Sable Alley

by Bridget Bundy

  “Did you kill Ruby Taylor?” I ask with a shock to my core. I cannot believe I opened my mouth to ask my boss this question, but it had to be done. There’s no way I was about to leave and not put it out there.

  “No, I did not,” DS Green answers with cold calmness, but there is no hint of anger in her voice.

  “But you definitely knew her?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I nod, not wanting to ask any more questions for fear of losing my job, but I must. There is no going back at this point. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  DS Green leans back in her chair and says, “It’s been weeks. I couldn’t tell you when.”

  “Were you close to her? Did you know of anyone that might want to hurt her?”

  “We were acquaintances. She was Georgia’s partner. They were in a relationship, and when it came to someone hurting her, I wouldn’t know.”

  We’re silent for a long awkward time. I’m simply at a loss on what else to ask. My fear has gotten the best of me.

  “Are you done, Detective Kipling?”

  “Yes, DS Green.”

  “Good.” She rises to her feet and speaks methodically, “Now, let’s get something perfectly clear. I’m not a suspect, and I’m not a person of interest in your case. I have nothing to do with the murder of Ruby Taylor. Do you understand so far?”

  I don’t agree, and I refuse to acknowledge her question.

  “Detective Kipling, are you refusing to answer your superior officer? Do I need to remind you of the consequences for insubordination?”

  “You’re not a suspect, and you’re not a person of interest,” I reply quickly.

  “Very good.” A triumphant smirk to remind me of my place. “And one more thing. If I hear about my personal life from anyone in the Exeter Police Department, I will fire you. Once again, Detective Constable Kipling, am I understood on this point?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are dismissed.”

  The whole conversation was oxymoronic with a whole lot of insane. I questioned her. She answered every single one to my surprise but then proceeded to threaten me with my job if I make her a suspect or tell anyone about her private life. The nerve of that damn woman.

  I walk out of there, slamming the door behind me, heading for the entrance. I’ve had my fill of being a cop today. I’m going home.

  Chapter Twenty-Six.

  “You made it for dinner,” Dad says with a big smile. “I didn’t think you would.”

  I totally forgot Dad asked me to come home early. Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood to eat, but I don’t want them to think something’s wrong. I bury the troubles I have at work, and I give Dad a hug and Mum a kiss.

  “Your dad cooked dinner,” she warns me. “May God and Queen save my kitchen.”

  “My dear, I promise you the kitchen is spotless. You would be amazed if you saw it.”

  “According to whose standards?”

  “Yours, of course.” He kisses her on the cheek. Mum playfully swats him away and makes that infectious giggle she’s known for.

  They are adorable together. Their happiness makes me happy.

  “Victoria, why don’t you help me fix Mum a plate?”

  “Sure.”

  “No guns in my kitchen,” she yells. “It’s bad enough your father is in there.”

  I go upstairs and place my things inside the drawer. I stretch, close my eyes, and take a deep breath for a moment. The calm washes over me, and I begin to feel less stressful than I did before.

  After washing my hands, I jog back downstairs to the kitchen. Dad has prepared three bowls of Spaghetti Bolognese. I take one to Mum. She sniffs it and makes a show of inspecting the food. She tastes it and nods her approval. It smells good.

  Dad brings out two more bowls. One for me, and the second for him. I sit on the sofa, mostly holding the dish. Dad is beside Mum in his chair, and they’re talking to each other. As I watch them, I wonder about their past. How did they meet? Did they want more kids? I can’t remember a time when they talked about it.

  “Victoria, did you hear me?”

  Blinking out of my daze, I apologize and reply to Dad, “Sorry, I missed what you said.”

  “I might have a big announcement to make tomorrow.”

  “You might?”

  “Depends upon how things go at work.”

  “Retiring?” I ask.

  “You have to wait, both of you.”

  “Oh, Jamie, just tell us,” Mum says. “Why keep us waiting a whole day?”

