She got cut off mid-sentence, and I heard screams, the clatter of breaking vases or glass. Then a muffled thud, like the sound of a body hitting the floor.
I slammed the phone down and grabbed my coat and flew down the stairs. The fatigue had left me immediately as I heard the thump. I tore the car door open and my tires squealed as a left the lot. I throttled the Volkswagen as fast as it could go. It roared, almost as if in pain. I must have infringed multiple laws both of New York, and physics as I sped towards the estate. Upon arrival, I didn’t bother to appreciate the decor this time. As soon as I leapt out of the car I was sprinting up towards the side door, and threw it open. Silence. I couldn’t see or hear any movement.
I started left, towards where the bedroom was. My feet stomped loudly through bits and pieces of broken glass left from the tussle. I was trying to recognize what the furniture may have been before it became these shards and splinters. My guess was that a few dressers were destroyed as well as a glass table.
When I got to the bedroom, my heart sank. There was and giant bloodstain on the wall, still wet. I must have only been a few minutes late. There was the body on the floor. I could only see it from the waist down as the upper half was behind the bed, out of my field of sight.
This was ridiculous. The amount of struggle that had gone on in here sure had left its mark. Shelves were torn from the walls, the mirror on the wall lay in shards on the floor, the furniture was torn up in multiple places. Talisha sat on the bed, a hollow look in her eyes. The murder weapon lay on the ground, she probably threw it there after she realized what she did. That elegant little Smith & Wesson knew nothing of the consequences it would cause. I stepped over it cautiously and sat down on the bed next to Talisha. I put one arm around her and the other on her hands in her lap. She laid her head on my shoulder and started sobbing, finally letting it all out.
“I - I couldn’t...” she started but was unable to finisher her sentence
“Couldn’t what?”
“I couldn’t take it anymore,” she wailed. “I thought he was going to kill me.
“What happened?” It was a stupid question. I knew exactly what happened.
“I was so scared. I thought Patrick was going to kill me,” she said again. “You need to believe me! I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Shhh. It’s going to be okay,” I tried comforting her. “I’m going leave now. You are going to call the police, and confess to the murder. They will take you in, but will be dismissed as it was an act of self-defense. Do not tell them I was ever here.”
I repeated this to her a few times to make sure she understood what I was saying, and then tried to make her repeat it for me, but she was unable to form coherent thoughts at this point. I kissed her and left the house of horrors almost as fast as I had arrived.
CHAPTER 3
On August 25th, at about 10:30 pm, she finally made the call to the police. Fourteen minutes later there was a police cruiser and two officers at the scene. Not even a minute later the officials in charge of murder cases showed up as well. Eighteen minutes after the phone call the police closed off the area with the yellow classic caution tape, all the way from the end of the street. More and more personnel, showed up, the publicity was growing. Even the typical van with the satellite dish on top was seen parked alongside the road. It said News 2 on its side and soon after, another half dozen arrived as well.
“Perfect! Exactly what we needed. This should not be going public yet,” said the chief commissioner.
He started towards the estate, and then stopped and called back to one of the officers.
“Get them out of here. Until we know more, they know nothing.”
There was more “Police Line” tape closing off the bedroom. The coroner was there and he stepped under the tape and kneeled down next to the body. It was obvious, but it was necessary practice to check for the pulse. He did so and looked at the commissioner.
“It’s been possibly an hour and a half since the death, the cause of death will be determined after the autopsy but I am pretty sure that the bullet through the occipital muscle cause enough hemorrhage around the neck to be the confirmed cause of death.”
