A Candidate for Murder (11 page)

“Want me to dump him in the punch?” Justin asked me the umpteenth time that flash went off in my face.

The suggestion sounded good, but I felt sorry for Mark. “No,” I said. “He lost the film he took at his own party. Let him take a few more shots. He’ll run out of film soon.”

The teachers who were chaperoning had come in costumes, too. Mrs. Bantry, our chemistry teacher, came as the Wicked Witch of the West, which was very brave of her, considering the remarks she had to put up with all evening.

While we were dancing I happened to glance over near the door and saw a girl with long straight black hair. I stopped and said to Justin, “Look over there. Is that Francine?”

Justin turned and asked, “Where?”

“There, by the door.” But the person who looked like Francine wasn’t in sight. “She’s gone,” I said.

“It couldn’t have been Francine,” Justin said. “Why would she show up at our school dance?”

“I suppose she wouldn’t,” I said, “but the girl I saw looked an awful lot like her. I guess Francine has a double.”

“Or it’s the lighting or your imagination,” Justin said. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

So we did, and I was sorry when the party was over.

We all climbed into Justin’s car, still smiling over all the fun, but soon after Justin drove out of the hotel parking lot onto a side street we passed a police car. The officers looked at us and did a U-turn. The lights on top of their car began to flash, and over their loudspeaker we heard the command to pull over.

“What’s with them?” Justin said as he pulled the car to the curb. “I didn’t do anything.”

One of the police officers came up to the driver’s window, while the other stood behind Justin’s car.

“What did I do?” Justin asked the officer who bent to look in the open window.

He didn’t answer. He just stared hard at each of us in turn, then said, “Slowly, now, get out of the car.”

It dawned on Justin what the officer was thinking, and he said, “We’re coming back from our school’s Halloween
dance at the Anatole Hotel. Gormley Academy. We’re in costume.”

“Out of the car,” the officer said firmly, as though he’d heard every excuse ever invented and wasn’t buying any of them.

I felt like a fool, suddenly aware of what I must look like with my blue hair and miniskirt and torn T-shirt. I glanced back at the other policeman and saw it was a police
woman
and she was on her car radiophone. Great. They were checking out the car. Who did they think we were?

The officer had us line up, and when his partner joined him she said, “This is the car.”

“What’s wrong with my car?” Justin asked. His voice cracked. We were all beginning to be scared.

“We got a tip about it,” the officer said. “Take a look through the car,” he told his partner, and the policewoman bent and crawled in. I could see her sweep her arm under the front and back seats, then open the glove compartment. It was in the glove compartment that she came up with something.

As she climbed out of the car she held up a small, clear plastic packet with a handful of capsules in it. “Looks like designer drugs,” she said.

“They’re not ours!” I cried out. “We don’t do drugs.”

“Hands behind your backs,” the male officer said. Handcuffs were snapped around our wrists, and we were led to the police car.

“You don’t understand!” Allie said. “We’re Gormley Academy students, and we’ve just been at a Halloween dance.” She glanced over at me, her eyes lit up, and I
knew what she was going to do. “Officer!” she said. “This is Cary Amberson, Charles Amberson’s daughter.”

I groaned. I couldn’t help it. Why couldn’t Allie keep her mouth shut?

All I could think of were Mom’s words: “Whatever you do, Cary, will reflect on your father.”

P
hotographers from the TV stations and from the newspapers were at the police station waiting for us to arrive. They didn’t bother Justin, Allie, and Greg, but microphones were shoved into my face and questions were hurled at me like sharp stones.

“How long have you been on drugs?”

“Have you ever been arrested on drug charges before this?”

“Are you getting any kind of treatment?”

I couldn’t stand it. I screamed at them, “None of us has ever taken drugs! And we’re dressed like this because we’re in costume! We were at a Halloween party!”

It didn’t matter what I said. The reporters pushed and shoved and followed us into the station where a detective dressed in a business suit took charge and ushered us into a small room with nothing in it but a plain wooden table and six straight-backed chairs.

