How does he know for sure I did a good job when he has no idea what I’ve done? And his conclusions on Finley Price are wrong.
Chapter Nine.
I spend hours going through crime scene photo slides on the computer. When I’m unable to find anything that stands out, I start reading Ruby’s profile. I also take a closer look at Finley’s and Erin’s profiles. Both of them are sick. He has a history of seizures, and her blood tests have abnormal, unknown results. They’re model citizens with no criminal records of any kind.
I move on, going to the evidence list. What sticks out is the empty purse. Where is Ruby’s phone? I need to know who she called within the past week. I fill out a requisition to pull her phone records and to ping the current location of the device. The telecommunication industry is owned and controlled by the BEAC government. Privatized ownership has never existed, but that doesn’t mean as a police officer and an employee of said government, I have easy access to citizen telephone records. I have to fill out a form and pretty much explain why I want them. My reason is simple. She’s a murder victim, and I need to know current location, incoming and outgoing calls. I should be approved soon, but I have no idea when. The BEAC moves at whatever pace it deems necessary.
With that done, I decide to go home. I’m defeated from all the hard work and no possible suspects. I kept going back to the last page of the nondisclosure agreement, reading Ruby’s name, knowing full well I wasn’t going to find any answers but hoping anyway. Having the rest of the agreement might be key to solving the case, but I have no idea where it is or how to find it. The parchment wasn’t much of a clue either, but I should be getting test results from both documents soon. I can’t help but to feel there’s a clue in the pictures, but I’m totally not seeing it. The experienced eye of an investigator is what I need.
I’ll ask Robinson to look over them with me or perhaps I won’t. He’s stuck on arresting Finley Price. If Robinson gets to question him, he’ll be an absolute bully. I’ve seen Robinson make people cry and feel guilty when they really weren’t, but he did solve cases using that method. I’m not sure if I’m cut from the same cloth. Hard ass and unrelenting, willing to get to the answers no matter what. It works for him so well. He gets results, but I have a big heart. I think I trust people too much.
As I’m unlocking the front door at home, I go through the roster of detectives I can ask for assistance. There are thirty of them, but I only know the names of two, not counting Robinson. Every single one of them are in and out of the precinct all the time, which makes it difficult to keep up with everyone and who they are. I’ll just ask Robinson to check over my case file. I see him more than any of them.
In the kitchen, I fix myself a turkey sandwich and grab a fizzy out of the fridge. Mum gets all weirded out if I eat in my room, so I have a seat at the tiny kitchen table. The house is quiet. Mum and Dad are in bed.
I finish my sandwich, but I’m still hungry. Going to bed on a full stomach is a bad idea for me though. I tend to dream of my past, and it’s always strange and sometimes scary.
“Victoria,” Dad says, shuffling into the kitchen. “You’re home.”
“I worked late. How’s Mum doing?”
“She’s fine. She’s sleeping. I came downstairs to get a drink of water and because she was snoring.”
“Oh,” I laugh.
Mum does have the funniest snore. She babbles and snorts. I think she giggles in her sleep too.
“I’ll be on the sofa tonight,” Dad says.
“You can have my room if you want. The sofa isn’t very comfortable.”
“No, it’s fine, Victoria. You need rest.” He takes a bottle of water out of the ice box and opens it, taking a full healthy gulp. “So how’s work?”
“I’m no longer training with Robinson,” I reply as I open my jacket to show my gun and badge.
“You’re a detective constable now. Congratulations, Victoria. Congratulations.” Dad comes over to give me a hug. As tall and as strong as he is, he’s a gentle soul. Compassion is home in his kind eyes. A selfless man when it comes to me and Mum. He’ll move the sun and the moon if we asked. But he can be emotional and angry. His job has that effect on him lately.
“Thank you.” I take my seat.
“How do you feel?” He sits down at the table, giving me all of his attention.
“Scared. I don’t want to mess up.”
“No matter what job you do, you’re going to mess up. But with time and with each case, you’ll get better and wiser.”
“I want to be an expert on the job now rather than learn along the way.”
“Honey, I’m sorry to tell you this, but making mistakes is human, even when you know what you’re doing.”
“I know,” I reply. “Anyway, Dad, how have you been? How’s work been?”
“Everything is good.”
“Nothing exciting to talk about?”
“Same old thing. I’m not complaining.”
“Are you still thinking about retiring soon?”
“Yeah, but I have no idea what I want to do next.”
“Who says you have to do anything? Stay home. Go fishing. Take up knitting.”
“Knitting,” he says with a chuckle.
“Just a suggestion,” I reply. “I’ve got a long way before I retire. I’m in my twenties.”
“You have a lifetime, child. A whole lifetime.” He stands up. “Well, I better get some rest. Morning will be here before I know it. Make sure you lock away those guns. Mum might not like having them in the house.”
“I think she saw me with them earlier today when I came by to change clothes.”
“Either way, just keep them out of her sight. She understands you’re a police officer, but it doesn’t mean she likes the tools of your trade.”
“I’ll have to buy a lockbox eventually.”
