“How did you do it?”
“What do you mean? I just went over to his house and I killed him.”
That was as vague an answer as I’d heard in a long time. If he wanted to convince me that he was guilty, he was sure doing a poor job of it. “I was talking specifics. Was it premeditated, or did you just go over there in a fit of rage and kill him in the heat of the moment?”
Mark began squirming. For someone who’d apparently murdered a man, he sure seemed sheepish right then.
He tried wriggling out of answering my question. “I’d rather not get into specifics.”
Not so fast.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because, it’s disturbing enough that I did it without having to relive all the details blow by blow.”
That was a fair point. Besides, there were other ways to get the information I was looking for. I asked him what should have been an easy question to answer.
“How did you cover your tracks?”
As I expected, he nearly tripped over his words as he stammered.
“Wait. What?” he asked.
“The police have been investigating this case for a day, searching for every piece of evidence and following every lead they could find. Yet until you turned yourself in and confessed to the crime, you weren’t their prime suspect. How did you cover your tracks so they didn’t immediately figure out that you were the killer?”
The stammering continued as the pall of uncertainty was cast further over the proceedings. He was barely able to make it a few words at a time without pausing to think about what he was going to say next. “Oh. Well, I, uh, wore gloves so that there would be no fingerprints. Then I disposed of the murder weapon so the police would have little to go on.”
Mark was really reaching. Even more, he was doing a poor job of it. The whole conversation made me feel like I was in the middle of a bad improv sketch, only this was real and had dire implications.
I stared deep into his eyes then finally let him know how I really felt.
“I don’t believe you.”
He became argumentative. “That doesn’t matter. The truth is the truth.”
I nodded. “It is. Only I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”
In a fit of frustration, Mark snapped at me. “Why are you doing this?”
I turned things right back on him. “No. The real question is, why did you turn yourself in for a crime you didn’t commit?”
He made one last attempt to convince me of his guilt. “I’m a murderer.”
I had to hand it to him. He’d made a valiant effort. Yet it still wasn’t nearly enough to convince me. At the same time, he was giving me more and more friction with each question I asked him, to the point where he looked like he was going to shut down. Since he wasn’t budging, nor was I, that left me with only two choices—leave right then or stay and become increasingly more frustrated.
Reluctantly, I made my decision.
Chapter Seven
After my frustrating discussion with Mark, I had to get some air. While the cell block was clearly the most stifling and claustrophobic area in the entire building, I found that there was no corner of the police station that offered any relief of my anxiety. As I darted out of the station, my haste to breathe fresh air had caught Joe’s attention, spurring him to follow me out to the sidewalk.
He approached me as I stood on the corner of the street, looking out into the distance. With my back turned to him, he didn’t see the solemn and perplexed look on my face.
“Are you satisfied now?” he asked.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t turn around to him.
Sensing my discontent, he moved next to me and tried to catch my gaze, but I was still busy looking out at the horizon. He was ready to talk, but I was still trying to make sense of my previous conversation with Mark Cambridge.
It had left an extremely bitter taste that I couldn’t get out of my mouth. I felt like I was staring at a puzzle that was missing a considerably large piece. No matter what angle I tried to tackle this case from, things just didn’t add up.
Realizing that I’d kept Joe waiting an abnormally long time without a response, I pulled my head out of the clouds and answered.
“I’m far from satisfied.”
He stared into my eyes. The deeper he looked, the more concerned he became. What did he see in my eyes that made him so uneasy? Before I had the chance to ask, he revealed the answer.
“Is that your way of telling me that you’re going to investigate this case yourself?”
That was an awfully big conclusion to jump to. Although, to be fair, given my past, it wasn’t the craziest leap to take. In truth, it wasn’t one that I’d even taken myself. Honestly, I had just come outside for some fresh air—nothing more. Unfortunately, there I was, getting plenty of air, only to have my thoughts remain just as jumbled as ever.
I sighed. What a mess. With everything that was going on, I already had enough to wrestle with before throwing being at odds with Joe into the mix.
I wanted to give my brother a little reassurance before he flew off the handle. “I just have a lot of thoughts bouncing around and need to work through them myself.”
The look of concern on his face didn’t completely vanish but did dissipate somewhat. Now that he was confident that I wasn’t just going to rush out and take on the role of cavalier amateur sleuth, he turned a comforting eye towards me.
“Okay. In that case, just know that I’m here for you if you need me.”
“I know that. Thank you.”
He gave me a smile. “What else are brothers for?”
That question had so many possible answers that I had to laugh. Joe had both frustrated and confounded me already, and the day was still quite young. It turned out brothers were for a lot of things, both good and bad. Right then, thankfully, the good far outweighed the bad.
Chapter Eight
After Joe had gone back inside to fill out a sizable amount of paperwork related to the case, I realized that grabbing some fresh air alone wasn’t enough to really clear my head. I felt the sudden urge to stretch my legs as well.
