His glance met the woman again and he shook his head.
“Please state your answer verbally for the record.”
“No,” he said.
“Did you call her?”
“I tried to. She never picked up.”
“What about Facebook? Snapchat or whatever you kids use these days?”
“I tried to contact her every possible way I could. I even called her home phone. But she ignored me.”
“Why do you think that was?” the woman asked, her voice soft, nothing like what his own mother would use after learning that he’d lost his virginity. And to a girl who was now dead.
David broke down crying, holding his hand over his face before lowering his head to the interrogation table.
“Rosebud, give us a minute, will you?” the woman said before joining David on his side of the table.
“I know… It’s tough. I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing his shoulder.
He tried to swallow a few times, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in between sobs.
“I just thought I’d hurt her. It was awkward. It was fast. I don’t think she enjoyed it. She even cried.”
The woman exhaled loudly before taking a seat in front of him again. “You know, a woman’s first sexual experience can be… weird.”
“Weird?” David repeated.
“Just between the two of us, I can’t speak for every woman on earth, and I can’t say that Lori felt that way, but for me, it was as though I’d let someone ‘in’ in all possible senses of the word: physically, emotionally, mentally. It was weird. Or at least very new.”
“So you don’t think I hurt her?”
“Well, I wasn’t there. I don’t know how things unfolded, but if you were a decent guy, went slowly, and were kind to her, then probably not.”
“I was!”
“Then why do you think she would have ignored your calls for two weeks? Why didn’t you show up at her door earlier?”
“Well… Lori… I loved her to bits, you know?”
The woman nodded but stayed silent.
“Lori had a fiery temperament at times.”
“What do you mean, fiery?”
“Whenever we had a disagreement, I had to give her room to cool off.”
“You’ve had disagreements before?”
“Sure. Every couple has a few of those, right?”
The detective returned her attention to her notepad, her pen at the ready. “Sure. Why don’t you give me some examples?”
David racked his brain, trying to come up with something. Then prom came to mind.
“Once I went shopping with her. She was trying on a bunch of dresses for prom. I gave her my honest opinion on one of them. That proved to be a bad call.”
“What did you say exactly?”
“Well. Not much, really. She asked if the dress made her ass look big.”
“All I said was ‘a little,’ then I got the silent treatment for a whole week.”
The woman shook her head at him. “David, you’ve got a few things to learn about women. You’re still young. But here’s a tip: Never answer that question. There’s no right answer. Always change topics.”
The detective got up and opened the door to let her partner back in.
The chubby man spoke up next after tossing a photo of a blue rosary onto the table.
“If we search your house and your car, would we find rosaries like this?”
David shrugged. “I don’t own any of these. I’ve seen them at church, though. My parents may have bought some. I don’t know.”
“How about drugs? Any roofies or other fun pills like that?”
“No!” he said, wondering if his altered state was also written on his forehead.
“Well, then. We’ll have to let the evidence point us toward the right person. But we found something else at the scene that leads us to believe that Lori was murdered because of her… looser morals, shall we say. Do you know if she would have told anyone about what had happened between the two of you?”
“You mean about losing her cherry?” David asked, his eyes once again on the table.
“If you want to call it that,” the woman said.
David tilted his head. “Certainly not her parents, but maybe Amanda. They’re best friends. I don’t know how much they shared with each other, but if she told anyone, then I’d bet on Amanda.”
“And what’s Amanda’s last name?” the woman asked, half-smiling.
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, June 19th, 2018
Rosebud sat alone in the interrogation room, sipping his coffee and nibbling on the rest of his chocolate chip muffin, when Murphy finally walked in with their latest lead in tow after getting fingerprints and a DNA swab.
The brunette wore a neon pink sundress with a neckline that dove deep enough to expose the lacy border of her bra, all the while highlighting the crucifix that hung low between her—more than likely—pushed-up breasts. All in all, she didn’t look like a grieving best friend. More like a young adult in heat.
“Amanda, this is Detective Rosebud,” Murphy said. “Please take a seat. We’re recording this session. Please state your full name for the record.”
“Amanda McCutcheon. Am I a suspect?”
“Right now, you’re of interest to us,” Rosebud said flatly. “We’d like you to answer a few questions.”
Amanda sat, her expression as unreadable as that of a poker player.
Murphy took out her small notepad as she joined Rosebud on his side of the table. “Where were you between June 2nd and 6th?”
One of her eyebrows went up. “Uh… In Boston?”
“Can you be a bit more precise?” Rosebud asked.
“When was that? What days of the week?”
Rosebud took out his phone and turned on the calendar app. “Let’s start with Sunday, June 3rd. What did you do that day?”
The young woman glanced off to the side and her right hand went up to fidget with the crucifix that hung around her neck.
A tell or just a nervous habit? Rosebud wondered.
