Chapter 1 - Eighth Installment

Parker was barely seated when Deborah started the engine. She pulled out of the park so quickly that Parker had not had enough time to buckle his seat belt.
“Mom! Wait, my seat belt!”
“Oh! Honey I’m sorry, but hurry ok? Mommy really needs to get home.”
“Is it because that great man died?”
“Yes. I mean no. Well, yes a man died, but who called him great?”
“Everyone. They are all crying and stuff. They said he was a hero and that his family are very important people.”
“Well, they are important people in this town. But this is a small town. But they are no more important than the rest of us. And he was not a hero.” Deborah struggled with her words.
“Then why are you crying?” Parker asked puzzled.
Deborah adjusted the rear view mirror. She had tears running down her face. “Because, anytime anyone does it is sad. Even if they aren’t a hero.”
The rest of the drive home was done is silence. Deborah gathered her emotions and refocused her energy on planning for the next few days. Things would be very unsettled around town, and people would be doing a lot of gossiping. It was important that she appear as shocked as they were, and equally saddened.
As she pulled into her driveway, she realized the shock was not going to be difficult to display. Mr. Mapleton was waiting for her with a desperate look on his face. She knew it was obvious that she had been crying, but his movement to the car seemed urgent. Before she could even put the car into park, he was reaching for her door.
“You have company.” He said sternly. It wasn’t until that moment that Deborah noticed the two men standing on her front porch. “I am going to take Parker to my house for a bit.” Mr. Mapleton wrapped his arm around Parker’s shoulders with a great display of protectiveness.
Deborah recognized the men immediately and concentrated on not throwing up. Although one was in plain clothes, she knew them both to be police officers for Willsonville. And with the haste in Mr. Mapleton’s departure, she was sure that men had made it clear that this was a business, not a social, call. In fact, it was clear that several neighbors were apprised of this information, as they stood close by gawking.
Deborah willed herself to gain control of her nerves as she approached the men.
“Deborah, I am Detective Miller, and this is Officer Phillips.” The older, and much plumper of the men announced as she joined them at her front door.
“Yes, I know who you are Mr. Miller.” Deborah had grown up with his children. She turned to Officer Phillips, “Moxy, it has been a long time. Is there something I can help you with?” She made a point of calling him by his first name rather than his title. She hoped this would remind him that they had once been friends when they were much younger. She had even kept a life long secret for him.
When they were only ten years old, he wet his pants watching a scary movie at her house. Her mother was gone on a church retreat, and her father allowed them to stay up late and watch a movie that was usually forbidden. Moxy begged her not to tell anyone, and she never did. In fact, she never even mentioned it to him again.
“Officer Phillips and I would like to take a moment of your time to ask you a few questions.” Miller said with a hint of offense, undoubtedly annoyed that she had not addressed either one by rank or title.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked as meekly as she could manage.
“Actually, I wanted to ask you that. It looks as though you have been crying.” Moxy took a very professional tone and stance. He had always been thin and wiry looking, but the uniform made him appear more impressive.
“Of course I have been crying,” Deborah lowered her head “I just found out that an old friend drowned in the river. I am sure you are shocked and upset, even if your job doesn’t permit you to show it.” She tried to play on the nostalgia of the situation.
“We are all upset, and actually, that is why we are here.” Miller piped in.
Deborah began unlocking her door. “You need to talk to me?” Opening the door slightly she turned to them timidly.
“We just have a few routine questions. We have talked to most of your neighbors already. Can we come in?” Moxy stated more than asked. She knew it was well within her rights to decline. Yet, she also knew that would be like hanging a “guilty” sign above her door. She nodded quietly, and led them into the house, once again feeling invaded.
She silently began prepping herself for the interview. Telling herself to remain calm, no matter what, and not to offer any information. To answer questions with questions. She reminded herself that she did not know what they knew. That their questions would be leading, and offer her just enough rope to hang herself with. She told her self to avoid lying if at all possible. That it was better to be vague than a liar.
Miller stood at the coffee table and Moxy took a seat in the wing back chair. Miller pulled a tape recorder from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. Deborah stared at it. “Oh, don’t mind that.” He said as he ran his fingers through his curly, and somewhat greasy, gray hair. “It just saves us from having to write everything down. It is much more efficient too, I don’t write as fast as I used to.” He tried to act simple and casual as he took a seat at one end of the couch. Again Deborah knew she could protest, but that would make that guilty sign above her door flash like a neon light. Afraid her voice would crack with fear, she just smiled and shrugged.
“So, I gather you know about the death of Travis Myers?” Miller suggested as he gestured for her to sit down as well. She was much more comfortable standing, but she knew that sitting was a submissive and less threatening position. She took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, where she could see both men, the front door, and the out the front window.
“Hasn’t everyone heard about it by now?”
“I suppose in a town this small, everyone has. What do you know about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, do you know how he died or where?” Miller’s eyes resembled that of a hunting dog, focused and determined.
Deborah reminded herself to be very careful with her answer.
“Oh. Well I heard he was found in the river. I guess I just assumed he had drowned.” Deborah forced a couple silent tears.
“Well, that’s odd. I am surprised you didn’t hear. He was shot.” Miller waited for a response, and Deborah gave him one.
“Shot! Marcy didn’t tell me that! Was he really shot?” Sitting up very straight she looked back and forth from one man to the other. She hoped this appeared like shock and disbelief. She also wanted to look at Moxy. He had been silent ever since he took a seat. He just sat there, stone cold.
“Yes he was. So it seems odd to me that news like that fell short of your ears. Who told you he was dead?” Miller acted as though had just picked up a scent.
