Liquid Lies

by Lois Lavrisa

  I gave her my cell number. “I’ll be here. Call me if anything changes. Sleep well.”

  “Dear, I don’t think I’ll ever sleep soundly again,” Vivian said.

  ***

  The memorial service was less than twenty four hours away. Still no eulogy. Still no answers about Francesca’s death. I gave Mark a quick call and updated him on what Vivian told me.

  “See, I think that the killer is right here. We just need to put all the pieces together,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, I wish it were that easy.” My call waiting buzzed. It was an unfamiliar number. “There’s someone calling in, but I don’t recognize the number.”

  “I bet its Jacob, our number one suspect. Get the call. Weren’t you supposed to meet him?” Mark spoke quickly.

  “Yeah.” And I was hoping Jacob would forget.

  “Call me back to tell me where you two are meeting. I’ll be there to inconspicuously keep an eye on what’s happening. Damn where’d I put my moustache?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good idea, you never know when you’ll need it,” Mark said.

  “Sure.” I hung up the call with Mark and clicked over to the incoming call. “This is CiCi.”

  “Hi, it’s Jacob,” he replied.

  A sinking weight pulled my stomach down to my ankles. I tried to act casual. “So how are you?”

  “Great. Are we still on for tonight?” Jacob asked.

  Hell no. “Sure,” I said.

  “Can I pick you up, or do you want to meet me in a half hour at H&K’s?” he asked.

  “I’ll just see you there,” I said, then ended the call. There was no way I was getting in a car with a killer. But, then again, I had gotten into a semi-cab with a perverted truck driver.

  I called Mark back with the details of my meeting with Jacob. Mark told me a police officer and Mayor Pike were at the funeral home with him. He also said that the police discovered something, a major breakthrough in the case. The public could not know about it, yet. Of course, he said that he would tell me later on when he met up with me in person. He was still under the delusion the phone was bugged.

  ***

  Jacob greeted me as I entered the bar. He pulled a stool out for me, and then sat next to me.

  “Is beer okay?” he asked.

  Cyanide would be better. “Great,” I said. My leg twitched. I drummed my fingers on the bar.

  Jacob ordered two drafts. The bartender set the frosted glass mugs in front of us. Jacob put down a ten dollar bill.

  “Why do I have the feeling that you’re nervous being around me? Was I that bad of a cook?” he asked.

  “Nervous? I’m fine.” Hell yes, I’m nervous. I had every reason to be. He had to be the blackmailer. The best thing to do would be to start interrogating him. It would be great to have Francesca’s murder solved, her killer behind bars before her memorial service tomorrow night. First, I needed to find out if he was the trucker’s son and therefore had motive to be the blackmailer. Not knowing how to transition into direct questioning, I came right out with, “I’m really sorry Mark asked so many questions earlier. Sensitivity is not his strong suit, except when it comes to his job.”

  “Don’t worry about. It was just a little odd.”

  “Yes, Mark is odd, but a great guy,” I said. “Thanks for understanding.”

  “No problem. After all, I’m new in town, and this seems like a tight knit community. I guess I’m an anomaly people are trying to figure out.” Jacob grinned.

  “But I’ve got you figured. Your heart is broken,” I said referring to the loss of his dad.

  “How so?”

  “Your dad was killed–”

  Jacob furrowed his brows. “I never said he was killed.”

  Shit. “I’m sorry, I just assumed when you didn’t want to talk about how he died that something awful must have happened,” I said.

  Jacob cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “So why would you think he was killed and didn’t die from a disease or accident?”

  “I guess I made a bad assumption.” Heat rose from my neck to my face.

  “If you don’t mind I’d like to skip talking about my dad.” He put his hand on my knee, and smiled.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I lost my parents a few years ago. Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Please forgive me for asking.” I stared at my beer and felt his hand on my knee. I wanted to cover his hand with mine.

  “Forgiven. And I’m sorry about your parents. If you don’t mind, I’d rather talk about you.”