“Hmm. I went to mass in the morning, then… Is it bad that I can’t remember? Should I call a lawyer?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything,” Rosebud said. “You’re free to call a lawyer if you wish. But those people cost money, and if you’ve got nothing to hide, then you shouldn’t have to.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Then let’s proceed. Did you see Lori Davis at mass that Sunday?”
“Yes,” Amanda said.
“Was it the last time you saw her alive?”
Amanda bowed her head, looking at the table as she quietly voiced her affirmative reply.
“Did you talk to her?”
She looked sideways, swallowed hard, then shook her head. “No.”
“Why didn’t you talk to her?” Murphy asked. “I heard from other people we’ve interviewed that you were quite close.”
“We had a disagreement the previous night.”
“Disagreement?” Rosebud echoed, straightening his back.
“More like a small fight.”
“About what?” Rosebud probed.
“I…” She shook her head. “I really can’t recall.”
“Come on, Amanda,” Rosebud said. “Your best friend was found dead, and you don’t recall your last conversation? If I were you, I’d be replaying that stupid fight over and over in my head—”
“Rosebud!” Murphy interjected, lifting her hand up and splitting the tension between him and Amanda. She turned to the girl. “I get that it’s tough. Nobody wants to remember their last words with someone, especially when they were mean. But let’s face it. We don’t control when death hits. You can’t change the past. But if you tell us what your fight was about, it may help us find the person who killed her. Okay?”
Amanda nodded.
“So where and when did you last talk with her?” Murphy asked.
“In her house on Satu
rday night, over two weeks ago. We hung out there sometimes. Her parents have a good bar selection, so we often played around and made cocktails of our own.”
“Were her parents away?”
“Yeah. They were on a cruise.”
“Good, so that’s something. Do you recall what you talked about while making those cocktails?”
“Hmmm, I don’t really want to say.”
“Could you tell me if you talked about her boyfriend, David?”
She nodded. “We often talked about him.”
“Did she share with you something specific that happened between David and her?” Rosebud asked.
Amanda’s cheeks flushed as though someone had just turned on a bright light. Her fidgety fingers once again reached for her crucifix.
“Amanda,” Murphy said with a softer voice. “Between us girls. Ignore Detective Rosebud.”
“Want me to step out?” Rosebud asked, even though they’d made it plenty clear that the interview was being recorded.
“Would you mind?” Murphy asked with a smile.
Rosebud knew the false intimacy she could create if he stepped away. She’d done it before. “I’ll get myself another cup of coffee. You’ve got five minutes.”
“Great, thanks.”
Rosebud walked out of the interrogation room and headed straight into the monitoring room that looked into it. Taking a seat, he watched Murphy work her woman-to-woman magic, getting Amanda to confirm what David Dempsey had already stated: Lori did talk about losing her virginity to Amanda the day after it had happened. Their fight was about Amanda disagreeing with her and calling her a slut.
Just what one would expect out of a chastity club member.
Flipping through his notes, Rosebud noticed that the special night in question had been Friday, June 1st. That meant she’d seen the victim on June 2nd, after David Dempsey. She and all of the parishioners who’d attended mass on that Sunday. Had David also done so and forgotten to mention it? Had something happened after mass? Would there be video footage near the church?
Looking at his watch, Rosebud left those questions unattended for now and returned to the interview room just as Amanda was finishing up a sentence that had Murphy making notes on her pad.
“So, Amanda, what did you do after mass that day?” Rosebud asked, hoping for some sort of lead to either pinpoint the time of death or point to the actual killer.
“I went back home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do?”
Her eyes darted up and she frowned, then she finally replied. “I think I watched Netflix.”
“All day?”
“Yeah.”
“What was so interesting that you stayed glued to the TV?”
“I’ve been watching loads of Jane the Virgin lately.”
“And what about Sunday evening?”
“I probably watched more of it.”
“And Monday?”
“I don’t think it was a holiday, so I went to work.”
“And Monday evening?”
Her eyes grew round. “I don’t know! Why does it matter?”
“Perhaps you were jealous of Lori and angry at her for not having stuck with the chastity oath. Could you have gone back to her house and killed her?”
“What? No!—How do you know?” Her high-pitched question was aimed at Rosebud.
“Remember that this is all being recorded,” he said, pointing to the camera.
She exhaled loudly, her nostrils flaring. “Sure, I was upset at her—and I still maintain that what she did was wrong—but I would have never physically hurt her for it.”
“Can anyone confirm your whereabouts for Sunday and Monday?”
“Like I said, I was home alone. Watching Netflix. Can you look up my IP? I’ll give you the email associated with my account. Maybe Netflix can give you my viewing history or something.”
“I’m afraid what you’re suggesting wouldn’t prove anything. Only that your device was playing one episode after another. Your presence in front of the screen can’t be proven with what you’re suggesting.”
“Well, I didn’t do it.”
“Any thoughts on who might have done it, then?”