“I might have one in the office Mum and I share. I’ll have to look for it when I get a chance.”
“Thanks, Dad. Good night.”
“Good night, Victoria.”
I watch Dad shuffle out of the kitchen, on his way to the sofa in the living room. I leave out the entrance to the hallway and take the stairs. Dad has turned on the television. Glowing light spills into the hall.
In my room, I lock the door and take off all the equipment. The only place to hide it is in the drawer where my panties and bras are located.
Deciding against a shower, since Mum is asleep and it’s late, I slide into bed. My head sinks into the pillow. My mind races. I see pictures of the crime scene. Glitter is falling like rain. Finley Price is swinging the baseball bat at me again. Elizabeth Foster’s apartment, with all the different colors, are mixing together, forming circular streaks. Robinson’s cigarette smoke dances in the wind, flying into Sable Alley. DS Green congratulates me, and she keeps saying it over and over again.
It’s going to be a very long restless night.
Chapter Ten.
Tired from not sleeping well last night, I slump at my desk. I have a headache behind my ears. My shoulders are tight. The squad room is extra bright for some odd reason. I cover my eyes with my hands and exhale. This job carries way too much stress.
“I just got a call from Green,” one of the detectives announce. “No briefing today. She’ll be in late.”
The noise in the room goes up a level. Metal chairs scratch against the floor as they’re getting pushed under desks. Someone laughs way louder than necessary.
I need sleep. I need pills to fight this headache. I need one night of rest to make up for last night.
“Hey!” Robinson speaks with way too much enthusiasm. “Detective Kipling, so glad you could make it this morning.”
“And on time,” I point out.
“Robinson!” A detective calls from across the room. “I have to hit the road. We good for tonight?”
“Seven o’clock,” he answers. “See you at the house.”
“I’ll be there, man.”
“Who is
that again?” I need to know these other detectives. I may need more than Robinson’s help, and if I can start a rapport with them, then it’s more resources I can benefit from in this job.
“Kai Webb. I introduced you to him before.”
“You have, I’m sure, but I don’t remember his name.”
“Hey, why don’t you come over later this evening? Get to know him and a few of my friends from the precinct.”
“Where?”
“My house. Once a month, I have a little get together. They bring their wives, and we all have dinner and drinks. It’s a friendly time to catch up.”
“Maybe next time,” I reply, remembering my appointment with the citizen auditor.
“You can bring Sam.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what? What are you talking about?”
“I’m not interested in CSO Clarke. Stop playing matchmaker. You’re wasting your time.”
“You guys didn’t hit it off yesterday? From what he tells me, you two got along great.”
“We did, but there were no flames. Thanks for the invite, but no thanks.”
“If you change your mind, you’re welcome to come over. Dinner is at seven-thirty, and we go until about ten or eleven. It’s a nice time.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have something to do.”
“Alright. So, what you got going on this morning?”
“I have to speak to Ruby Taylor’s friends and go to the church after that, or I might just go to the church first and then go see her friends.”
“Church?”
“I have to retrace Ruby’s steps from Sunday. Your recommendation, remember?”
“How about you skip all that and talk to your suspect?”
“I don’t have a suspect.”
“Yes, you do. Follow me.”
Robinson and I go to a viewing room down a hallway, at the back of the squad room. On the other side of the mirror is Finley Price. He’s at a table with his wrists cuffed behind his back. He leans forward to sit comfortably. Standing in the corner and watching him is CSO Clarke.
I should have known that Robinson would do something like this. My face heats up from anger.
“All you have to do is get him to confess,” Robinson says. “Once he spills his guts, I’ll transfer his recorded statement into the dictation program and print it. You can get him to sign it.”
“I have no evidence pointing to his guilt, and honestly, I believe he didn’t do it.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. Kipling, listen to me and listen good. A lot of people lie to the police when they’re being questioned, and they’re convincing. This guy is probably no different. You have to put pressure on him. You have to make him tell you more.”
“I have no idea how to do that.”
“You put the blame square on his shoulders. Give him ultimatums. You tell them if he lies, he goes to prison.”
“He just doesn’t look like the person who would kill. He’s so little, and whoever bashed Ruby’s head in had to be pretty strong.”
“Just because he’s small doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the strength to kill her.”
“How do I put pressure on him?” I ask.
“It’s easy. Just do what I told you. Blame him for murdering Ruby. Make up some kind of story, like they got into an argument. She left out of the apartment. He followed her. He caught up with her in Sable Alley, and that’s where he killed her.”
“I don’t have anything that supports that story.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll tell you the truth if you start pushing your version of how she was killed. And don’t forget to tell him he’ll go to prison if he doesn’t fess up. Or, better yet, promise him the opposite. Tell him that you can get him probation if he owns up to the murder.”
“Why would he believe that? Confess to a murder and get probation?”
“I’ve had suspects who absolutely believed me when I told them I could get them off of a murder charge. They think cops recommend sentencing, especially suspects who haven’t been arrested before. This guy with no record, he’ll talk.”
“I hate lying. I really do.”
“Either you have to play their dirty game, or they’ll have you chasing your tail. Get in there and get this guy to talk. He’s going to prove with absolute proof he didn’t do it, or he’s going to give himself away. Pressure on his neck, Kipling, and don’t back off until he gives you something you can work with, preferably a confession.”
I swallow my rising temper and look to Finley. What if he is guilty?
“Go on, Kipling.”
Finley lights up the moment I open the door. He starts scooting up in his chair.
“Detective Kipling, you got to get me out of here. Erin is home alone, and she can’t be for very long. She hasn’t eaten her breakfast yet.”
“We have to talk first,” I reply, sitting down across from him. “I have to remind you that this interview is being recorded.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I didn’t kill Ruby. I would never hurt her. The other detective thinks I did, but he’s wrong. I tried to tell him the truth, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Finley,” I sigh, “how well did you get along with Ruby?”
“She was my friend. She was always good to me and to her sister. She took care of us. We wouldn’t have made it this far without her.”
“Did you ever get into an argument with Ruby about your inability to pay your share of the utilities and rent?”
“She paid every bill and never asked for our help. She didn’t want it.”
“Ruby never asked you for money? One person’s income, barely enough for herself, and she was okay with you not helping?”
“I couldn’t work. I can’t. My health isn’t all that good.”
“You told me different yesterday.”
“I have seizures sometimes, okay? You can check my medical records. I can’t hold a job with seizures. I need to get home, Detective Kipling, please, before Erin gets up. If I’m not there, she’ll be scared. She’ll be looking for me.”
“Then I need for you to tell me the truth.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“Finley, I don’t believe you. You knew Ruby. You lived with her and her sister. Something happened in that apartment, right? You got mad? She said something to piss you off.”
“I’m not the only one her knew her. She had friends. You asked about them yesterday. Did you talk to them? I bet one of them did it.”
“Why would they want to kill her?”
“I don’t know. I just know it wasn’t me.”
“I want to believe you, Finley. I really do, and I want you to go home. But you’re not telling me everything. I want to know what Ruby did on Sunday. You were the last one to see her. What was on her mind? Did you get into an argument? Why didn’t she come back to the apartment? Talk to me, Finley, or you’re going to be arrested.” What an empty threat, but it’s pressure, just like Robinson suggested.
“I didn’t get into an argument with her. She went to Mass. She left out early and never came back home.”
“What did she do before she left out of the apartment?”
“She was reading, like she always does.”
“What was she reading?”
“Some kind of paperwork,” he says with a shrug.
The nondisclosure agreement, perhaps. I ask, trying to act like I’m not excited. “What was on the paperwork, Finley?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did she tell you what she was reading? Did you happen to take a quick look?”
“No.”
“Finley, give me something here. Did you see what was written on the papers? A paragraph? A sentence?”
“I don’t know, okay. I don’t…I don’t know how to read,” he mumbles with shame.
“Can you write?”
“What do you think?” Finley doesn’t look at me when he answers.
It’s not un
usual that there are people who hasn’t learned how to read or write in Exeter and throughout the BEAC. Truancy is prevalent. The problem has been going on for years. No one is working to get kids back in school. They become roaming gangs, living in the moment, like that’s all there is. Some are as young as seven and eight. The parents can’t control them. They grow up, knowing the future is bleak, accepting their nonexistent chances. So these kids become society’s burdens instead of contributing adults. An uneducated population that can be controlled. It’s the way of the Empire.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to CSO Clarke.
I go to the viewing room, where Robinson is waiting.
“What you got?” he asks with heightened interest.
“The killer wrote a note. Finley is illiterate.”
“Remember, suspects lie. Check his background. Find out how far he got in school.”
I visit Finley’s citizen profile on my IET. His education ended in the first year primary school, but he had a lot of absences before he stopped going. Days, sometimes weeks at a time, with no written explanation in his file.
“He went to school one year,” I reveal, “barely.”
“Someone could have taught him,” Robinson replies. “Tell you what. Check Erin Mitchell’s profile. She could have written the note.”
I do exactly that. I find out her education ended at year five. I’m sure she can read and write.
“I need to get a handwriting sample from Erin Mitchell,” I say, mostly to myself. “You think I need to get verification about his illiteracy?”
“Yes, you do. Check his work history. Question his former employers, if he has any.”
I make a call to the community support officer unit to have Erin Mitchell brought in. I ask that they handle her gently because of her illness. I send them the address, and I’m told to expect her within the hour if she’s home.
“You see what happened, Kipling, when you push for more information?”
“I didn’t get a confession.”
“True, but what you did in there today wasn’t a waste. The key is to never relent, even if you feel the suspect is innocent. Everyone in the victim’s circle is the possible killer until proven otherwise. You never know who it could be. You’ll be amazed at what people are capable of. The nicest person you could ever meet could also be the most malicious. Keep an open mind, Kipling. Don’t take anyone’s word. Rely on the evidence for the truth, and always go back through your work.”
Sable Alley Page 6