The officer who’d arrested us removed our handcuffs.
My wrists hurt, and I rubbed them as I glared at him. “You didn’t have to do that!” I complained.

He just shrugged and said, “Procedure,” before he left the room.

His partner remained, standing against the wall near the door to the room.

“Who notified the reporters?” I asked her.

“They listen to the police calls,” she said.

“You said that Charles Amberson’s daughter had been arrested. You did that just so they’d come.”

She didn’t say anything, but the disgust in her eyes as she looked at me was answer enough. Didn’t she understand? This costume wasn’t me!

“There’s no good hashing this over.” The detective was brusque. “Sit down now, all of you. We’ve got things to get done.” He motioned Justin and Greg to one side of the table, Allie and me to the other. When he took his place at the head of the table his suit coat fell open, and we could see his holster and gun.

“I want my parents,” Allie said.

“We’ll call your parents—all your parents,” the detective said. He pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket and added, “Give me their names and phone numbers.”

When he’d written down all the information, he tore the page from the pad and handed it to the policewoman. “Get in touch with them, please,” he told her.

As she left the room he turned back to us. “I’m Sergeant Masterson, and I’m on narcotics detail.”

“We weren’t taking drugs!” Justin said. “Someone
planted those in my car and then called you. It had to be the same person.”

Sergeant Masterson held up a hand. “I’m doing the talking now,” he said. “We’ll bring someone in here soon to take your statements. You were all given the Breathalyzer test on the street, but there are more sophisticated tests which can be given here at the station, and I’d like you to take them.”

“What kind of tests?” Allie asked.

“They’re tests which can be done on samples of your urine and blood. They show not only the quantity of any drug that’s in your body but can even specify what type of drug it is.”

“We told you we weren’t taking drugs!” I insisted.

“If you want to prove it, take the tests,” he said.

Someone knocked on the door, and Sergeant Masterson answered it. He spoke in a low voice to the person in the hallway, then turned back to us. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “If you need anything, just knock on the door. The officer outside the door will answer.”

Before any of us could say anything he had left the room, shutting the door behind him.

We sat there quietly, each of us in a muddle with our own thoughts. I couldn’t begin to guess what they planned to do with us, other than have us take the drug tests the detective had told us about. How long would it take for them to get the results from the test and find out we were innocent? What would happen in the meantime? Would we be fingerprinted? Taken before a judge? Put in jail? I tried to remember all the cop movies
I’d seen, but my mind was a blank, and I felt a little sick.

Justin glanced toward the door. “I wonder why he left us alone.”

“Maybe the room is bugged,” Allie said. “I bet they’re all in a little room next to ours with a two-way mirror, watching us and listening to what we say to each other.”

“There’s no mirror in here,” Greg grumbled. “You watch too many movies.”

Allie was doing better than I was. At least she could remember the movies.

“I wish I could wash my face,” I suddenly blurted out.

Allie looked at me a little shyly. “They took a lot of pictures of you.”

“I know.”

Allie took one of my hands in hers, and Justin got up from his chair on the other side of the table and stood behind me, his hands massaging my neck and shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Cary,” he said. “You told the reporters that we were in Halloween costumes.”

“I don’t think they listened or even cared. I look like a tramp, and I’ve just been arrested on drug charges. That’s their big story, and the pictures make it even better.”

“People won’t believe it,” Allie insisted. “Most of our teachers were chaperons at the party. They’ll explain about the costumes.”

For an instant I was hopeful, but I realized that any explanations would come too late. The original story
would probably be front-page news and on tomorrow’s local TV news, but follow-up stories—if there were any—would be small items, buried in the back pages of the newspapers and ignored completely in the television broadcasts.

“I should have known better than to go along with the stupid idea for these stupid costumes,” I said.

Justin pulled his hands away from my shoulders. “You liked the idea. Remember?”

I didn’t want to remember. “How did the drugs get in your car?” I asked.

