Murder.com (12 page)

"And no one saw you leave your
office."

"Again, as I told you, my
secretary was out of the office that day. Other than her, I'm sure
there is someone who saw me leave. Or haven't you bothered to check
up on that lead, detective?"

He ignored me and stuck to his line of
questioning.

"And then Kitty Baxter shows up at
your house the next day?"

"Yes, Kitty showed up at my house
the next day."

"And she wanted your help to solve
the murder."

"Yes."

"She didn't want anything
else?"

"No, nothing else."

"Did she mention anything about
the will?"

"No."

"She didn't mention that her
inheritance is tied up?"

This was shocking. Her inheritance
was tied up. How? And what would that have to do with me? I didn't
care if she saw one dime of Ted's money.

"What?"

"Mrs. Baxter's inheritance is
going into a trust. She can't touch it. Baxter had a clause in his
will that spelled out what would happen if he was
murdered."

I was surprised, and I must have looked it.
Carrington stared at me like he had just cracked the case wide
open.

"He knew something like this was
going to happen. Something made him add that clause to his will.
Something gave him the feeling that his days were numbered. And he
was hell-bent on making sure, if that was the case, that no one was
going to get his money. Until his murder was solved."

"So?"

"So, Mr. Slade, Mrs. Baxter came
to you for help. She wanted you to find the killer so she could get
her money. You, in turn, would set up someone else to take the
fall. Then you two would run off into the sunset together. Just
like what you wanted to have happen all those years
ago."

This was one of the most idiotic
things that I had ever heard. There were so many flaws in the logic
and the story that I didn't know where to begin. But start I had
to. I could see where this was all heading. On its current
trajectory, it had me behind bars momentarily.

"Are you crazy? That is
absurd."

"You hated Ted. He stole Kitty
away and you wanted her back. You waited. You courted her. She
seemed willing to run off with you, but that wasn't enough for you.
You wanted Ted dead. Only then would Kitty be yours. So you killed
him."

I laughed. I couldn't control
myself. Then I composed myself and said, "This is the best you can
do? I didn't kill Ted. I'm not trying to set anyone up. I don't
need Kitty and I certainly don't need Ted's money. I'm rich. Very
rich. And I have a woman I'm quite happy with. Your story makes no
sense."

Carrington ignored me. Then he pressed a button on
the recorder.

"Stay here."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

I was the one being set up. Set to
take the fall for a murder that I didn't commit. I didn't have any
idea if this story was going to stick, but I sure as hell didn't
want to leave it up to a jury of my peers to decide.

Minutes later, Carrington walked
back in. "Let's go." He grabbed me by the arm and walked me out
into the main hub of the station and over to the jail cell. He
pressed a button and the heavy black bars slid open. There was only
the sound of phones ringing, light office chatter, and the sound of
metal against metal as the doors slid shut with me
inside.

I was angry. For one of the first
times in a long time, I felt powerless. Two emotions that, if I
didn't keep them in check, would quickly spiral into helplessness.
And there was one thing that I wasn't: helpless.

"John, this is absurd," I said as
the door locked.

He didn't say anything. I just
stood with my hands grabbing a bar on either side of me. I watched
Carrington walk over to an office. There were large glass windows
framing each of the five or so offices that I could see.

Carrington went into one of the offices directly
across from me, which had a well-built man in his mid-fifties with
black hair, black mustache, in a dress shirt with sleeves rolled
up, sitting with his elbows on his desk.

"Whose office is that?" I called
out. "Anyone?"

No one looked at me, seemed to listen, or care.

My blood had started to boil. Not
a good thing. Anger clouded your judgment, and I needed all the
judgment I could muster up. I took a deep breath and exhaled
slowly, trying to calm myself down.

I stared at the office and tried
to read the name on the door that was shut. I couldn't make it out.
How could anyone read that? It made me question my vision. Maybe
I'd get my eyes checked one of these days.

The conversation was getting
heated. I could see Carrington talking, moving his hands up and
down. The other guy was flailing his hands, and it looked like he
was raising his voice, although you couldn't hear anything through
those walls. The man with the moustache stood up and started
pointing at Carrington. He was tall. Very tall.

Carrington just stood there letting this man point
at him. It must have been his boss. It had to be Williams. Sergeant
Williams. The one setting me up. The one trying to ruin my life.
The one bullying Carrington into arresting me.

Then the conversation stopped. Carrington turned and
opened the door. He walked into what must have been his office,
next door. He sat down at his desk and started writing something,
then picked up the phone. Talked for a moment then hung up. He then
stood up, opened his door, and walked out of my sight.

Defeated, I dropped my hands from the bars. I turned
and looked at the cell. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing in
this box other than a one-piece cement bench attached to the
floor.

I sat on the cold bench. I was in
trouble. Big trouble. And I wasn't sure how on earth I was going to
get out of it. I couldn't just sit here. I couldn't just let more
time tick away. I needed to get out of this cell.

I stood up and went back to the
bars and started yelling, "I want to make a phone call."

Nothing. No one even as much as looked at me.

"Hello? I want to make a phone
call. I know my rights!" I yelled, louder. Hoping to attract some
attention. "I'm being held against my will!"

A female officer sitting a few seats to the left of
my cell hung up her phone and proceeded to walk over to me. Her
brown hair was tied in a tight bun and the uniform fit her to a
tee. The blue hue of it made her aqua eyes pop.