  “I hate talking about myself.” Shoot. I didn’t want him to know anything at all about me.

  “Most people find themselves the most amusing topic,” Jacob said.

  “Not me.” I let out a nervous giggle. Why I felt like the biggest dork I had no idea.

  “Why did you decide to meet me for drinks?” Jacob asked.

  Because I wanted to pin a murder on you. “You did a great job fixing Estelle’s banister.”

  “So you agreed to meet for drinks because I’m a good handyman?” Jacob grinned.

  “That and you cook a good burger,” I said.

  “My two claims to fame, flipping burgers and wielding a hammer.” Jacob took a swig of his beer.

  He seemed so innocent as he sat on the barstool adjacent to me. His laid back attitude, and nice manners did not scream murderer. Maybe Mark and I were wrong.

  “Again, I’m sorry about running off on you after you cooked such a nice dinner. It was very nice of you to have me over,” I said.

  “My pleasure. I’m glad you showed up. You’re welcome to stop over anytime.” Jacob took his hand and touched my cheek. “I was hoping you were falling for me like I am for you.”

  Hell no. But maybe. “I don’t really know you,” I said.

  “Okay then. What can I tell you?” Jacob asked.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I began my inquisition.

  “Green,” he said.

  “Why did you get a job here?” I continued.

  “Good money, new location,” he answered.

  “Do you miss your home?”

  “California will always be there, and I needed a change.”

  “Are you working here?” I asked.

  “Until recently, yes.” He sat up and said, “Why do I feel like I’m being scrutinized?”

  Because you are. “I’m just trying to get to know you better. To see if, maybe, some day we could possibly have a relationship,” I said.

  Like never.

  “You have a strange way of doing things,” Jacob said tersely.

  “You know I couldn’t help but notice that you had a hundred dollar bill,” I said.

  “Huh?” he said.

  “Yesterday you paid for the ice cream with one.” I fidgeted, moving my beer mug to a different place on the bar. “I mean you could be making the money on your own press.” I realized what an awful job I was doing at this examination. I sounded like a nosy idiot.

  “Sure. That’s what I do in my spare time between doing construction, I’m making counterfeit money.” Jacob shook his head.

  “Okay. It might not be counterfeit. Maybe you won the lottery or something. Like maybe you came into a lot of money?”

  Blackmail money.

  “You’re cute, but enough with the questioning.” Jacob hopped off his barstool and grabbed my hand. “Time to dance.”

  The band blared a country western slow ballad as Jacob pulled me close. It was too loud to talk on the dance floor, so I temporarily relinquished my determination to get answers out of him and just enjoy the dance. Being in his arms felt safe, yet I knew he was the opposite. I had a difficult time reconciling my attraction to him when my mind said I had to be repulsed by him.

  As we left the dance floor, Detective Wurkowski greeted me. He had two uniformed officers by his side.

  “Ms. Coe, we need to bring you in for questioning about the murder of Francesca Pike,” Detective Wurkowski said.r />
  “Whoa. Me?” I shrieked. My heart raced as I broke out in a cold sweat. Every eye in the bar was on me.

  Jacob jumped in. “Officers, what’s going on?”

  “Are you her attorney?” Detective Wurkowski put his hand up to Jacob.

  “No sir.” Jacob stepped back.

  “Then clear the area,” Detective Wurkowski instructed.

  With that I was escorted out of H&K’s and into a waiting squad car. A group of people swarmed around to see what was happening. This was horrible timing. I was getting so close to finding out that Jacob was the real killer. I needed to find proof. Now.

  Where the hell was Mark? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on me as well as helping me get to the bottom of Francesca’s murder.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Yes. This was just the beginning of my unraveling. Upon arriving at the Round Lake police department I was led through a long hallway. The initial shock and humiliation of being brought in for questioning had worn off. I knew I wasn’t guilty. All of this would be cleared up as soon as I found the true killer.

  Maybe I should lawyer up, as the lingo went. If I called Estelle she would go into a panic and probably be too befuddled to help. Plus it would cause her way too much anxiety and she had enough going on trying to save her house from eminent domain. Ditto for Hazel.

