Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

His face hardened. “You seemed like you had something to hide Saturday morning.”

“I explained that.”

“So where is he? This guy you went home with? Have you introduced him to the cops?”

I bit my lip. “He’s still out of town.”

“Right.”

“Look, what makes you think Jane went home with me on Friday?”

“I told you earlier. I’m not stupid. I know Jane’s pattern and the way it went when she was fucking around. She’d go out one night, and she would always have an excuse. It’s networking, she would say. It’s a friend of a friend. In this case it’s ‘someone I want to bring into Trial TV.’ And then-boom-I can’t find her, but then she turns up the next morning. It was the same shit with you.”

“When you saw her on Saturday, did you ask who she’d been with?”

“I asked her if she was with ‘some guy,’ because that’s what she always said.”

“Fine. Some guy, Zac. Not some girl.”

He shook his head, peering at me. “She didn’t say that this time, though. I’ve thought about this a lot since she was killed. I asked her if it was some guy, and she said, ‘Something like that.’”

“It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not. She was all hopped up and freaky that morning, like she was trying out something new. Trust me, I know Jane’s moods. Something different had happened, or someone different.”

“That someone different wasn’t me!”

“So you say.”

“I told you. She was with a writer named Mick. And he was at Trial TV on the day it launched. And Jane said that he had been following her. She’d figured it out that morning. That’s why she was acting so strange.”

He peered at me, eyes squinting. “You didn’t tell me that before.”

“I didn’t get to say that before. We were at the memorial, and then I saw him.”

“Yeah, you saw him. And then you took off. You find him?”

“No.”

He made a face like, Uh-huh. Sure.

I looked down and waved a hand at myself. I was still in the dress, ivory coat and heels that I’d worn to dinner. “Look at me! Do I look like I would kill someone?”

“I’m not saying you killed her. Not necessarily. I’m just saying I think you were together. I think you hid that, and I think you’re still hiding something. It’s Vaughn who says you did it, and man, he seems really sure.”

“This is insane!”

Zac uncrossed his arms, and his face distorted. “You know what’s insane? That someone killed Jane! And if you did kill her, I’ll hurt you. I’m not kidding. If you’ve got a soft spot, I’ll find it. I’ll fuck you up.”

I exhaled loud, suddenly terrified. “I should leave.” But then suddenly I thought of something. “Years ago, when you and Zoey split up, did you break up with her or was it the other way around?”

His forehead furrowed. “What does it matter?”

“Just curious.”

“You should mind your own goddamned business.”

“It’s odd you won’t tell me.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. Unlike you. I broke up with Zoey, okay? But we stayed friends.”

“And being friends with her, did you tell Zoey about Jane’s affairs?”

“Yeah. Eventually. So what? She was one of the few people I told. She’s that good of a friend.”

“Did Jane know you were friends?”

“Of course. And she was fine with it. Jane was not the jealous type.”

“So Jane knew Zoey.” I was thinking of how the detective had said that it appeared Jane had let someone in, someone she knew, and that she had turned her back.

“Of course. In fact, they liked each other. They were friends, sort of.”

“I’m sure it would have been hard for Zoey to be friends with the woman who replaced her.”

Zac lifted his shoulders and dropped them again. “They didn’t see each other very often.”

“You said Jane wasn’t the jealous type, but was Zoey?”

His forehead creased deeper. “Are you implying that Zoey did this to Jane?”

“I have no idea. I’m just asking.”

“You are a crazy bitch!” The veins in his neck were prominent now. “Zoey is a sweet person, a person who was there to listen to me when I needed it.”

“And maybe someone who wanted you back? Maybe she was angry at having to watch you struggle so much with Jane?”

“No.” He shook his head, irritated. “Just shut up, okay? Because you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No more than you know what you’re talking about when you throw around allegations about Jane and me. I want to figure out who did this to Jane.”

“It sounds like you want to figure out someone else to pin it on. And you saw Zoey. She’s about an inch over five feet. Jane was almost a foot taller.” He looked me up and down. “Meanwhile, you’re pretty tall. Not as tall as Jane, but it wouldn’t have been a problem for you to do something about her, especially if you wanted her job.”

“Zac, I didn’t want her job. I’d never even thought about being on the news until Friday when Jane brought it up.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Zac stalked to his back door and opened it. “Get out.”

I walked to the door. I stepped outside, trying to think fast, think of some way to derail this train of thought that Zac had about me. I opened my mouth, but before I could say another thing, he slammed it, and I heard the lock click into place.

A fter I went off the air on Thursday, Maggie called to say she was picking me up at Trial TV.

I stood out front under an umbrella, the earlier sunshine having given way to a looming dust-colored sky that leaked a continual drizzle. It was one of those rains that seemed as if it would go on forever.

Maggie’s little black Honda splashed into the parking lot and pulled up front. Maggie had bought this car when we were in law school, and although she made enough now to afford better, she said she didn’t want to drive an expensive car to the neighborhoods she had to visit as a criminal defense attorney.

“How are you?” she asked, when I was in the car. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Belmont.

“Nervous.”

Her face scrunched the way it did when she was thinking hard. She tapped her top and bottom teeth together, something she did when she was nervous, too.

“What’s going on with you?” I said. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Wyatt?”

“No, he’s cool.” She smiled briefly. “He’s great actually.” The scrunched expression returned. “It’s this case I had this morning. A woman busted with heroin. She’s our age. A mom with four kids, and she’s raising all of them by herself.”

“How much heroin?” I’d learned something from being friends with Maggie. You could get caught with just about any kind of drug, but what really mattered was how much you had on you, and whether you had intent to sell it.

“Enough. It’s her third felony.” She grimaced, turned right. “The problem is she’s had two other felony drug convictions. And under the sentencing guidelines, three convictions can get you life.”

“Life in prison?” I asked, shocked.

“Yep. I just had to tell this woman that she might never see her kids again outside of visitation days, never go to their graduations or their weddings.” Maggie looked as if she was on the point of tears, then they cleared and her face became full of anger. “The war on drugs,” she scoffed. “Nice war, putting away moms for life. I’ve had clients who got less-way less-for raping a kid or kidnapping someone.” She scoffed again. “Hell, I’ve had clients get less for murder one.”

I fell silent. All this talk of sentencing was starting to mess with my head.