The commissioner nodded and signaled for the technicians, who started setting up the crime scene investigation immediately. They set bright lights up all around the room, and scoured the mess so thoroughly, as if it was an alien spotting in area 51, rather than a typical day on the job for the homicide wing. One of the investigators had the responsibility of taking photographs of the scene untouched, as well as of all of the bits of evidence they were collecting. Also plenty more of the body, the entry and exit wounds, and the destroyed furniture as well. The other was putting the samples into plastic bags and sealing them, to take back to the lab for further analysis. He was careful to not wipe any finger prints from the gun, as he put into the bag, and use tweezers while putting the copper bullet case into a little bag. They were there for nearly fifty minutes, inspecting the bedroom, before putting the body in a bag, and taking it away. It was only hours later that the house was empty once again. There was little left to indicate any signs of death taking place there aside from the large burgundy stain left wall and floor.
* * * * *
It would be a lie to say I woke up early on Monday, since I hardly even slept. I was in bed, but only tossing and turning. Sleep wasn’t coming easily at all. I made Talisha promise me not to contact me, and I wouldn’t contact her either for a few days. I turned on the news, hoping to gain some new information on the case. I skipped through a few channels, but there was no word at all about the event. I was starting to get worried. I felt useless and helpless at the same time. I wanted to call Talisha, ask her how she was doing, or hop in the car and pay her a quick visit, but both options would suddenly make me a suspect and that was something I desperately had to avoid. I couldn’t be in the spotlight, who knows what would happen if they started digging on me?
I tried to make out how the events following the phone call would have taken place. Talisha gets taken in for the murder of her husband. This is certain, everything else is only theoretical. She might simply be on probation, maybe the lawyers didn’t even have to get involved, as it was self-defense. Maybe she’ll have to defend in front of a jury. This lack of information, this lack of knowledge, was really dragging me down, like a ball and chain.
The worst part was that maybe my name gets mentioned somewhere. A few days before the murder, I had publicly threatened the victim. There were quite a few witnesses. The entire restaurant had seen my actions, they heard my threats. They watched my shove his face into his meal, and heard me announce my name. His short haired girl would be a very good witness against my actions. If I had to go up against lawyers like that of Patrick Kirkwood my odds were rather slim. Even if I had nothing to do with the murder itself, I was definitely a plausible suspect.
I walked over to the window and opened the curtains. Outside my window was the usual scene: strangers walking, moving along with their innocent lives, feeding the system. The only thing out of the ordinary was the light grey station wagon parked outside. There was an advertisement for some phone company or other painted onto its side. Not too far from that was the wooden telephone pole, on which a maintenance worker was doing his duties. He wore blue overalls, and had a utility belt, a construction helmet, and a safety vest. He took a screwdriver from his belt without looking down and continued his task at hand.
I stepped over to the phone and lifted the receiver to my ear. There was the usual dial tone. This is weird. If the line is working, then what are they fixing? I dismissed the entire event, I must be getting paranoid. It could be anything from regular maintenance or maybe the lines were out earlier in the morning and they were just doing some finishing touches.
I prepared myself breakfast and cleaned up in the kitchen and decided to go into the office. I had to take my mind off of what Talisha was going through, and tried to focus on my
job. When I stepped outside into the lot, I noticed that the worker had left but the van was still there.
I had completely forgotten about the events from the morning, I managed to get so involved with my task at work. I spoke with Mr. Williams, the head of the bail office. He had a few names for me to work with as a bounty hunter. Trash who had escaped, people who were in hiding, or people for who they had a warrant for arrest. He gave me the task of getting them out in the open. He said we could split the rewards. The list sounded rather promising so we made plans to meet and discuss this personally.
Mr. Williams’ office was half an hour away with a car. Traffic was heavy, but I didn’t have to stand at the lights for too long. I wanted to get there as fast as possible so I kept changing lanes hoping to get ahead of the crowd. As I kept changing between the lanes, a car caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. I could make out the silhouettes of two people, and they were making the exact same maneuvers as me. When I changed lanes, they followed suit, and when I passed a car, he made sure that the number of cars between was never greater than two. I was being followed.