I didn’t know where my feet wanted to take me, but they definitely didn’t want to be lingering at the police station any longer. Before I knew it, I found myself walking away, hoping the change in scenery would distract me from my thoughts. It was a nice idea, but my mind had other plans, drifting back to Mark turning himself in.
The longer I thought about it, the less it made sense. He was clearly hiding something from me. I just didn’t know what it was. In truth, there were only two people who knew the answer to that question.
One was in a jail cell, keeping the truth locked away from me. The other could only be reached by prayer. After my failure with Mark, I hoped for success by turning to God. The Lord had an answer. He knew everything. The problem was, his replies did not always come as quickly as I wanted them to.
I set out on my walk, praying for guidance and clarity. Twenty minutes later, no answers had come to me, but I did manage to burn off a lot of excess energy.
While my mind drifted back and forth aimlessly, my feet settled on a definite direction. When I was finally able to pull my head out of the clouds, I found myself on Oak Grove Avenue, which was quite familiar territory.
Most notably, Julie Cambridge lived on this street. Her Spanish-style house happened to be only a few doors down from the corner I was standing on. While I’d been busy trying to organize my thoughts, had my subconscious decided to send me an undeniable message? Or was this God’s way of answering my prayers?
If anyone could explain Mark Cambridge’s confusing actions, surely it was his wife. Either way, I’d walked all the way to her street. It would be foolish not to pay her a visit.
As was to be expected, Julie was a wreck. The fifty-seven-year-old’s long, curly red hair was typically the physical detail that stood out the most about her. This time, it was Julie’s eyes that drew my
attention. Her crystal-blue eyes were completely bloodshot. It looked like she’d recently been crying. Her mind had apparently been in such a state of disarray that she’d thrown on a sweater that was three sizes too big for her trim body.
It almost looked like she’d grabbed one of her husband’s sweaters by mistake but didn’t care enough to bother changing. Only Julie was the tidiest person I knew. She believed that there was a correct way to do things, and if you weren’t going to do it that way, it wasn’t worth doing at all.
I chalked it up to the emotional turmoil she was experiencing. That wasn’t the only point of confusion I saw with her behavior. I’d always known Julie as a firebrand—with opinions that stuck out as much as her hair did. Only right then, she was very subdued. None of this was like her. Her hurt was evident, yet she seemed to be trying to hold it all in. But why? She didn’t have to hide anything from me.
I wanted to reach my arms out and give her a hug, but she didn’t look receptive to one. She ended up inviting me in, more out of a sense of courtesy than anything. Julie clearly would have preferred to be left alone.
Given that, I didn’t want to hold her up long with this conversation.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Julie looked like she was ready to start crying again but managed to keep the tears at bay. She attempted to change the subject. “Hope, what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to extend my sympathy and let you know I’m here for you if you need me.”
“Thank you.” The expression on her face changed from grief stricken to stern. “But I know there’s something else on your mind.”
That was more like the Julie I knew. She had very keen instincts, which made it hard to sneak anything by her.
I knew it wouldn’t do any good to dance around the topic. It was best just to launch into it. The problem was, this was a hard thing to talk about.
“This is a really sensitive topic, and I hate to bring it up, but it’s really been bothering me since I heard the news—”
Julie was growing impatient. “Hope, what is it?”
I finally came out with it. “Do you have any idea why your husband went into the station out of the blue and confessed to the murder?”
There. I’d said it. The next spot of trouble was dealing with Julie’s reaction. The conversation had a chance of going south very quickly.
Julie remained surprisingly subdued with her answer. “Over the years, I’ve learned that when my husband sets his mind to doing something, there’s no stopping him.”
That was a particularly vague and ominous answer. Was she implying that she believed he was guilty? If so, what did she know that I didn’t?
I needed some clarification. “Wait. Are you saying that you believe your husband actually killed Walter?”
She corrected me. “No. Of course not.”
Phew. That was a relief. At the same time, there was still some confusion that I needed to have cleared up.
“Good. But then what did you mean about not being able to stop your husband?” I asked.
“I tried to talk some sense into him. To tell him not to confess. To just stay quiet.”
Julie stopped herself as she wiped a tear from her eyes. I reached into my purse to hand her a tissue, but she declined to take it. She composed herself then continued.
“Needless to say, he didn’t listen. Like I said, when Mark’s mind is set on something, there’s no stopping him.”
Julie’s reply still didn’t answer one critical question.
“I don’t understand why he did this,” I said.
“If you want an answer to that, you’ll have to talk to him.”
“I did.”
That stopped her cold. She tensed up as she processed that news.
I finished my thought. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s Mark for you.”
I could see Julie beginning to close herself off. If I was going to get any information out of her, I needed to get her emotionally engaged again.
