Flyin' Solo, page 17
‘All it does? Tell that to my mother.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. You mentioned some information before. Said you might have some information to trade.’
‘Maybe. I haven’t figured it out yet.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Look, it might be nothing. I don’t want to do to somebody else what just happened to me. Let me think about it, figure it out.’
‘How ’bout letting me look into it?’
‘Not yet.’
I had to think about this a little more first.
Had Fly been setting me up all along? Or had he just been buying himself some time to get back out of the country?
FORTY-NINE
There was a knock at the door. I looked out the security peephole. It was the policeman who had been outside for hours. I opened the door. He was alone.
‘You doing OK now, ma’am? Seems like everybody got tired and went home.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘I’m going to leave, then, if you’re sure you’re OK. We’ll have a car coming by every hour or so through the night. If anything happens, you call. OK?’
‘Yeah. Sure. Thanks.’
‘OK.’ He tipped his hat. ‘You take care.’
I went back in and turned on the TV. The early evening news was just coming on. Erika’s murder was still the lead story, but my name was barely mentioned. I was just the woman who had found Erika. The only film of the marchers outside my house showed MaryNell graciously serving water and chocolate.
I guess I was old news.
I looked at the stack of work I’d brought home. I hadn’t touched it yet. I carried it to my computer, piled it on the desk next to me and started to work. I went through the pile methodically.
If I really had seen Fly, if he were alive, how could I contact him? Surely someone was monitoring his email account.
I opened my email program. Except for a home-based business opportunity that would make me millions from my home in less than two hours a day and a site offering legal, organically grown grass, there was nothing new.
I went to my high school site, clicked on Alumni Connections, then the Message Board for the year I had graduated. Melinda had posted her new address. Lots of comments about the recent reunion, thanks to the organizing committee. A few comments about Fly’s disappearance, two about the picture of Fly and me in the paper. Just in case anyone was on the moon and didn’t know yet. Nothing else. I closed the site.
I was about to log off when an instant message popped up.
Want to chat?
I moved the mouse to close it. I never respond to messages from anyone I don’t know. Then I stopped. What if …?
What about? I replied. I waited.
Moonlight on a lake. Dancing, slow and close, to ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’. A first kiss. Braces. Young love.
I couldn’t breathe. Now what? I put my hand on the phone to call Sam. Sam who wouldn’t talk to me. Sam who knew I hadn’t had an affair with Fly but still wouldn’t look me in the eye. So I typed.
Now what?
Want to chat?
Yes. I have a lot of questions.
Inquiring minds want to know.
Where are you?
Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to exchange personal information with strangers over the Internet?
I need to talk to you.
I’ll be in touch.
And he was gone.
My hands were shaking. It had to be Fly. If Fly was alive, he was a fraud. Was he also a murderer?
I needed some answers. The only person I could think of who might know something was Marcella. She wouldn’t talk to me at work, but surely she would tell me what was going on if I talked to her away from the office, where no one was watching.
Sandy was looking at me.
‘Well, what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for them to take me to jail?’
I typed Marcella’s name into a People Search and got her address. Across town, a condominium on Hillsboro Road in Green Hills.
FIFTY
I didn’t want to sit around wondering what I’d see about myself on the news next, so I locked up, told Sandy to stand guard and headed across town in my little red Spider.
I had some questions that I didn’t think anyone could answer except Marcella. What really happened to Charlie Patton? Who had given the Tennessean reporter information about me? Who didn’t want her talking to me and why? Had anyone from the company had an opportunity to be at Erika’s house that morning? I knew that Fly’s partners, Al Evanston and George Madison, had both been out of the office. What I needed to know was where? Had they really been at the meetings they said they were going to? Would either of them have had time to go to Erika’s? And what about Fly? Was he alive? Had he contacted Marcella? Could he be in town? I didn’t call ahead because I didn’t want to give her a chance to say no. If she weren’t home, I’d wait. What else did I have to do except watch my life slip away?
Green Hills Mall looked quiet as I drove past. On a Monday night, the parking lot was relatively empty except near the restaurant entrances. I turned off Hillsboro Road and followed the signs to Marcella’s building. I circled, decided which unit was hers and drove around to park in front of another building. I walked back, trying to look like I belonged, taking long, confident strides as if I were just out for the exercise.
I broke stride and went to the door. I pressed the doorbell. I could hear it ringing inside. I waited. Nothing. I rang again. And waited.
She could be gone. I hadn’t spotted her car yet.
She could be out walking around the neighborhood like I was pretending to do.
I rang once more, then continued my walk. I circled the complex and saw several people out walking, but not Marcella. I made my way to the alleyway behind Marcella’s condominium.
Trashcans and covered parking spaces for residents’ cars were hidden behind the units along narrow alleyways. The car at Marcella’s back door, a two-year-old Maxima, had a HealthwaRx parking sticker, but she could have left with someone else. In someone else’s car.
