by Lois Lavrisa
“Have you ever heard of the term obstruction of justice?” Detective Wurkowski got up and stood over me.
I felt his breath on me. This is how a matador must feel when the bull is next to him. He seemed to stare at the top of my head. Beads of perspiration formed on my temples.
“We need you to cooperate with us,” Detective Wurkowski said as he turned on his heels and walked over to the kitchen window. He pulled a small floral covered notebook out of his jacket. He flipped open a page, turned to me and began to read, “This is a recent entry. ‘Today I saw my best friend, CiCi, she had almost drowned. Maybe that would have been better.’ Interesting, huh?”
Yeah, and for a fleeting moment I wished I would have drowned too. Avoiding answering, I took a sip of my coffee.
“Best friend, huh? So you knew the victim much better than you led us to believe last night. Explain this to me,” he said.
Attempting to not sound like a smart aleck but striving to get my point across, I said, “If I remember Detective, I said we were former friends from school. Did it really matter if we were best friends? Isn’t that a minor detail?”
“Not in a murder investigation. Details are important.” Detective Wurkowski dragged a chair next to me, and then straddled it. “Yesterday the victim saw you after you nearly drowned?”
“Sort of. She might have been in the crowd of gapers after Mark pulled me from the lake.”
“Yes or no?”
“She was in the crowd.”
“Did she see you?”
“Maybe she did. I saw her.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No,” I answered.
“Let me see here.” He flipped open his notebook. “Last night, I asked you when the last time you saw Francesca alive was and you said it was at H&K’s.”
“Yes. That’s what I said.”
“Yet, you didn’t tell me that earlier in the day you saw her too.”
“But you asked when the last time I saw her alive, not what other times I saw her.”
He shook his head and drummed on the table with his pen. He let out a long sigh. “You also led me to believe that you hadn’t seen her in four years. Now you admit you saw her earlier in the evening. What other times had you seen her?”
“Yesterday morning in the crowd that was hovering around me after my near drowning, but I just told you that. Then later in the evening I saw her again at H&K’s. The last time was her head floating in the lake if you want to count that as seeing her too.” I tried to keep my body movements steady even though I felt jittery. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or nerves or both.
“In the victim’s journal, she wrote ‘Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t been saved from drowning. Because our lives will change forever now that someone knows what happened. I want to spare her any more pain.’ What’s going on Ms. Coe?”
We killed someone and she was being blackmailed for the crime we committed together. “Please call me CiCi. Nothing is going on. Really.” Shit oh shit.
“Ms. Coe, could you think of why she wished you’d drowned? And what does she mean that someone knew what happened? And why does she want to spare you more pain?” he asked.
Oh yeah, I can definitely think of why she did. “I have no idea,” I said.
“Isn’t that odd though? You told me you hadn’t seen her in four years, and then when you finally reunite, she wishes you would’ve drowned. Then later on she’s found dead. Ms. Coe, you can certainly understand why that sounds out of the ordinary. Very perplexing.” He took a deep breath and extended his arms above his head in a stretch. “What occurred to create the four year rift?”
“Nothing really. I mean, we graduated. She left for Europe and I stayed and went to college.”
“Hmm.” Then he stood and poured another cup of coffee. “We’ll be going over the victim’s journal in detail. What I read was just a recent entry in it. If there is something you need to tell me, you should do so now. Do you want to recant any part of your story?”
“No, sir.” Not until I got some facts. Then if my hunch was correct, he would arrest the blackmailer. How could I get the facts? Where could I start? I still hadn’t worked that out yet. However, I had a feeling that time was running out.
“Was there someone in her life named or called Ace? There was a recent entry about him too,” he said.
“Nope. I don’t know anyone called Ace,” I said. “What did she say about him?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t disclose that.” He scratched his head and furrowed his brows. “Do you know if she was involved in a romantic relationship with anyone recently?”
“How could I? I told you I hadn’t seen her in four years. That is, until yesterday.” Was she involved with Ace? Who was Ace?
“Can we go over the events last night again? I want to make sure I have all my facts correct.”
“Yes sir.”
“You said you saw Ms. Pike at H&K’s around nine in the evening. After you had dinner with your friend and your mail boat co-worker, Mark Stevens, is that correct?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Are you in a relationship with Mr. Stevens?”
“No. Just really good friends.”
“Let’s move on. Then you and Dr. Wilson were on his boat a little after ten that same evening. Dr. Wilson told us you were on the water an hour and a half or so. Then sometime after eleven thirty he said you found the victim. Correct?”
I did a quick mental time check of last night’s events. “Yes, sir, that sounds pretty close.”
“Where were you from nine until the boat ride?”
Having a fight with Francesca and paying off a blackmailer. “I can’t remember.”
Detective Wurkowski flipped through the pages in his little black notebook. “Were you in H&K’s the whole time?”
“No sir,” I said.
“Then where were you?” he asked.
I took a sip of now cold coffee. “I had to get some fresh air. So I went outside for a while.”
“Outside? Where?”