“For the record, I don’t think Mark is guilty either.”
She grimaced. “I wish our opinions mattered.”
“I was hoping maybe the truth would set him free,” I said.
“The truth? Yeah, I’m sure it would. The problem is, only one person knows the truth, and they aren’t talking.”
“Who is that?”
“The killer.”
I thought she had a name for me. Instead, she was just talking in the general sense. Seeing as how she’d never investigated a murder case, I forgave her for not knowing the other tricks to find out the truth.
I pointed her towards one. “True, but there’s also the process of elimination.”
She scrunched her nose. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if I can prove that your husband couldn’t have been the one to commit the murder, the police would have to let him go.”
“How would you do that?”
“It could be as simple as proving he was somewhere else at the time of the murder.”
Julie was still confused. “How would you prove that?”
“There’s a number of ways. To start, were you two together the other night between eight and eight-thirty?”
“No.”
That was not the answer I was hoping to hear. If the answer had been “yes,” this whole case would have been flipped on its head. Had Julie and Mark been together during that time frame, there would be no way for Mark to have committed the murder, and there would have been an ironclad alibi to prove his innocence.
By answering “no,” she opened up a whole new can of worms.
I was incredulous. “You weren’t together?”
She shook her head.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“I was here.”
“Where was he?”
“He’d just gone out for a walk.”
“How long was he out?”
“I’d say an hour.”
Oh, dear. An hour was plenty of time to head over to Walter Clayton’s house, kill him, and then come back. The other problem was that unless Mark ran into anyone on this walk of his, there would be no way to prove that he’d taken a walk at all. Grr.
“Why didn’t you go with him on this walk?”
“He was all worked up about Walter’s acquittal. He said he just needed to get some air—alone.”
“What about you? Were you just here by yourself?”
She nodded. “I went in the back and watered my plants. Going out in the garden always calms me down.”
Suddenly, both of their true whereabouts were put into question. Mark could have gone anywhere on that walk. He might not have even taken a walk at all. By that same token, Julie may not have truly gone back into her garden. What if she’d left the house during that hour as well…and perhaps had gone to Walter’s house? I hated that my mind even drifted into that depressing territory, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Like her husband, she had a motive for murder as well. It was her daughter that had been murdered by Walter. Had she sought out revenge? I stopped myself and tried to turn off the investigative part of my brain.
Did I really believe she could have committed murder? As I thought it over, my mind came up with a quick answer—no.
While I was lost in thought, Julie was becoming increasingly distressed. “Look, I know you’re just trying to help, but this is all too much for me to handle right now.”
I could see her emotions boiling over once again and decided to ease up on her.
“I understand,” I said.
“Besides, it doesn’t change anything. Mark turned himself in. Even though I don’t understand it, he must have had a reason for doing it.”
“He didn’t tell you what it was?”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. If he did, maybe I could make sense of this all.”
“I’m hoping that we’ll all be able to make sense of this soon.”
“I
’m not going to get my hopes up.”
I didn’t want to take up too much more of her time, especially since she was in such emotional shambles. “Before I go, I just have one more question for you.”
“What is it?”
“Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
Julie shrugged her shoulders. “I wish I knew.”
That was pretty much what I expected. But Julie didn’t stop there.
“I’d like to thank them,” she added.
What a chilling statement to make. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Had I been wrong about dismissing her as a suspect?
Then again, Walter was hardly an innocent victim. He’d killed Julie’s daughter. If I were in her position, I would not have sympathy for a man like that either.
I gave Julie a hug then went on my way. As I left her house, I tried to make sense of the roller coaster ride I’d just been on. Her emotions were so raw and unpredictable. It was practically unthinkable, but I couldn’t keep the idea from entering my brain anyway—was Julie’s comment about wanting to thank Walter’s killer just a combination of grief and stress, or was it her own guilt seeping through?
Chapter Nine
Unfortunately, talking with Julie Cambridge had only provided me with more questions. I still needed answers. There was another potential place I could get them—by talking to her son, David. Would he be able to shed some light on the situation?
It was worth giving him a try. I headed back to the police station, jumped in my car, then drove across town to see David Cambridge. It didn’t take him long to answer his door as I stood on the front step of his brown stucco bungalow.
He was making quick work of a beer as he swung the door open then leaned against it. I’d like to be able to tell you it was his first beer of the afternoon, but that appeared to be far from the case. David’s whole face was red. Sobriety looked like a distant memory to him.
From the chest up, the thirty-nine-year-old was just like I’d always remembered him. He had short brown hair, hazel eyes, a round face, and muscular biceps. The beer gut was a more recent, unwelcome addition, making him look particularly pear shaped. For a guy who used to want to be a personal trainer, that was not a welcome sign.
Hope Hadley Eight Book Cozy Mystery Set Page 32