  Calling Ken was out of the question. Even though we had a long dating history, and were engaged at least until yesterday, since he dumped me I was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to help me out of this mess.

  I needed to call Mark. He could find an attorney for me. His neighbor recently passed the bar exam and seemed to be sniffing around for any legal work he could get his hands on. I hope that also meant he worked for cheap or even free. Since I knew I was innocent, I just needed an attorney to get me through the system until I could prove that Jacob was the real killer.

  Then it occurred to me that if I told the police who the killer was, I’d also have to tell them how I figured it out. That would lead back to the night Francesca and I killed the trucker. Perhaps the priest was right. I’d know the time to tell the truth. Maybe it was now. Or maybe I should plead the Fifth Amendment.

  Detective Wurkowski took me into a drab room, about twelve feet by ten feet with institution grey painted walls, a rectangular metal table in the middle, a steel chair on both sides and a third chair off in a corner. What looked like an observation two-way mirror lined one wall. The room reeked of pine cleaner.

  Detective Wurkowski motioned me to sit in the chair, facing the mirror. “Ms. Coe. We are questioning you because we have reason to believe that you may have killed Francesca Pike.”

  “Yes sir. You’ve established that,” I said. “By the way, like I had said before, you can call me by my nickname, CiCi. Since we’ve been seeing each other so much, I was thinking of nicknames for you. What do you think of Detective Work?”

  He shook his head.

  “How about Cowski or Ski?”

  He let out a huge exasperated sigh.

  “Or Detective W?”

  A vein in his forehead began to show. “You can call me Detective Wurkowski.”

  “Got it. I’m sorry.” My face felt warm.

  “Did you kill Ms. Francesca Pike?” he asked.

  “No. I did not kill Francesca,” I said. “Did you ever talk to her neighbor, Doug? I told you that he may have seen her after I did, the night she was killed.”

  “Yes we did.” He sat down across from me. “We are exploring all leads.”

  Another officer entered the room with two Styrofoam cups. “Is black okay?”

  “Yes sir,” I said. Black, like my life is right now.

  “This is Detective Vince Gentry Junior,” Detective Wurkowski said.

  Detective Gentry was a chiseled face, clean-shaven, hard bodied heartbreaker of a detective. With his olive skin and pitch black hair, he looked Mexican. He stuck out his hand and gave me a firm shake. I smelled his spicy aftershave. My dad had worn the same kind. Just because of that, I already liked him. “Ms. Coe, if you don’t mind I’m going to pull up a chair over there. Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?”

  Get me the hell out of here. “No thanks,” I said.

  “Let me get you up to speed, Vince. I just confronted Ms. Coe here with the fact that we believe she murdered Ms. Francesca Pike. Ms. Coe responded that she did not kill Ms. Pike,” Detective Wurkowski said.

  “Is your coffee okay?” Detective Gentry asked as I put down the Styrofoam cup.

  The burnt stale coffee made my stomach churn. I winced. “It’s fine, thank you.”

  “Good. Listen, I want to get you out of here as soon as possible. I bet you’d rather be somewhere, hell, anywhere else but here, right?” Detective Gentry slid a chair over next to me. The metal chair on the tile floor made a horrid loud pitched screech. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem.” I responded, crossing my arms and legs. “And to answer your first question, yes, I don’t belong here. I did not kill Francesca.”

  Detective Wurkowski slammed his hand on the metal table. “I believe you killed her. But what circumstances led up to it?”

  “There were no events that led up to anything. I did not do it!” I yelled. “Okay, let’s just say that I did, even though I restate, I did not. How in the heck did I cut off her head? C’mon now, wouldn’t I need some sort of tool or weapon or something to do it? Where is that?” Yes, some weapon, like the tire iron we used on the trucker. But whoever killed Francesca used something. Therefore, if my hunch is correct, I needed to look for Jacob’s weapon. He had a lot of tools and I bet one of them had blood on it.