“I told you, I don’t know,” Justin said. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You told the detective that someone planted them. Why would anyone do a thing like that?”

“
You
tell
me!
”

Allie put her hands over her ears. “Stop it!” she shouted. “You’re making everything worse!”

The room was suddenly silent.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, looking at each of them in turn. Allie’s lip trembled, and tears puddled in her eyes. Greg had his head down, buried in his arms, and Justin’s face was still tight and strained with anger. “I’m really sorry,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. It’s just that I’m worried that this might hurt Dad’s campaign.”

Justin grunted in disgust. “Cary, haven’t you noticed? We’re all sick of hearing about your father’s campaign.”

“I didn’t know …” I began. “I didn’t mean …”

“Oh be quiet, Cary,” Allie said and began to cry.

Why couldn’t I wake up and discover that this had
been nothing more than a horrible dream? Little kid wishes. I knew that this monster wouldn’t just go away.

Our parents arrived almost at the same time. Justin’s father was so angry and defensive I was afraid he might have a heart attack. He was even more upset when he found out that Justin’s car had been impounded.

I was grateful that Mom and Dad didn’t ask questions, and they didn’t complain about what had been done.

“You must take the tests,” they told me, trusting me completely, so I did.

The others did, too, and afterward I was surprised when we were all allowed to go home.

Before we left the station Mom took me into the ladies’ room where I could wash my face and brush out my hair. She wrapped me up in a coat she’d brought along, and we walked out into the central room of the police station to join Dad, who had given a statement to the reporters. As we crossed the room a couple of photographers took pictures of me, but since I was covered up, with my face scrubbed clean, I didn’t look nearly as interesting.

Once we were safely inside the car I fell apart and sobbed all over Mom’s shoulder. She let me cry, but when I’d reached the point at which nothing was left but dry hiccups she hugged me and said, “Cary, honey, we’re so terribly sorry that this had to happen to you.”

I struggled to sit upright and stared at Mom. “
You’re
sorry?
I’m
the one who’s sorry.
I’m
the one who ruined things.”

“No,” Mom said firmly. “You’re not at fault, and neither
are your friends. It’s the situation … the news interest in Charles … in our family.” Her words faded away.

“Those awful pictures of me will be in the newspapers and on television.”

“Maybe not,” Dad said. “I gave the reporters the facts and told them how they could check them out.”

“Sure,” Mom said, and squeezed my shoulders in another hug. “None of you had taken drugs—the tests will prove it—and the story will be nothing more than a false alarm. False alarms don’t make news stories.”

But Mom and Dad had been too optimistic. On the front page of the local newspapers the next morning were blown-up pictures of me being led into the police station in handcuffs. There was the weird hair, the crazy makeup, the ragged black tights. I looked as though I’d been picked up in some alley. The headline over the photo in one of the newspapers read:
CANDIDATE
’
S DAUGHTER ARRESTED IN DRUG BUST
. The photo and headline in the other newspaper were just as bad.

The stories were full of “alleged” and “appeared to be” to keep the newspapers out of trouble legally, and they did briefly mention the Halloween dance; but one of the newspapers—the one with the mean political cartoonist—included a statement Governor Milco had made, when he announced his campaign for reelection, about what should be done with juvenile drug offenders. Anyone who read the stories would probably begin thinking of a few other political candidates whose kids
had got into trouble and start clucking and shaking their heads, wondering what this world was coming to.

I got plenty of odd looks while we were at church. Some of them were curious; some were contemptuous. All I could do was pretend I didn’t notice, keep my gaze straight ahead, and smile at people I knew, but it was a horrible time to have to live through.

From the moment we got home the family telephone kept ringing, but there were no calls on my private line. I felt miserable about what Justin and I had said to each other and about the way I’d treated Allie and Greg, too.

I called Allie and got a busy signal, so I called Greg, but he was grounded and his dad wouldn’t even let him come to the phone. I wanted to call Justin, but I had already apologized. Why couldn’t he call me?