I rang the bell at the back door. No answer. I looked through a window into Marcella’s kitchen and saw her. At least, I thought it was her. I could see her part of her back as she sat in a chair in the next room. Her head leaned against the side of a wingback chair as if she were asleep.
I could knock. Maybe that would be louder than the bell, wake her up.
I rapped on the window of the kitchen door, hard, loud. Marcella didn’t move, but the door did. It swung open slightly.
‘Marcella?’ I called. A little louder. ‘Marcella!’
I was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
‘Marcella?’ I stepped inside the kitchen. It was clean, very clean. Lights were on in the kitchen but not in the room beyond. ‘Marcella?’
The head leaning against the side of the chair didn’t stir. I walked across the kitchen slowly, quietly, cautious of what? I stepped into the gloom of what turned out to be a great room, combination living and dining room, and walked around to the front of the chair.
‘Marcella?’
Her mouth hung open unattractively. An empty wineglass stood on a side table at her right hand.
‘Marcella!’ I expected her to wake up, startled, now that I was in her face, but she didn’t move. I reached out to touch her arm. It was cool, and the slight movement was enough to make her head fall forward from its spot against the chair’s wing. ‘Marcella!’ I was shouting. I shook her but still no response. ‘No, no, not again!’
I put my fingers under her nose to see if she was breathing. I couldn’t be sure. I touched the base of her throat, trying to feel a pulse. Maybe. Faint.
I looked around for a phone. At least Erika had had one handy. I was beginning to panic. There! In the kitchen, on the wall. I pushed 911.
‘Metropolitan Police. What is your emergency?’
Not again.
It seemed like hours before I heard sirens, but I know it was only minutes. I decided I was really going to have to take a refresher course in CPR if I was going to keep this up. Maybe get one of those mouthpieces, keep it in my purse.
This time when the paramedic took over and eased me out of the way, I slumped down on the floor against the living room wall and sobbed. Within minutes uniformed policemen were around me, asking questions, but all I could do was sob. I couldn’t even catch my breath to speak.
‘Get her some water, do you think?’ I heard someone say. ‘She’s in shock.’
‘Anybody call Davis?’
‘Yeah, he’s on the way.’
I was vaguely aware of the paramedics wheeling Marcella out on a stretcher through the blur of faces and sounds around me. Then I heard Sam’s voice.
‘Campbell! Campbell! It’s OK. Campbell!’ Was someone shaking me, or was it just me? ‘I’m gonna pay for this later.’ Smack!
He slapped me! Sam slapped me!
Then I realized I was staring at him, still sobbing and choking, and clutching his jacket lapels in both hands.
‘Campbell.’ His voice was soft, calming now. ‘Campbell, it’s OK.’
‘Sam! I didn’t kill her. I didn’t do anything. Is she OK? Is she dead?’
‘Hey. You’re OK. Settle down.’
I flung myself against his chest, and, reluctant or not, he put his arms around me and patted my back for all the world as if I were five years old. I cried, and he patted, and finally I stopped. A glass of water appeared in a hand extending from a dark blue cuff. I took it, sat back to drink and realized Sam and I were in a circle of dark blue uniforms.
‘Breathe,’ he said. ‘Just breathe. In and out.’ He took off his jacket and put it around me. Light gleamed off the blue gray gun in the worn leather shoulder holster. ‘Can you stand up now? We need to get outside, let these guys do their job.’
Sam helped me up and kept his arm around me as we went back through the kitchen and out the door. Outside, I took a deep breath of air, humid and heavy with the scent of some sweet, decaying flower. I threw up. All over the shrub at the side of Marcella’s door.
‘You want me to get her some more water?’ I heard a voice ask.
‘Not from in there. We’ve screwed around in there enough. Maybe one of these neighbors standing around.’
When I caught my breath, Sam was holding wet paper towels. A uniformed officer beside him held out a paper cup of water.
‘Here,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s move away from the door. You sure have a way of messing up crime scenes.’
I tried to clean myself up. Crime scene investigators were taping boundaries, taking photographs.
‘Campbell!’
I looked up to see Doug. ‘How did you …?’
Sam spoke to him. ‘You’ll meet us downtown?’
Doug nodded.
Sam looked at me and shook his head.
Doug led me to his car. I realized I still had Sam’s jacket. ‘Why …? How did you …? Who called you?’ I finally got out.
He started the car, turned off his air conditioning as it came on. I realized I was still shivering. ‘Officially, nobody. I was passing by.’
‘Sam called you?’
‘Don’t ask. Everybody knows homicide detectives don’t call suspects’ attorneys for them. Bobby Jefferson’s on his way. He’ll meet us downtown.’ I didn’t say anything. ‘Look, they don’t think you did this. But somebody’s doing a good job of making you the patsy. Listen to Bobby, do whatever he says, but I think he’s going to tell you to tell them what you know, whatever you saw. But don’t do it alone. You don’t say anything until he gets there. And if he tells you to stop, you stop.’
I nodded. Was it time to show someone the pictures from Freeport? I knew it was. Of course, it was. But I couldn’t believe Fly was a murderer. I wanted a chance to talk to him first.