  “Good point,” Detective Gentry said. He smiled at me and shook his head. “We’re already investigating that as well.”

  “Ms. Coe. I think you acted out of desperation. You were once best friends. Somewhere your friendship went bad. Very bad. Your feelings changed to hatred. I don’t think you’re a common criminal who enjoys doing things like this. I think you tried hard to keep your distance. You hadn’t seen her in four years. But then, suddenly, she’s back in town. Although you tried to keep your distance, you ran into her. You realized that Francesca’s presence turned your world around so much that on the spur of the moment you killed her.”

  I let out a thunderous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Ms. Coe I most certainly am,” Detective Wurkowski said, his steely gaze on me. His forehead beaded with sweat, his upper lip trembled.

  “What difference does it make that Francesca and I were no longer friends? Or even that we were best friends once? None of this matters because I didn’t do it,” I stated.

  “Maybe it was a mishap. After your fight with her at H&K’s, you were both riled up and decided to take it outside, so you left together. Then you accidentally killed her,” Detective Wurkowski explained.

  I interrupted him, “Again, we did not fight, and we were not, as you say, riled up. We were just having a conversation, and that was it. And back to your theory, if I killed her in the heinous fashion that she was killed, as I already said, I would need a weapon, and assuming I had one to do the deed, wouldn’t I be covered in blood?”

  “You had time to clean up and hide the evidence.” Detective Wurkowski jumped to his feet. Snatched his chair and plunked it right next to me. “Ms. Coe, we have Francesca’s journal. She wrote about the secret that you and she had.” He pulled out the small journal from his front pocket and opened it. “She writes about what transpired on her eighteenth birthday tore your friendship apart. She says here, how she wishes she could redo that night and make it right.”

  I sat as still as a statue, even though my insides were spinning.

  “What do you say happened that night?” Detective Wurkowski asked.

  Although I had nothing to lose, it would complicate everything to bring up that event. My innocence was at stake so I decided to say nothing.

  “That night she wrote that the two of you went to a
concert. In Enbridge, a couple hours north of here? Is that right Ms. Coe?”

  “Yes sir. That’s what we did for her eighteenth birthday,” I said.

  “And?” He turned some pages, making grunting noises as he perused the contents. “What about that night? What caused a huge rift in your friendship?”

  If there was more in the journal he would’ve revealed it and gotten this over with. He must be fishing to see if I’d cave in. I looked straight at the mirror. My head was beginning to throb. “It was a long time ago.”

  “And I’m sure it’s been a long day for you. I’m sorry Ms. Coe that you have to put up with all this questioning. Why not just tell us the truth and get out of here?” Detective Gentry put a hand on my back.

  Good Cop.

  Uncrossing my arms, I leaned forward in the hard metal chair. My butt was falling asleep. “I’ve been telling the truth. But now I think I need a lawyer.”

  “Why do you need a lawyer if you say you’re not guilty? C’mon, level with us. Was her death an accident?” Detective Wurkowski wiped his hand across his mouth. He closed the journal and began tapping it like a deck of cards.

  Bad Cop.

  I looked him in the eyes. “I did not kill her.” Oh and why weren’t they asking if I carried around something to chop off a head? Jeez. This was lame. Perhaps this was the first murder case either officer, or Round Lake, ever experienced. Therefore, they were learning as they went along how to handle something like this.

  “Okay. So you’re not a killer. You’re not a bad person. You didn’t mean to kill her, it was an accident. A mistake. Hell, we all get in situations we shouldn’t be in, and do things we normally don’t do,” Detective Wurkowski continued.

  I let out very audible long sigh.

  “Am I right?” Detective Wurkowski stared me down.

  This line of questioning went on for an hour. My eyes were closing, my body felt deflated. I was ready to wrap it up. “If you’re done with the questioning, I’d like to leave please.”

  “Give us one minute please,” Detective Gentry said to me.

  The detectives both left the room.

  Upon their return, Detective Gentry said, “Fine. I think we have enough information now. You’re free to go.”