“Sitting on a bench by the pavilion dock.” This was partly true. The other part of my time was spent putting on a disguise, then making a drop of twenty thousand dollars for the blackmailer.
“How long were you outside?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. For a while I guess,” I said.
“Can anyone corroborate your story? Did you see anyone else, or talk to anyone while you were sitting outside?”
My hands tightened around the coffee mug. I hoped he didn’t see it.
Mayor Pike walked in the kitchen. “Detective, I have to make arrangements at church for a memorial. Juanita is here if you need anything.”
“I have to leave too,” I offered.
“Thank you mayor. We certainly appreciate your cooperation.” Detective Wurkowski looked over at me with slit eyes. “We need all the cooperation we can get.”
I said to Mayor Pike, “Please let me know if I can do anything for you. Feel free to call or drop over. Anytime at all.”
“Thank you CiCi. I’ll let you know.” Mayor Pike stood looking out the kitchen window at the Lake. He turned to me, and gave me a hug. “Oh. I appreciate the cake. Estelle is quite a cook.”
“She’d love to know that, I’ll make sure to tell her.” I smiled at Mayor Pike, and then he turned and walked away. I caught Detective Wurkowski’s glare. My legs couldn’t move fast enough as I began to jog away.
Detective Wurkowski followed on my heels. “Not so quick, Ms. Coe.”
I stopped in my tracks, him at my side. “Yes, detective?”
“There are gaps in your story that we need to clear up. These unaccounted for times oddly enough are the time when your best friend was murdered.”
I knew damned good and well what he was saying, that I was, or could be, a suspect in her murder.
“Don’t leave town.” Detective Wurkowski stared me down.
Our eyes met. If I had a passport
and a ticket I would be on the first plane out of here. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Eleven
As I left the Pike mansion, I turned back to see Detective Wurkowski standing, with his arms crossed, watching me. Attempting to give off a casual nonchalant innocence, I waved at him and smiled. Damn it to hell. That guy was driving me nuts. I was a suspect? Was he kidding? I would never kill Francesca. Talk about my life going from tranquil to thorny. Actually, after the trucker’s death, there was always something evil brewing beneath the calm exterior of my life. It was only a matter of time before the trucker’s death resurfaced.
A white van with the words TV4 on the side pulled in at the end of the driveway, near the wrought iron gates at the entrance of the property. My heart thumped and my mouth went dry. There was no way I wanted to be a part of any television broadcast.
“There she is. That’s the girl that found the head.” A middle-aged man in a navy polyester suit ran after me. “Ms. Coe, right? I’m Paul Zellers, news anchor from Channel Four. I need to ask you some questions.” He turned to a tall gangly bald man with oversized glasses who looked like a stick with a round ball on top, “Get the camera rolling.”
Ignoring him, I kept my pace up, out the end of the driveway and onto the street. Before I knew it the cameraman barged in front of me, and the anchor stuck a microphone in my face. He bothered me when he was on television, and more so now that he stood in front of me. “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I said.
“Ms. Coe, I’m Paul Zellers from TV4. Can you tell me about last night?” Paul asked as the cameraman walked backward while he filmed.
Paul, the balding, whiny news anchor and the cameramen were not going to get any significant details out of me. My loyalty was to Francesca, and I planned to honor her life and death.
“No comment,” I said as I sped up my pace to near a race walk pace.
“Ms. Coe, we know that you and your fiancé found the mayor’s daughter’s head in the lake. The public has a right to know what’s going on.” Paul was huffing as his face turned red.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“We just need a quick interview. It won’t take much time.” He followed alongside me.
“No thank you,” I said.
“You’re the mail jumper aren’t you?” He sped up his pace. “You’re a public figure so why not just give the public what they need to know now?”
“Public figure?” I laughed.
“Of course, and so we have a right to know about your life,” Paul said.
“If I was a political figure, a movie star or a professional athlete. But me?” I said.
“You’re Estelle Andrew’s niece? We know where you work and live. Sooner or later we’ll get something on tape from you.”
“Wouldn’t that be considered harassment?” I asked.
“Just giving the public what they deserve,” he said.
They weren’t going to leave me alone unless they got a sound bite from me. And I definitely didn’t want them harassing Estelle. I stopped in my tracks.
“Great. You’ll talk to us?” Paul took a deep breath.
“Do I have a choice here guys?” I asked.
“You’re going to tell us what happened?” Paul asked.
I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “All you need to know is that the police are taking care of everything.”
“Let’s back up. Tell us the details of the discovery. Like where were you, what time was it, how did you find the head? Oh, and what did the head look like? Do you think it’s foul play? Did you see the body floating around? Do you know who did it? Could it be a serial killing?” Paul peppered me with questions.
This little town was so clean-scrubbed homogenized America. I’m sure this was a once in a lifetime story for some dinky local news anchor like Paul. Maybe I should humor the poor guy. I decided to give him something, yet nothing.
