.
“Answer the question. Were you alone?” David said.
“Yes,” Chuck said. “I didn’t kill Mark. Or Jeremy.”
“I wish I could believe that,” David said.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Chuck asked.
David stared at Chuck long and hard. “No. But I am going to keep my eyes on you. Don’t even think about leaving town for a while. Got it?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
While investigating a case, it wasn’t uncommon for me to entertain half a dozen different theories. Some were crazier than others. David had made it clear where he stood on my theory about Jeremy’s death not being the result of a suicide.
Had that last conversation with Chuck changed his mind? Chuck certainly hadn’t done himself any favors back there. He was awfully confrontational for a man who claimed to be innocent.
As I went over the conversation in my head, I became more convinced than ever that Jeremy’s death was a murder and not a suicide.
But at the moment, there was more to consider. Shortly after our interview with Chuck ended, David got a call from the deputy who had given chase to Trevor Franklin’s motorcycle. According to the deputy, he had caught up with Trevor on Wadsworth Avenue. The deputy was currently detaining Trevor.
David and I headed over to Wadsworth Avenue to question Trevor.
Even though there was plenty to discuss, David was surprisingly tight-lipped on the drive over to Trevor’s location.
I looked over at him from the passenger seat and saw him grimacing behind the wheel.
“I get the sense that Chuck wasn’t happy to see us,” I deadpanned.
When I started a conversation off on such a wry note, David typically replied with a sarcastic comment. Or at least a playful one. That didn’t happen this time.
Instead he replied tersely. “Yeah.”
I patiently waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t say another word.
For the time being, he was keeping his opinions to himself. Judging by the pained expression on his face, he was wrestling with all sorts of emotions.
He wasn’t alone. We were in the same boat. He just happened to want a quiet trip over to Wadsworth Avenue.
I had different plans. In my mind, there was too much that needed to be discussed to spend the entire car ride sitting silently. So I decided to steer the conversation.
“Is that all you have to say?” I asked.
David exhaled. “I’m working through a lot of stuff right now. At least I’m trying to.”
“Let’s work through it together,” I said.
“That’s easier said than done. I’m having a really hard time making sense of what just happened.”
“I have a theory.”
“I know you do.”
“You have to admit. It’s starting to look like a pretty good theory,” I said.
“I don’t have to admit anything. Especially since you still don’t have proof to back it up,” David replied.
“You saw how uneasy Chuck was back there.”
“Yes. And while that was suspicious, it wasn’t proof.”
“I get that you aren’t totally convinced of my theory yet—”
“You just couldn’t resist throwing in that yet, could you?”
“I’m all ears if you have another theory.”
“Jeremy still could have committed suicide.”
“I meant, a third theory.”
“I’m not interested in concocting random theories. I just want to know the truth.”
“So do I. Which is why I can’t help but wonder what reason Chuck would have had to be so abrasive with us.”
“There is still the possibility that Chuck just wasn’t in the mood to talk to us.”
“I’m not buying that for a second. Are you?”
David winced. “I’m torn.”
I squinted. “Are you really that on the fence?”
“I just told you I was—”
“I know. But here’s the thing. Back there, when I brought up the subject of Jeremy’s death being staged to look like a suicide, you could have shut me down. Instead you let me keep going.”
“Because I wanted to see how Chuck would react to that statement.”
“I think you’re less torn than you’re willing to admit.”
“Why don’t we focus on Trevor Franklin?”
“Speaking of Trevor, if you truly believe that Jeremy killed himself, then why are we heading to the north end of town to question Trevor right now?” I said.
“Sabrina, I’m trying to reserve my judgment.”
I snickered. “Uh-huh.”
“Look. Chuck and Trevor just had a big argument. I want to get Trevor’s side of the story.”
“Mostly because that argument didn’t need to happen in the first place. If I were either of them, I would have done everything in my power to avoid an incident. I certainly wouldn’t have caused a scene in a public place.”
“You know how high emotions run sometimes. Especially when things get stressful.”
“If they thought things were stressful before, they haven’t seen anything yet. It’s about to get even hotter under Trevor’s collar.”
“Feel free to turn up the heat as high as you want. Because unless we can get any of these suspects to slip up, we don’t have much to work with other than random speculation.”