FIFTY-ONE
I was beginning to know the Criminal Justice Center way too well. People who worked there recognized me, knew me to nod to. I knew where the Coke machines were. But this time I needed coffee, strong, hot and black.
A uniformed woman brought me some in a Styrofoam cup. I burned my tongue on the first sip, so it didn’t matter how it tasted. ‘You need anything else?’ she asked.
An alibi? I shook my head.
Bobby Jefferson arrived at the station downtown just minutes after Doug and I did. Doug stayed to hear me tell Bobby what had happened, then patted me on the shoulder and left. ‘I wouldn’t mind going a week without hearing about you and a dead body,’ he said on his way out.
Yeah, me, too.
Bobby was reassuring. ‘OK, just tell them what happened the same way. Our position is, you’re cooperating, you haven’t done anything wrong, you just want to help the police find whoever’s doing this.’
‘Well, yeah!’
‘Right, right. I think we stick with that, tell them whatever you can remember. If I think we’re getting into anything that could be trouble, I’ll stop you.’
FIFTY-TWO
The bright fluorescent lights were harsh; they sucked the life and color out of everything in the room. I hated to think what I looked like. I’d given CPR to yet another nearly dead person, had my face in a shrub, thrown up. A faint scent made me think I hadn’t kept Sam’s jacket entirely out of the way. I wanted to be home. Sam still hadn’t shown up. Bobby Jefferson and I sat alone at a long table that filled the bright, depressing room.
I told Bobby what I had done, what I’d seen, and he took me back through the story, step by step.
‘When was the last time you talked to her?’ he asked. I told him. ‘And exactly what did she say?’ I tried to reconstruct the conversation. He nodded. ‘And exactly why did you go to see her, at home, unannounced?’
‘Because somebody’s trying to set me up for murder, and I thought she could tell me who!’ I was tired. I was angry. I was coming out of emotional shock, and I had no patience left. I continued ranting as Sam and his team came into the room. ‘Because someone didn’t want her to talk to me, and I wanted to know why. Because she’s the only one I know who can tell me who Erika was seeing the morning she was killed! Because she’s the only one I know who might be able to tell me who from the HealthwaRx office talked to the Tennessean yesterday!’
Sam and the other detectives found chairs around the table.
‘And whoever that was got to her first!’
I downed the last of the coffee in my cup, swallowing it before I realized it was cold now, the consistency of sludge and about as tasty.
Sam spoke first. ‘I think we all need a fresh cup.’ He nodded at a uniformed officer standing by the door, who left and returned with a tray of cups of coffee. I noticed that most of the officers grimaced as they drank it.
‘OK.’ Sam nodded to another officer who set a recorder on the table and turned it on. Sam stated his name, the date, time, place and the names of everyone in the room. ‘Campbell. Just start at the beginning and tell us what happened.’
Bobby Jefferson interrupted before I could say anything. ‘Just one thing. For the record.’ He pointedly spoke toward the recorder. ‘My client is cooperating fully and willingly, even eagerly. She wants the perpetrator of these crimes found and found quickly. She feels, and I wholeheartedly agree with her, that she, too, is a victim, and that her best interests will be served by the expeditious resolution of these crimes. For the record.’
Sam nodded. ‘Campbell?’ His voice was neutral. That helped.
‘What about Marcella? Is she alive?’
He shook his head.
‘What was it? How did they do it?’
‘We’re working on that.’
I took a deep breath and started. I told them how I’d called Marcella at work and she’d said she’d been told not to talk to me. I left out the Freeport photos. For now. Sam, Bobby and the others made notes, but no one spoke until I had finished. Then we started again. What time did I arrive at Marcella’s? How long had I rung the front door bell? Why had I parked in front of another building? And why, again, had I walked around the neighborhood before trying the back door? Whom had I seen while I was pretending to be out walking? Every time I spoke, a tableful of calm, level eyes focused on me. Then pens and pencils scribbled. The adrenaline wore off; the caffeine wore off, and I didn’t have much else left.
‘Can I go home now?’
Sam looked around the table, his eyebrows raised in question. Paul Green gestured with his hand to indicate that he didn’t have any more questions. A couple of other officers shook their heads. Everyone began to stand, pick up notepads, pens, coffee cups.
‘Your car’s back at the condominium in Green Hills?’ Bobby Jefferson asked. I nodded. ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
He looked from me to Sam. ‘I’ll wait out here.’ He walked out of the room and down the hallway, leaving Sam and me alone in the room.
I turned to Sam. ‘I’ll get your jacket cleaned.’
He shrugged. ‘You OK?’
‘No. No, I’m not. What have you found out about Charles Patton’s murder?’
Sam shook his head. ‘I can’t talk about that.’
‘You don’t think it’s a coincidence.’ So why are you wasting your time with me, I wanted to ask. ‘Why are you wasting your time with me?’
‘Would it do any good for me to tell you to stay home, not put yourself in dangerous situations?’