  “Because I’m not even sure yet.”

  “You’re retiring,” I remark with excitement. “Congratulations.”

  “I will not confirm nor deny your accusations, Detective Kipling.”

  We laugh. He is so happy. Dad has worked hard for a long time. A permanent vacation is quite the reward, and he earned it.

  “You should take Mum to the Soviet Union.”

  “My mother’s homeland.” Mum speaks with longing. “I’ve never been there. I would love to see where she was born.”

  “Why would you want to visit such a dismal place? Food is rationed. People are starving. Social and political unrest. If anyone speaks against the government, they’re put in prison and executed by firing squad. It’s far from being a tourist attraction.”

  “There’s always Paris.”

  “Victoria, why do you tempt your mother so?”

  “Ah, yes,” Mum sighs. “Paris in spring or in summer. I could do the fall too. We can visit the culture rich museums. Eat at a bodega.”

  “Bistro,” Dad corrects her with a shake of his head. “A bodega is a store or a wine cellar.”

  “I can do wine in Paris.” Mum only heard ‘wine’ out of everything he said. It’s hilarious. “I want to experience the romantic ambiance. Oh, and we can visit the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower. Whoever built those statues was an absolute genius. I’ve always wanted to be an artist. Maybe, I can get a French accent. I can learn French. Such a lovely language.”

  “Thank you, Victoria,” Dad huffs playfully, “now I’m going to hear about Paris all night.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mum asks Dad about the official big news again, but he stuffs his mouth full of spaghetti to avoid answering. Both of us are convinced he’s going to retire. All he has to do is bring home the retirement paperwork and show us he signed it.

  Suddenly, my cell phone rings. I have a bad feeling it could be DS Green calling to fire me. I’m surprised she didn’t do it after I questioned her about Ruby. Much to my relief, Sam’s number is on the screen instead. I excuse myself and step into the hallway for privacy.

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “At home. Is there something wrong?”

  “No, I have tickets for football. Want to go?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Right now. Pick me up at home.”

  “I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  I apologize to Mum and Dad for not staying longer, and I dash upstairs to take a shower. Going to the arena in my suit might as well be blasphemy. I change into a red sweater and blue jeans, a knit cap and red jacket; Exeter team’s colors. In fifteen minutes, I’m ready to go and running out of the house with a fleeting I love you to my parents. From what I could tell, Mum and Dad don’t seem to mind that I left so abruptly. They’re still talking and eating. Well, Mum is mostly talking while Dad is eating.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven.

  We have excellent seats in what seems to be the rowdiest section of the arena. The oval stadium is washed over in red and white. Faces are painted. Big beer bellies are out in full force. The noise level is high and never stops. Music plays after each goal, and the dancing is contagious. Sam stays focused on the game despite the celebration around us. He’s shouting instructions, yelling whose open and which play is a bad move. Of course, the players can’t hear him, but Sam is nonetheless determined to coach from his seat. Fo
r me, it’s a breather. The dancing and singing. Even the noise of the crowd is a welcome change to the grind. When it’s all over, and Exeter team wins, the celebration spills out of the stands and into the parking lot and surrounding streets.

  On our way to the car, I’m accosted by a man in drunken celebration. He twirls me around, singing a song of triumphant victory. Sam is alarmed, but I tell him it’s okay. Happily sozzled, the guy probably won’t remember what I look like in the next few minutes, and his little dance with me will be a forgettable passing act. After the unsteady swirl, the stranger bends as a gentleman should but does so on drunken unsteady feet. With Sam’s help, he keeps his balance. The stranger thanks both of us for a good show and teeters off, singing and waving his arms in the air, orchestrating an imaginary chorus. To be that drunk must be bliss.

  I ask Sam where to next. He wants to go to a bar. I’m game. Home is not exactly where I desire to be at the moment.