“I wouldn’t rule out one of these suspects cracking.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Hey, I’m not banking on it,” I replied. “That said, we’ve seen it happen before. Besides, you never know what might happen next.”
“True. Although that scares me a lot more than it comforts me,” David said.
“The only thing I’m afraid of is the real killer getting aw
ay. I can’t wait to see what Trevor has to say for himself.”
“You won’t have to wait long. We’re only a few blocks away from his location.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wadsworth Avenue was known as a quiet street on the northeast side of town. But that afternoon, Trevor Franklin was making all sorts of noise. As a matter of fact, I heard him complaining the moment David turned onto the street.
David parked his sedan behind Deputy Randy Whitford’s squad car. Trevor was being detained in the backseat of the police cruiser.
David and I approached the squad car. That was when Trevor gave us an earful.
“What’s the big idea?” Trevor barked.
“Will you calm down?” David said.
Trevor shook his head. “You have no right to hold me like this.”
“Are you kidding? After what you just pulled back there in the parking lot, we have every right to detain you for questioning,” David said.
“This is insane,” Trevor said.
“Do you want me to drag you all the way back to the police station? Because if you don’t calm down, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” David said.
“I don’t have to talk to you,” Trevor said.
“True. But if you have nothing to hide, then why not just answer my questions?” David said.
Trevor squinted. “I thought the Mark Wilcox case was closed. They are running stories about it all over the news. So what do you want from me?”
“I want to know why you sped away from the parking lot the minute you spotted Sabrina and me,” David said.
“Because I didn’t want you hassling me,” Trevor said.
“So it wasn’t because you were in the middle of doing something suspicious?” David asked.
Trevor shook his head. “Where would you get that idea?”
“Chuck told us you threatened him,” David said.
Trevor scoffed. “What a liar. If anything, you need to give him a talking to.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why is that?”
“Chuck has been harassing both Barbara Franklin and me. So I told him to knock it off.”
“You didn’t threaten him then?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Trevor said. “Now are we done?”
“Far from it,” David said.
“But I answered your questions,” Trevor said.
“We have more,” David said.
“This is infuriating,” Trevor snapped.
“Trevor, you realize that you aren’t doing yourself any favors right now—” David started to say.
“Why does that matter?” Trevor asked. “Like I told you before, I’ve watched the news. The case is closed. Jeremy Bradford killed himself because he felt guilty about murdering Mark Wilcox. So why are you wasting your time badgering me?”
“Because there’s a possibility that Jeremy’s death wasn’t a suicide,” I said.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Trevor said.
David stared Trevor down. “I think you do.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” Trevor asked.
“No. I’m just saying that we have our suspicions,” David replied.
“Of what?” Trevor asked.
“If I’m correct and Jeremy was murdered, it means his killer is on the loose,” I said.
Trevor gritted his teeth. “And let me guess, you think I’m a suspect.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I said.
“Let me save you some time,” Trevor said. “I didn’t kill Jeremy.”
“Trevor, I’m not in the business of taking a suspect at their word,” David said.
“Yeah? Well I’m telling you the truth,” Trevor said.
“There’s one easy way to prove that,” David said. “Where were you yesterday between one and two o’clock in the afternoon?”
“I was watching the Marauders game on TV,” Trevor said.
“Where?” David asked.
“At home.”
“Were you alone?” David asked.
Trevor nodded.
“That’s a shame,” David said.
“It would only be a shame if I did something wrong. But I didn’t,” Trevor said.
“I really wish you could prove that,” David said.
“Look. You can keep questioning me all you want, but we both know that you don’t have anything on me,” Trevor said.
Chapter Thirty
We did keep interviewing Trevor a little longer. Unfortunately, we didn’t get anywhere. In addition, since David didn’t have sufficient grounds to haul Trevor back to the station and charge him with anything, he reluctantly let him go.
Our frustration didn’t end there. For the next day and a half, David and I made no further progress on the case. By then, I was practically pulling my hair out.
Maybe some food would help me think clearer. I began preparing a casserole for dinner. David, meanwhile, went out to check the mail. He returned a few minutes later with a curious look on his face.
“Did we get anything interesting?” I asked.
David shook his head. “Just bills.”
“Those are definitely not interesting.”
“They sure aren't,” David said. “But do you know what is?”
“What?”
“Jim Richards got a motorcycle.”
Jim was our mild-mannered next-door neighbor.
My eyes widened. “Really?”
David nodded. “I know it comes as a complete shock, but yeah. He’s in his driveway right now, admiring his new bike.”
“The same Jim Richards that has been a financial adviser for twenty years and has a closet filled with sweater vests?” I asked.
David pointed at the front door. “Go see for yourself.”
“No, I believe you. He’s just the last person I’d ever expect to buy a motorcycle.”
“Apparently, he has a wild side that we never knew about.”
“I’ll say. I always pictured him as a sedan kind of guy.”
“So did I.”
“I wonder what else we don’t know about him.”
“I’d like to believe that buying a motorcycle is as wild as he gets.”
“Just because you want to believe it, doesn’t mean it’s the truth.”
“You’ve got me there. The truth isn’t always what we expect it to be.”
I nodded. “Especially in Treasure Cove.”
Just then, our conversation was interrupted by the sound of an engine revving. That was followed by the noise of a motorcycle speeding down the street. It was amazing how loud it was.
My mind began to race. Here I was, inside my house, yet I could hear Jim’s motorcycle driving away outside. That thought stuck with me for a few seconds.
My head remained in the clouds until David spoke up.
“Sabrina, what are you thinking?” he asked.
I abandoned the casserole that I had been preparing. “I have an idea.”
David gave me a blank stare. “What are you talking about?”
I grabbed my purse. “Follow me,” I said. “I have a hunch.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I chased down my hunch for a few hours before ultimately heading over to Trevor Franklin’s place with David.
It was safe to say that Trevor wasn’t happy to see us. He didn’t even want to open his front door. But after three sets of knocks, Trevor finally opened up.
Trevor scowled at David. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“What can I say? You can’t get rid of us,” David said.
“Will you just leave me alone already? The case is over. And I have nothing else to say to you,” Trevor replied.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” David said.
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “You have a lot of nerve.”
“Not as much as you do,” David said.
Trevor’s eyebrows knitted. “What are you talking about?”
“It turns
out the case isn’t over,” David said. “Not yet. But it will be in a moment.”
“I don’t like the tone you’re taking with me,” Trevor said.
“Then you’re really going to hate what we have to say next,” I replied.
“Why?” Trevor asked.
I folded my arms. “Don’t try to play dumb. We know what you did.”
“I have no clue what you’re referring to,” Trevor said.
“The fact that you killed Mark Wilcox and Jeremy Bradford,” I said.
Trevor scoffed. “You’re crazy.”
I shook my head. “No. You’re the nutcase. Thankfully, you’ll be behind bars soon.”
“What makes you think you can come over to my house and throw around crazy accusations without a single shred of proof?” Trevor barked.
“I have to admit. You did a pretty good job of covering your tracks. You made sure there were no fingerprints on the wrench you used to kill Mark Wilcox. And you specifically used a wrench so that the finger of suspicion would be pointed at someone with a connection to Mark’s auto repair shop,” I said.
Trevor replied, “I’m going to stop you right there—”
“I’m not done yet,” I said. “And neither were you. As the investigation stretched on, you felt the pressure building. You probably figured it was only a matter of time before we caught you. So you hatched a plan to throw us off your scent. You killed Jeremy and staged the scene to look like a suicide. You figured when we discovered the cup of bleach and the confessional text message beside Jeremy’s body, that we’d close the Mark Wilcox case,” I said. “But in your haste to leave the scene, you slipped up.”
Trevor snarled. “You’re really reaching.”
“No. We’re spot on. You see, we just finished going door-to-door on Jeremy’s street. Two of his neighbors confirmed hearing the sound of a motorcycle speeding in front of their houses around the time of Jeremy’s death. That was your motorcycle,” I said.
“You can’t prove that,” Trevor said.
“You’re wrong again. We showed those neighbors your picture. One of them got a really good look at you from their window. And that neighbor is willing to testify in court that you were the man riding that motorcycle,” I said.
Murder and Layer Cake Page 9