"Finally," I said, happy to have
someone acknowledge me.

She walked up to the bars, looked
me dead in the eyes, and said, "If you don't shut up I'm going to
throw you in the drunk tank."

That wasn't the reaction that I
was hoping for. This lady meant business.

"Understand?" she
asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Now sit down and shut
up."

She walked away and I obliged. I
sat with my head in my hands. Thinking. Playing back what had
transpired over and over again. I didn't think that I'd be here. In
a jail cell. I had thought Carrington was bluffing. They'd never
have enough to arrest me. This sort of thing didn't happen.
Innocent people didn't wind up in jail. But here I was.

Although I was sitting in a cell,
I hadn't been arrested. That was a silver lining. I was being
detained. Held. But they couldn't hold me here forever without
formally pressing charges against me. Without reading me my Miranda
rights. Without arresting me.

But that was coming. It was most
likely up next on my introduction to the penal system. The
fingerprinting, the mug shot, then off for processing, where I'd
sit until my arraignment. I doubted they'd grant me bail. They
probably didn't do that in a murder case.

At least I'd get to call Ginny.
She'd help me. I'd have to wait until they let me use a phone. Then
something happened. Williams left his office, and he was heading
straight for me. I had thought that he had looked tall in his
office. But now, as he approached, he looked like a
giant.

I wasn't going to stand when he
arrived at the cell. I wasn't going to show him one ounce of
respect. He didn't deserve it.

"Mr. Slade," he said.

"Yeah," I said, laid out on the
concrete bench, my hands behind my head.

"How do you like your
accommodations so far?" he asked.

"Wonderful," I answered. "I guess
I have you to thank."

"You can thank yourself. You were
the one who got yourself into this mess."

"I didn't do anything," I
said.

"That's what they all say," he
said.

I ignored him. I wasn't going to
argue with this man. My words meant nothing to him. All he cared
about was hanging someone for Ted's murder. Unfortunately, he was
trying to make me that someone.

"I know you murdered Ted Baxter.
And the nonsense you're feeding Detective Carrington isn't getting
you anywhere."

I was still lying on the bench,
eyes closed, hands behind my head, but now I was seething inside. I
wanted to sit up, walk over to Williams, and spit in his face. But
I couldn't do that. I also knew that saying nothing was the best
option. I fought back all of my impulses and lay there.

Williams continued, "Just sit
tight for a little while longer and we'll get you processed and
shipped out. Bus comes at five."

He turned and walked back into his office.

I was in big trouble. I closed my eyes and pictured
what tonight was going to entail as I was moved into a real jail.
Everything that floated through my head was terrible. I opened my
eyes and sat up. All I could do was wait.

I stared blankly, for the next two hours or so, out
at the five offices in front of me. Williams never again left his
office. He spent most of the time looking down at his desk, writing
something. Occasionally, he picked up the phone. Spoke for a brief
moment and then hung up.

Carrington was nowhere to be found. He had
disappeared. The cops at the scattered desks came and went. Never
in a hurry. And I just sat in my cell. Waiting.

Eventually Carrington reappeared.
He walked back into his office and picked up the phone. He was
animated. His hands waving as he spoke. After a few moments he hung
up, stood from his desk, and walked out of his office and knocked
on Williams' door.

He went in, shut the door, and the
two of them spoke. This time there wasn't a heated exchange.
Carrington was sitting across from Williams and they appeared to be
having a civil conversation. After a few minutes, Carrington got up
from the seat, opened the door, and walked out. Heading toward
me.

When he arrived at the bars, he looked at me and hit
the big green button. The doors slid open.

"Let's go," he said. He grabbed my
arm and started escorting me through the station.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't answer.

"I want to know where you are
taking me."

He kept walking, holding me by the
upper bicep. "Shut up."

Within a minute it was clear where we were heading.
He pushed open the door, the frigid air hitting me like a punch,
and walked me right out onto the front steps of the police
station.

"I don't think you killed Ted," he
said as he let go of my arm.

He had helped me. He was lobbying for me. Williams
had just about said as much. Somehow Carrington had manipulated the
system and bought me some time.

"I didn't," I said.

"But you've got a problem.
Williams, the sergeant, thinks you did it. And he's hellbent on
making sure that you have a permanent home behind bars."

"But the story doesn't add
up."

"Doesn't matter. He thinks it
does. And he's going to make sure the prosecutors think so
too."

"But why? Why me?"

"You're all he's got. And this
case needs to be solved. He's going to make it fit."

"But what about the
email?"

"Max, the email is fine and all,
but it doesn't prove anything. You're the one with motive; you're
the one with a history with the victim. You're the one who was
almost married to his wife. It doesn't look good, Max."

"Then why help me?"

"Because something inside is
telling me that you're not the guy. And I want to believe it, but
we need more. We need something to go on."

He trusted his gut. He had a hunch. He needed help.
He wanted to believe me. Wanted to help.

"Well, Kitty lied to me. About the
funeral. Told me she talked to Mike and Clarke, but she never did.
Mike told me that much. But I don't know why she lied."

"I guess that's
something."

"I also think Kitty and Mike are
having an affair."

That one knocked Carrington for a
loop. "Now that's something we could work with. And how do you know
that?"

"Miss Whitehall. Mike's wife just
about told her as much."

"At least we can work with
that."