“Marcy. Marcy Peterson. She told me he was found dead in the river. I just can’t believe he was shot. Was it a hunting accident?”
“No, it was no accident. It was an intentional act. It was homicide.” Miller said, almost appearing excited.
“Who would …” Deborah let her voice trail off, realizing asking the question was a mistake. They could easily turn it around on her. Miller seemed disappointed at the missed opportunity to do just that.
“When was the last time you saw Travis?”
“I can’t really recall the time when I last saw him.” That wasn’t a lie, she had no clue what time it was when she left the river.
“MmmHmm… and where were you last night?”
“Ummm, when?”
“Last night.” Miller stated more sternly.
“Yes, I know, but when last night?”
“Did you go somewhere last night?”
“Parker and I went to get ice cream after dinner.”
“And then?” he pressed.
“And then we came home and played cards for a little while. I sent him to bed around 9:30 and I did the dishes. I went to bed sometime after that.”
“Did you have any company over?” Miller tilted his head, eyebrow slightly raised.
“Do you mean a house guest?”
“Yeeesss.” He practically hissed at her. Or maybe she was just nervous.
“No. Parker had a play date today with Peter Peterson, but no one stayed the night last night.” Deborah began to answer with more ease, noticing that she was doing well in avoiding direct answers.
“What I mean is, did anyone stop by last night, say around 10:30 p.m.?” Miller was getting irritated, and tipping his hand a little.
“Who would drop in that late?”
“You tell us.” Us. Deborah almost forgot Moxy was in the room. He remained silent and still.
“No one I associate with would.” Still avoiding a lie, and trying to seem clueless, she almost giggled at Miller’s change in posture. He slumped back in the sofa and gave Moxy an exasperated look.
“One of your neighbors thought she saw a truck parked in front of the house last night.”
“In front of my house?”
“Yes, your house.” Sweat began to bead at Millers temples.
“What kind of truck?” Deborah tried to sound as if she wanted to be helpful, but had nothing to offer.
“A black Ford.”
“Really? What time?”
Moxy suddenly stood up and walked to the front door. It startled Deborah, and there was no hiding it. “Excuse me, I have been paged. I’m just going to step outside for a moment.” Deborah had not heard a pager.
“Don’t be silly. You can use my phone in the kitchen.” Deborah hoped to keep him in her earshot. Moxy just waved her off and closed the door behind him.
“Oh, he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, need to use the little boy’s room. Do you mind?” Miller got up and pointed to the middle door as if to ask if that was the bathroom. Deborah nodded. She knew that he would conduct a little unofficial (and illegal) search of her bathroom. She also noticed he left the recorder on. Which meant that Moxy would return and start a little friendly chit-chat.
Right on queue, Moxy entered again. “Sorry about that Deborah.”
“Well I suppose pagers and cell phones are issued with the badge these days.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t referring to that. I was talking about Detective Miller. He is really abrasive at times. I just sit here and let him do his thing.” Like a light switch, Moxy flipped from old acquaintance, to long lost friend. “So how are things other wise Debbie? I hear it is still you and the little guy.”
Deborah looked deep into Moxy’s eyes, trying to find his angle.
“Yes, but we manage just fine.”
“I hope this shooting doesn’t scare you too much.” His dark eyes seemed a little softer, but still held her at a distance.
“Well it seems to leave an uneasy feeling doesn’t it?” Deborah began to twirl a lock of her strawberry hair around her finger, wanting to present a meek and slightly frightened demeanor.
“I know, and being alone in this house at night too. I mean that had to have you concerned, even before the shooting.” Moxy leaned forward and placed his bony elbows on his knobby knees.
“I suppose. But I feel relatively safe here.” Deborah was still searching for his real agenda.
“Well, just lock your doors and windows at night. Especially until we get this thing solved. Not that I want to scare you, but do you have any kind of protection?”
Deborah almost clapped when she caught on to where he was going with all of this.
“Do you mean the baseball bat next to my bed?”
“Sure like that. I suppose that could be effective in the right circumstances. But do you have anything more … aggressive?” He was trying hard to lead her into his web.
“Like what?” and she was trying hard to let him think he was succeeding.
“Like a firearm of any kind. A lot of single women keep one in their night stand these days.”
“A gun in my house?” Deborah acted slightly horrified by the idea. “You know I have a small child Moxy. Why on earth would I keep a gun here?”
“I believe the question was do you, not would you.” Deborah jumped in her seat as Miller’s voice boomed from the hallway. She hadn’t noticed him come out of the bathroom.
“Detective Miller, you startled me. I didn’t hear you return.” Deborah tried to sound embarrassed by her reaction, when really, she way praying it didn’t shed more suspicion on her.
“Do you have a gun or not?” It was apparent that he was catching on to her evasive manner, and was less than pleased.
“I’m sorry. I do not have a gun in my home.” Again, not a lie, as it was no longer in her house.
Moxy squinted as he rose from his seat. “Thank you Debbie, I think we have all we need.” Deborah stood and waited as Miller retrieved his recorder. She led them to the door and held it open for them.
“Detective, don’t forget to turn that recorder off.” She stated flatly as he passed her. He turned around abruptly, unable to disguise his surprise. “I would hate for you to run out of tape during your next routine questioning.” She tried to hide her sarcasm with a sweet tone, but his viscous approach at the end had set her Italian blood boiling.
“MmmmHmmm. Well thank you.” Miller mumbled in disappointment. Moxy followed Miller down the front steps and shot Deborah a hard glance over his shoulder.
Deborah stood in the doorway and tried to appear friendly as they departed. But her heart raced as she observed more neighbors gathered in various yards, talking and staring.

- posted by Cindy @ 11:10 PM (0) comments |