Amanda raised her shoulders before shaking her head. “No idea.”
“Okay. Just a few more questions. Do you remember what you were wearing when you had that fight with her on Saturday in her house?”
“Not really. Is it important?”
“I’m just curious to know if you remember the house being particularly cold or hot while you were there?”
“Now that you mention it, it was hot. I had to take off my sweater, then nearly forgot it when I stormed out.”
“Thank you for your time, Amanda.”
Chapter Nineteen
While thoughts about Amanda’s and David’s possible motives danced in her head, Kate couldn’t pinpoint anything strong enough to get an arrest warrant for either of them. David had consented for the police to search his house and car and both had been a dead end.
Their DNA didn’t match the DNA found on the murder weapon. David’s DNA had matched the one swab for sexual intercourse, so their story held up, but that didn’t bring Kate closer to finding Lori’s killer.
They needed more leads. More evidence.
Everything else that could have been a lead had also been eliminated. Chainey had found the key hidden in the flower pot. The earth hadn’t been disturbed, and no fingerprints had been lifted from the rusty mess. So the spare key had been a dead end, just like the call records on both her cellphone and the family’s landline. The last call placed out had been on Saturday afternoon, to Amanda. After Saturday, Amanda, David, and various callers who were later identified as telemarketers had called the house or her cell, but all calls had gone unanswered.
Lori Davis hadn’t spoken to anyone else over the phone, so who else could have heard of her lost virginity? Or was there another reason for her murder? Was Kate just reading too much into the religious theme? Why did the killer target Lori specifically?
And just as the thought entered her mind, Kate had a flash of genius.
“The confessionals!” she said aloud to the empty desks in the detectives’ room. Everyone had left for the day, except for her.
She picked up her phone and dialed Rosebud’s cell number. “You go to church sometimes, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“What type of stuff would you tell the priest in those confessionals at the back?”
“Whatever sin I’ve committed, I guess.”
“Do you think the killer could have listened in on Lori’s confession about losing her virginity before marriage? That’s a sin, right?”
“Plausible.”
“Do you think she could have confessed to it before mass on Sunday?”
“Confessions are received at various times. I don’t see why not.”
“I’m going to stay at the office a little longer. Get the paperwork going to search for bugs at the church where she went.”
“Murphy! I know you’re the lead, but you gotta listen to me on this one. Learn from your mistakes. You gotta take time off. You can’t be on twenty-four seven and expect your mind to work its best. You’re off until tomorrow. I took the afternoon so I’m coming in to work for a few hours tonight. I’ll take care of it. Got it?”
She wanted to argue but knew he was right. “Fine. Thanks.”
“Go home and do your best to think about something else. Anything else. Heck, try to have fun.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hung up feeling both grateful for having such a supportive partner and useless for not doing anything to solve the case faster. But she knew Rosebud was right. She needed to think about something else. Anything but the case and the dead woman.
Rubbing her palms against her cheeks and wiping her face—a last ditch effort at keeping her
self alert—she almost jumped when her phone rang.
Caller ID read Luko.
“Hey, baby! What’s up?” she asked.
“Where are you?”
Surprised by the all-business attitude Luke had displayed, Kate began to worry. “At the precinct. Why?”
“You forgot your appointment, Katie!”
It took a split second for her to understand what he was referring to. “The hypnotherapist. It’s today. Shit! Are you there?”
“Yes, and the doctor’s here, too. The clock is ticking. Minutes aren’t cheap in this part of the world.”
“Shit!” Kate glanced at the clock on the wall. “Please ask her to wait. I’m on my way. Maybe fill her in on my past while you’re waiting?”
With less than fifteen minutes left in the session, the hypnotherapist nonetheless agreed to take Kate back to her childhood.
“To make things easier on you, pick a happy time. Maybe when you were nine or ten years old, before your baby brother was born,” the tall and slender brunette suggested, her legs crossed, a notepad resting on her lap.
“Okay.”
“Can you remember a particular event? Perhaps a birthday party or summer camp?”
Kate tilted her head, daring to think back to her childhood, something she had purposely avoided for so many years. But with the therapist’s recent prompt, she suddenly remembered one of her birthday parties having been quite cool. “My tenth birthday,” she said.
“Okay. Can I assume you had a cake with candles on it and a bunch of friends?”
“Yeah,” Kate said, nodding.
“Perfect. I want you to lie comfortably and close your eyes. I’m going to turn on some background music. Focus on my voice as I count down from ten to one. When I reach one, you will be at your birthday party. Think about the moment before you blew your candles and start there. When you hear the snap of my fingers, you’ll instantly be brought back here.”
Soft music began playing all around Kate as she closed her eyes. Surround sound had obviously been installed in the fancy office. But the music faded in the distance as Kate focused on the therapist’s soothing voice.
“Three… Two… And one. You are now at your tenth birthday party. Can you see your cake?”
The Last Amen Page 7