My bachelor’s degree was in business with a minor in public relations. So I pulled out some sound bites I learned from PR. “Well Paul, first, it would have to be more than one death to be a serial killing. Second, this is a catastrophic event for Mayor Pike, and this whole community. Francesca Pike’s death is tragic and heartbreaking. It has touched us all. And for the sake of her family we should all be giving her respect and not sensationalizing her death. I would suggest that you talk to Detective Wurkowski, the lead detective on this case. He’s at the Pike mansion right now, and I’m sure he can give you better insight into this painful event.”
Paul stood there for a moment, jaw dropped open. “Is that all you’re going to give us?”
I nodded.
“Here, take my business card. Call me anytime.” With that, Paul turned away from me.
I took the card and shoved it into my pocket.
The cameraman took his equipment down from his shoulder.
“Let’s go and find that detective,” Paul said. He and the cameraman wandered up the driveway to Pike Mansion.
“Wurkowski, Detective Wurkowski,” I called after them. Maybe the news exposure would get the public involved, and that might bring to light some clues or information that can put the murderer behind bars for life. For the first time, I realized that if Francesca’s murderer was indeed the blackmailer, and he connected me to the trucker’s murder, then I could very well be the next victim.
Chapter Twelve
“They canceled all lake activity until they finish dragging it. This whole area is a crime scene,” Mark said as I approached him by the pavilion ticket booth. “What a shock about Francesca, huh?”
I shook my head and opened my arms in a sweeping gesture. “She was here yesterday and now…” the words caught in my throat and sputtered out.
“I know.” Mark ambled over and slung his arm over my shoulder.
“How could this happen? Who would do something like that?” The words caught in my throat, as my heart sunk.
“I don’t know.” Mark held me.
For a few moments I sunk my head into his chest. “I know the best thing to do is to go on with our lives. Let the police solve this. But how do we go on? It’s abysmal.”
Mark lifted my chin. “I guess I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the medical examiner is doing an autopsy.”
“On a head?” I yelped.
“Of course. They use whatever evidence they have. And that’s all they have right now,” Mark added.
His words seemed to drift above me as he continued to talk. My thoughts got lost in a montage of Francesca and our last day together; us talking, the way she smelled of suntan lotion and perfume. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear her voice that was sultry and childlike all at once. As though coming out of a cloud, I heard Mark talking once again.
“And her dad is planning a memorial at Saint Thomas Cathedral,” Mark continued.
“Of course. Okay then, that’s what has to happen next,” I whispered as I began to walk away.
“CiCi, you’re acting like you’re sleepwalking or something. Why don’t you go home?”
“Sure,” I mumbled. I had to get it together and start to piece together the facts, in order to find Francesca’s murderer. Detective Wurkowski seemed obsessed with me as a suspect. I knew I hadn’t done it. So if I didn’t find out who was the murderer, who would?
“Why don’t you get Ken to give you something to relax,” Mark said.
What I needed instead of medication was for someone to tell me this was some huge tragic mistake. That Francesca was alive, and that life was fine. Back to normal. Quiet. Peaceful.
“A Prozac or Valium would help you through this shock,” Mark continued.
“Drugs? Sure, that’ll solve this whole mess. Just pop a pretty little pill and all my troubles will go floating away on a cloud of numbness.” I realized I was almost yelling. “I’m sorry for yelling Mark.”
“You’re under a lot of stress,” he said.
“Maybe you’re right. I should go home for a while,” I said.
“After all,
you’re going through all the normal stages of grieving. I can help you, I’m a—”
“MIT. Got it.” I scrunched my eyebrows. “You have her head?”
“Yes,” he said. “And, thanks to you I passed my exam. Which means I will be in charge of her, um, remains.”
“Don’t you have connections at the hospital? What did they say the cause of death was?”
Mark paused. Then looked down at his feet. “Do you really want to know?”
“I can guess.”
“What I’ve heard from my inside connections, is that the cause of death was a sharp object that severed her body from her head. So far they haven’t found any additional head trauma,” Mark said.
“Getting her head cut off was enough trauma,” I added. My head felt foggy, and my gut wretched.
“There might be other causes of death. Like maybe drugs in her system, or caused from a fight or fall, or gunshot. Or some type of accident.”
“How could Francesca’s death ever make sense? If it was an accident, then it’s still tragic. But if it was caused at the hands of someone else, then that’s too appalling to imagine,” I said.
He reached over and put his hand on my arm. “Go home. I’ll call you later. Whatever happened, or whoever did this will be found out soon.”
“I’m telling you now, her killer should be treated the same way she was. I know that sounds awful, but I’m so mad. So terribly pissed off at what happened to her I just can’t think straight,” I said as I clenched my hands.
“Listen, we all want the killer locked up,” Mark said.
Did Mark understand I was not involved in Francesca’s murder? I realized that Detective Wurkowski thought I was, but I hoped no one else would ever think that. “Mark you know I would never kill anyone?” At least not on purpose. “Don’t you?” I looked at him for agreement.
“Of course. And that’s exactly what I told the police this morning,” Mark said.
“The police?” Good gracious.
“Yeah. They’ve been questioning everyone who was at H&K’s last night,” Mark said.