Was I simply being paranoid today? Were the recent events making me go insane? Was I imagining things? I did a test, just to be sure. I checked the next light ahead of me, it was green. I maintained a regular pace, while watching the light ahead of me. When I was just twenty yards away, the lights changed to yellow and this is exactly what I wanted. I floored the gas pedal, to scoot under in time. The Volkswagen’s engine roared as I sped past the now red light. I only narrowly avoided a collision; the guy had to slam the brakes to avoid hitting me. In the rear-view mirror I saw a brown sedan push past the car ahead of it at the lights, but at the last second the driver changed his mind and squealed to a halt, probably less than a yard away from the cars going through the lights at the time. I heard a symphony of horns.
No one followed me for the remainder of my drive. When I arrived, I stayed in car for a few minutes, just to see if I saw anything suspicious. I didn’t get out until I was sure that no one was watching me.
Mr. Williams was a tall black man. He was shaven bald, and his head reflected the fluorescent lights. It shone as if he polished it with shoe polish. He stepped over to me, and shook my hand. My hand was the size of a golf ball compared to his. The only thing bigger than Mr. Williams was his office. Everything was made of glass, or covered in it. There were a few patches along the walls were one could not see any glass, but that was only because he had covered in paintings.
“Please, look around. Make yourself comfortable,” he said.
I took a look at every single painting. Each one depicted him with some other people. His age varied among the paintings.
“You’ve met more famous people than a politician.” I noted.
“For this type of job, it is necessary to have connections in high places.”
I don’t know why, but I blurted it out. “I was followed on the way here.”
“Did you shake them off, or are they waiting for you in the lobby?”
“I left them at a red light.”
“Any clue who they may have been?”
“No idea. Brown sedan, American car. There were two people in it.”
“They may have cops undercover. Typically they drive that sort of vehicle.”
I didn’t have anything else to say.
“Any reason why the police might be onto you?” he asked.
“No!” I replied, almost too quickly.
This was, in part, true. I haven’t don’t anything for which two policemen might be following me, while undercover. Or why they might have to tap into my phone line. It was rather obvious that those weren’t real phone line maintenance workers this morning. Why didn’t they leave after they had finished their job? Probably because in the back of that van were two men with headphones on try to hear what I had to say over the phone. One was probably a simple technician, while the other was a higher ranking officer. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what they might be trying to get from me.
What happened last night at the Kirkwood manor, does not need to involve Mr. Williams. I didn’t want to tell him about the events that unfolded, or that I even knew about them. I decided to change the subject.
“So this list I came here for, can I take a look?”
He took a sheet of paper from his desk. There were five names on there. Each one had a warrant for their arrest for some crime or other in the state of New York. We talked about each individual, he briefed me on some of their habits, traits, and abilities, and then he told me why each one deserved a term in prison.
I was completely drained by that night. The van parked by the parking lot snapped me back to reality. This time it didn’t have the phone company logo on it. There was a new van there. It smaller, painted black, and had a more squared out body. I had completely forgotten that the police were watching me like hawks. They really could have been more subtle. I trudged up to the fourth floor, each step feeling harder than the last, and then I stepped out onto the roof. It was a large flat area, with an additional apartment sitting on it. The roof was like my balcony, and the apartment was mine.
I stepped inside the apartment and dropped my keys on the table by the door. I shuffled to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a box of pizza, from the night before, with a single slice of pizza left in it. I accepted the fact that this lonely slice was my dinner for the evening and popped it in the microwave oven. At least I’ll eat something warm.
Before I was able to unlock the door, four armed policemen battered it in, and handcuffed me. As I was lying on the floor, I turned my head up as far as I could to get a good look at the man in charge. The first thing I noticed was the brown leather shoes. My eyes kept climbing, straining to see anything else about him. He had a grey blazer, with brown elbow patches. He had a clean white shirt underneath, with the top two buttons undone and no tie. From his pocket dangled a rather worn looking badge, which was too far and shaky for me to be able to read his name. I saw his face last. It was cold, rejecting, disapproving. He looked to be around fifty, with a few crinkles around his eyes and mouth, which could have simply been a side effect of staying up for the night shift often. His hair was thinning, and he had a bald spot at the top. He wasn’t in great shape, so I guessed that he spent a lot of his time behind an office desk.
