Alan Cook - Hotline to Murder

“We’re not supposed to take information on callers out of the office. And we’re not supposed to use the copy machine…”

“This is a state of emergency.” Tony wanted to assuage Shahla’s fears about violating the Hotline rules. “Besides, there’s nobody here to see us. I’ll do the copying and keep the copies so you won’t get into trouble.”

Shahla reluctantly relented. It was obvious that her parents had instilled a moral code in her. He was glad to know that. He had met enough young people who had no apparent values. He, himself, was perhaps one of them. But he was changing, he kept telling himself. However, as he had said, this was a state of emergency.

He took the call reports out of the box where the listeners had placed them. They dated back two days to Saturday, the day the Hotline had reopened. Fortunately, Gail didn’t collect them every day. But that also meant Croyden hadn’t looked at them yet. He must have plenty to keep him busy, however. Tony and Shahla pulled out the reports marked to Detective Croyden’s attention and also several identified as calls from the Chameleon. He often called more than once a day, in defiance of the rules.

In between taking routine calls, Tony made copies of these reports on the Xerox copier. Then he sorted the original call reports back into chronological order and replaced them in the box, while Shahla was on a call. He did group three calls from the Chameleon about Joy together so that they would get the special attention of Gail, and hopefully Croyden.

After Shahla had hung up and completed her call report, she said, “I have the feeling that we’re not covering all the possibilities.”

“We don’t have to,” Tony said. “That’s the job of the police.”

“But the police aren’t, either. Have they asked you for an alibi for the night Joy was killed?”

“Huh?” Tony looked at Shahla, wondering if she was kidding.

“Well, what were you doing that night?”

“Uh…” Tony was flabbergasted. “Do you think I’m the murderer?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. You’ve seen the cop shows on TV. They question everybody, including their friends.”

“Well, it’s a relief that you count me as a friend,” Tony said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which had suddenly become very heavy. “Let’s see, what was I doing?” He hadn’t thought about it before. He hadn’t thought of himself as a suspect before. He drew a blank. He tried to work backward from the time he had heard about Joy’s murder. He had been busy all that day. And the night before? He had done some preparation for his talk to the women’s club. He had been lonely and restless. Josh was out somewhere. Carol was out of his life permanently.

“I went to a movie.”

“What movie?”

“Uh… Lost in Translation, with Bill Murray. It’s about this American actor who goes to Japan to make a Suntory commercial…”

“Whom did you go with?”

For some reason he didn’t want to admit that he had gone by himself. “I…uh, couldn’t find anybody to go with.”

“So you went alone. Can anybody vouch for you?’

“No.” He would be just another faceless patron to the ticket taker. And he hadn’t seen anybody he knew.

“So you don’t have an alibi.” Shahla looked at Tony with an unfathomable look in her eyes.

“Ticket stub. I save ticket stubs. I throw them into a bowl. It shows the date and time of the show. It didn’t get over until about 10:30.”

“A ticket stub, eh?” Shahla said, imitating a prosecuting attorney. “That was clever of you. You purchased a ticket, but didn’t actually see the movie. Or you left in the middle…”

“You don’t really believe I killed Joy,” Tony said getting hot despite his attempt to stay cool. He felt sweat forming in his armpits.

“What I think is that Detective Croyden should be asking these questions,” Shahla said. “But since he isn’t, maybe you and I should.”

“Does that mean I’m exonerated?”

“For the time being. But only because you don’t appear to have a motive. However, in this kind of case, when the murderer is finally caught, the neighbors always say, ‘But he was such a nice boy. He couldn’t have done it.’ So we have to look for hidden motives.”

Tony was able to chuckle. “I think you’ve got a career all mapped out in the district attorney’s office.”

“Actually, I’m going to be a writer. But I may write true crime. And I may have my…” Shahla became choked up and couldn’t continue for a moment, “…first story.”

“You have to be careful about doing your own investigating. What if you asked the real killer for an alibi? What do you think he’d do to you?”

Tears welled up in Shahla’s eyes and started running down her cheeks. Tony had an urge to comfort her, to touch her, to hold her. He knew that was the wrong thing to do. Empathy, not sympathy. He said, “This must be very diff…” He’d already said that. He gave her a tissue from a box on one of the tables.

Shahla wiped her eyes and said, “When I heard about Joy, I didn’t believe it. It still doesn’t seem real. She can’t be gone.”

The phone rang. Tony reached for it, but Shahla said, “I’ll get it,” and answered before Tony could. She immediately placed the call on the speaker. She pressed the mute button and said, “It’s him.”

The caller was saying, “…advice on how to prevent what happened to Joy from happening to you.”

“What’s your advice?” Shahla asked.

“You girls need to wear more clothes. When you walk around strutting your stuff, showing off your body, wearing tight short skirts up to your butt, with no underwear, you’re asking for it.”

It was an inappropriate call. The Hotline rules said to hang up at this point. But it was obvious that Shahla had no intention of hanging up.

She had the Chameleon’s page from the Green Book open in front of her. She said, “Is this Fred?” using one of several names the Chameleon had previously given Hotline listeners.

There was silence at the other end of the line. Shahla said, “I need to call you something. Is it okay if I call you Fred?”

More silence. Then the caller said, “All right. Tell me, Sally, are you wearing underwear?”

“Are you on a cell phone, Fred?” There was a pause, and Shahla said, “Fred, talk to me.”

“How did you know?”

“I’m clairvoyant. Are you at work?”

Tony was reading the Green Book over Shahla’s shoulder. Did he really work as a security guard?

“What makes you think that?”

“Just a guess. Where do you work?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You sound like an interesting person. I was hoping we could get together.”

Tony was disturbed by what Shahla was doing, but he knew if he cut off the call, she would hate him forever.

There was silence on the line. Tony and Shahla looked at each other. Tony found himself holding his breath.

“Are you on the level?” The voice was almost plaintive.

“What do you think, Fred?”

Shahla’s answer was brilliant. Let him draw his own conclusion. The imaginations of the callers didn’t work like those of “normal” people. He might convince himself that she was interested in him.

“Well, I don’t know.”

Tony suspected that Fred, or whatever his name was, had problems relating to women in real life.

“What time do you get off work?” Shahla asked.

“Midnight.”

“And what’s your cell phone number?”

After a hesitation, Fred reeled off an area code and seven-digit number. Tony quickly wrote it down and mouthed to Shahla to have him repeat it. She asked him again, and he gave the same number a second time.