  Several minutes go by before we can get out of the parking lot. The traffic is jammed, and people are everywhere. When we finally make it out, I drive towards District Three. I figure the farther away we are from the arena and the surrounding bars, the better the crowds will be. An Exeter win brings out the loudest, the worse, and the most obnoxious.

  Exile is where we end up, a bar close to where we live. It’s not exactly crowded, but there’s plenty of people. We get a booth by a mirrored wall. Sam orders beers for both of us. I have an empty stomach, but I’ll take the alcohol nonetheless.

  He comes back with a big smile and glasses foaming at the top. He takes his seat, and we tap glasses, toasting to the Exeter win. If the day wasn’t good, a victory in football will do. Good times whenever we can get it.

  “Thanks for going to the game with me,” Sam says.

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I didn’t think you would go.”

  “Why not?”

  “I couldn’t see you liking the sport.” Sam picks at the peanuts on the table. “I honestly don’t know what you like.”

  “Football is fun. I used to watch it with my Dad. I rarely had time lately. Training with Robinson was all day long.”

  “Is your dad an Exeter fan? Please, tell me he is.”

  “I’m ashamed to say that he’s all the way Burnley.”

  “Say it ain’t so. The shame. The absolute shame.” He cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “EXILE! LET ME HEAR YOU SAY IT! BURNLEY ARE WHAT?”

  “BUMS!” The whole bar answers in unison.

  “SAY IT AGAIN!”

  “BUMS!”

  Laughing, I shake my head.

  “Burnley Bums,” Sam jokes. “I’m surprised you haven’t disowned him.”

  “Well, it’s kind of hard when I’m living under his roof.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess that would be a problem. You’d have to move out and get your own place. By the way, why haven’t you moved out?”

  “I guess it’s because I’m comfortable. They’ve been good to me, and it’s nice to share time with people I love.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but there’s nothing like having your own place. A home where you can be yourself. You should seriously consider it.”

  “I think I would miss my parents.”

  “You wouldn’t be moving to a different country. There are plenty of houses around Exeter. Some very close to your folks. Whenever you want to see them, just drive over to their house.”

  It’s easy for him to say. I feel so attached to Mum and Dad that if I even think about going out of town, I get nervous. Wherever this fear comes from, it’s deep-seeded and hard to shake. Telling Sam this will be embarrassing. I’m an adult and a police officer. Yet, I’m living with my parents like I’m two years old. He wouldn’t understand. My attachment to them is entrenched. I can’t move out.

  “Do you have a roommate?” I ask, hoping to focus the conversation more on him.

  “No. My house isn’t set up for another person. It’s a mess.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I’m renovating. Redoing the floors, the kitchen, the living room, the baths, and the entire upstairs.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  “Yes, but it’s cheaper. And I do things how I want instead of depending on contractors. It’s the perfect hobby that gets me out of the job mindset. I forget about all the bad from the day when I’m working in the house.”

  “The perfect hobby,” I repeat, thinking about what I like to do. Honestly, I have no idea. I go home after work. Sometimes I’ll eat or go to bed. Maybe, watch television, but that’s not very often. I guess I don’t have a hobby.

  “Beer isn’t good warm,” Sam says, pointing at my sweating glass. “Drink up.”

  I take my first sip. The foam forms the usual mustache, and I wipe it away with a napkin. We’re quiet for a while. The drinks have our attention.

  After two glasses, my mind circles around the conversation I had with DS Green. The threat is what gets me. DS Green knows she’s a suspect even if she rejects this. And if I happen to find evidence that proves she’s guilty, what will she say then? What will she do?

  “You were right?” I remark, finishing the last glass of beer.

  “About what?”

  “Green is involved.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Green right now. I’m working on getting drunk. She’s a buzzkill, honestly.”

  “Sorry,” I reply.

  “We’re changing the subject.” Sam signals the bartender for more drinks and says to me, “Tell me something about yourself.”

  “Like what?”