“You’re under arrest for murder in the first degree. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to ask for a lawyer, and if you are unable to find, the government will provide you with one.”
He continued on in a completely emotionless tone, the spiel which he had learned so well, to inform whoever they take in about their rights, because he has to do so. Otherwise I doubt he cared enough to even tell then what they under arrest for.
At this moment I remembered the pizza which I had been so close to tasting, at how a minute and a half can be the difference between a free and caged man.
“You guys hungry? There is plenty for everyone.” I said, ignoring anything else Baldy had to say.
“Shut up.” came a rough grunt from near my ear,
“Take him away,” Baldy ordered, but it sounded more like a death sentence.
I was pulled up to my feet, and led by my arms to the door and down the stairs by two of the men. They just happened to be my tackler, and handcuffer. I was sure that the entire building knew what was going on. They must have heard the men going the stairs, and even if they didn’t, then the yelling and knocking down of the door would have perked up their ears. I could almost feel the eyes through the peepholes on the doors, staring at me, the man from the roof, getting dragged out by a bunch of police. Enjoy your dinner, I’ll provide the show tonight folks! However, people watching were the least of my worries at the moment.
We got outside in front of the house. There was some asshole taking up three parked cars with a brown sedan, I assumed belonging to Baldy. I could picture him slowing down in
the car, and turning in the lot, and doing his best to take up as much room unnecessarily as possible. Then springing out of the car, imagining he is doing a great service to the world, so the world won’t care how he parks right now. I suddenly realized how cold it was, and that I was wearing nothing to cover my back except a T-shirt. I really could have grabbed a jacket on the way out. Luckily they didn’t give me the time to catch a cold, I was fast-walked over to the black van, while the other two guys rushed ahead of us and opened the back. I was thrown into the transport cell in the back and had the door quickly slammed on me.
We left as soon as I heard the other doors close, to what I guessed were the headquarters. No one spoke to me, and as far as I could tell, they weren’t talking amongst themselves either. The silence was unsettling. I was starting to calm down a little, which was a bad thing. The funny that was trying to break out of me earlier had now been replaced with reality and a feeling of dread. Murder. I was under arrest for the murder.
I tried to think back to the past few days, weeks. I hadn’t killed a single person. I was in fact, hundred percent sure that I had deliberately not stabbed, shot, strangled, starved, fatally wounded or maimed any individual within the last month. Or lifetime. Sure I had beaten a few people, but I was very careful to not injure them beyond recovery.
I was getting the answer to my questions pretty soon, but I didn’t feel prepared. We came to a stop, and the door swung open.
“Get out,” barked the one holding the door. “Move it.”
I stepped out of the vehicle, and mouthed a “thank you” to him just to piss him off. I looked around to find an old two story building from the 70th district, which I recognized was on Lawrence Street. I was led through double wooden doors, which I guess to be the main entrance. Right beyond the door there was a desk, behind which sat a very tired looking receptionist. Our arrival hadn’t stirred him at all, or at least his face didn’t show if it did. He was probably in here since eight this morning, and was waiting night shift to take over. He exchanged some words and grunts with my captors, and then I was taken deeper into the hive. I had been to the station before, but not where I was getting taken right now. They took me all the way to the back of the building, where the holding cells are. We arrived at a room, which had nothing but a writing desk and a rather fat policeman behind it. The buttons on his shirt were almost popping off of his chest and stomach. He filled the chair out completely and was watching a very small TV screen. There was a baseball game going on, Dodgers were playing some team I couldn’t recognize. Slowly, he turned to face us but just with his body. His eyes remained glued to the screen. Couldn’t risk missing a single moment of the match.