  “Have you lived anywhere else other than Exeter?”

  “Tequesta, Nestingson.”

  “Ah, Nestingson. The most southern part of the BEAC. I hear it’s warm most of the year.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a swamp. A lot of mosquitoes and alligators…or was it crocodiles I saw? The French and Native Indians live in Tequesta. It’s a strange world, a mixture of two cultures.”

  “Never been there. Did you like it?”

  “It was okay. I felt like I didn’t belong.”

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  “No, nowhere near there.”

  “What’s the name of the town? Or did you come from a tribe? I’m not trying to be funny or rude, Victoria. I just want to know.”

  “It’s fine.”

  The bartender lifts the drinks. Sam rushes over to grab the glasses and comes back, picking up where he left off. “Go on.”

  “I lived in the Escisiones Mountains.”

  “The unsettled territory. You’re a long way from home.”

  “It’s not the home I once knew.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Only at the end,” I reply sadly.

  “That’s how it is. The lifetime of good you experience gets overshadowed by the tiniest of bad things. You must have good memories, Victoria.”

  “I do. Sometimes I wish I could return, even if it’s just for one day.”

  “Hang on to those memories. When everything else is crap, they become…”

  “EXILE!” Someone yells. “LET ME HEAR YOU SAY IT! PINEHURST ARE…”

  “PIGS!” Sam chimes in with the group and gulps down half of his beer.

  The conversation about my life stops. Sam has moved on to football stats, game rule changes, and coaching mistakes throughout the years. He’s more knowledgeable about the game than I thought, and I’m genuinely impressed.

  I finish my beer and cut off my intake for the night. Sam drinks at least four more glasses and three shots of hard liquor. Game talk changes to incoherent mumbling and laughing. He’s accomplished his goal tonight of getting drunk.

  When I put on my coat, Sam gets the message I’m ready to go. I help him put on his thick jacket, and he follows me outside. The temperature isn’t as cold as it was last night, but it still has a little
bit of a bite. Admittedly, the weather is a welcome change to the humid atmosphere of the bar, but I zip my coat and adjust my collar to keep the freezing air at bay.

  Staggering in one spot, Sam lights up a cigarette and blows the smoke up to the sky. I hold on to his waist, ensuring he doesn’t face plant on the cement.

  “Your car sucks,” he slurs, looking at the shot up door.

  I’m not going to argue against that point. I need to get a marked car tomorrow. Those units have heat. They’re more reliable, and the best part, they don’t have bullet holes.

  After Sam finishes his cigarette, we head for the car. I unlock it and help him into the passenger seat. It takes a little more effort for Sam to get situated, but he gets buckled in. Once I’m in the car, I try to start it. After two turns of the keys, the engine roars to life.

  The first light we get to, I look left and right. Just as I’m about to look to the right again, I see a flash of a familiar face. It had to be Finley Price. I’m positive.

  I run the light, turning in front of a car coming from the left. He swerves and honks. Sam hangs on. I pull up to the sidewalk where the guy is, and I throw the car in park. The man is ambling, paying no attention to his surroundings. I get out and call him. He doesn’t turn around. Sam gets out as I take off running to catch up with the guy. I grab his arm, and the man jumps. He backs up to a gated store window with his hands up. It’s not Finley. I could have sworn I saw him.

  The guy begins touching his ear and moving his hands. He’s deaf. I don’t understand what he’s trying to sign. While backing away, I tell him I’m sorry. He lets out a breath of relief as I go back to my car.

  “That who,” Sam slurs.

  I have no idea what he just said or trying to say, and I don’t answer. I make a U-turn and head back towards Sam’s house.

  Driving in silence, I’ve returned to the details of my case. Erin Mitchell is dead. Finley Price is missing, or he’s where he wants to be, and Ruby Taylor was murdered. I have several people who are persons of interest, including my supervisor, and no suspects. It seems like the good time was short-lived.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight.