Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

Maggie shot me a look. “Sorry. We’re onto your case now.”

“Yeah, my case. Murder one.”

“Ignore me. What I meant to say is that Jane Augustine has a case, and you’re just here to talk about it.”

The Belmont police station sat under the bypass of a highway entrance, as if the city had found its presence distasteful and had dumped it there to keep it out of sight. Its exterior was brown and squat, almost blending in with the concrete parking lot that surrounded it.

Maggie pulled into a parking space marked CPD Only.

I pointed at the sign. “It’s for police officers.”

“They never tow.”

We got out of the car and huddled under my umbrella as we walked toward the building. Maggie wore a long wool coat that was too warm for the weather and too big for her-she was so tiny that most of her clothes seemed too large.

Suddenly, both of Maggie’s cell phones started ringing. She juggled them, shooting orders to her staff, texting clients back. I’d often thought that there should be a reality TV show where contestants compete on who can multitask the best. Maggie would kick ass.

“I’ve got a jail visit in two hours,” she said. “But luckily, those kind of clients can wait. They aren’t going anywhere soon.” She dumped one cell phone back in her bag, kept listening to messages on another and kept talking to me all the while. “Okay, let’s review, Iz. Just listen to their questions, and answer only what they ask. Don’t let them lead you into saying anything you don’t think is true. They have video cameras in the rooms, but they don’t usually turn them on unless you want to confess.”

“I’ve got nothing to confess!”

Maggie stopped. She put the other phone in her purse and brushed her hair away from her eyes. She rarely had time to doctor her hair with product, and so it generally blew around in the Chicago wind, like now. Her forehead creased as she stared at me.

“What is that look?” I said.

“There’s no reason for me to be nervous here, is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Jane, right?”

My mouth dropped open, mortified. “How can you ask that? You’re supposed to be my friend! What kind of a question-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” She reached out and squeezed my forearm. “It’s a lawyer question, not a friend question.”

“Well, the answer is no! Of course I didn’t have anything to do with Jane’s death.” Suddenly, I felt those tears in my eyes again. “Jane and I weren’t friends like you and I are, but she was a friend. And you know I would never kill anyone!”

Maggie reached her arms around my neck and embraced me. Since I was five inches taller than her, I had to lean down. She was a fierce hugger, something I loved. As usual, I was struck with how much better those strong embraces made me feel.

“Of course you wouldn’t. And I know she was a friend,” Maggie said, her words muffled by our coats. “I just had to ask, because I don’t want to take you in there if there’s even the slightest chance this could all come back around to bite you.”

“No way,” I said.

She pulled back, peered in my eyes and smiled. “Let’s do it then.”

Inside, at a square desk in the center of the lobby, were four uniformed police officers. Three were standing together and laughing at something in the newspaper. The other, a dark-skinned man whose uniform was immaculate, and who looked uncomfortable at the jovial nature of his partners, squinted at us when we entered.

Then he recognized Maggie. “Hey, Bristol!” His face cracked into a smile. “What are you doing here? Got another client you’re trying to get off on a Miranda technicality?”

“Hey, Munoz,” Maggie called back in a lighthearted tone. She gestured at me. “This is my client.”

“Oh.” He dropped his grin. “Thought you were a lawyer.”

“I am,” I said.

“Oh,” he said again. Now he appeared confused.

“I’m here about the Jane Augustine case.”

Officer Munoz nodded, squinting once more, as if he was trying to figure me out.

The other officers put down the newspaper and came forward. “I loved Jane Augustine,” the female police officer said.

“Yeah, she always got the stories right,” another said. “Especially the legal stuff.”

“Who would do that to her?”

All the officers turned to me. I felt a blush creeping over my face. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just here to help. I found her-”

Maggie put her hand on my arm, cutting me off, and she shook her head. I could hear her unspoken words. Shut up. “Detective Vaughn,” she said, looking at Officer Munoz. “I guess he’s got the case.”

“Yeah, he’s upstairs.” Munoz raised a clipboard from behind the desk. “Just got to have you log in.”

Munoz came around the desk and searched us, then ran our bags through a metal detector.

He pointed at the stairs. “You know where you’re going.”

Maggie thanked him again, and led me up the stairs. She stopped halfway up and turned. “Remember to listen to what he says, what he’s actually asking, and be careful. I didn’t get a good vibe from this guy last time.” After Sam had disappeared and Forester died, Maggie was the one who helped us sort everything out, and she’d met Vaughn.

“Me, either,” I said.

We kept climbing the stairs and stopped when we got to the top. We walked down a sterile hallway. As we did, I could hear a voice speaking. The words weren’t quite audible but something about the voice sounded familiar. Maggie heard it too. She stopped. We both stood there, listening. Maggie’s face scrunched in confusion.

“Is that…?” she said.

“It sounds like me,” I said. By now, I could clearly recognize my own voice.

Maggie and I looked at each other, puzzled. We kept walking.

I could make out the words now. And then I realized what it was-my broadcast yesterday on Trial TV.

We reached a windowless square room that looked just like the one I’d been in the other night. Except that the table inside had a phone and a small TV on top of it, three chairs around it.

And in one of those chairs was Detective Vaughn. He wore brown pants, a white shirt, an empty holster. He turned when he saw us.

“Just watching you on TV here.” He pointed to the screen. “You’re good.” He stood and his eyes bolted onto mine. “You’re really good.”

H e shook Maggie’s hand. “Nice to see you again.” Ignoring any kind of greeting for me, he pointed to the side of the table with the two chairs.

“Nice to see you, too,” I said.

He continued to ignore me.

Maggie took a seat. I followed her lead.

Vaughn closed the door, sealing the room into silence.

As we took our seats, I looked at Vaughn. His brownish hair with shots of gray seemed newly cut and stood up straight like the bristles of a brush. When he caught my eyes on him, he smiled with one side of his mouth. He had sharp eyes that made no excuses for studying me.

I gave as calm a smile as I could, as if to say, Go ahead, I’m ready. But he just kept dissecting me with his eyes. The silence in the room grew oppressive.

“You had some questions for my client?” Maggie’s tone was congenial, but matter-of-fact.

“Yeah, one sec.” Detective Vaughn opened a manila folder and pushed his chair back, balancing the folder on a crossed knee so we couldn’t see what was there. He grabbed a pen clipped to his belt. Click, click, click with the end of his pen. He glanced up at me, grinned. It was as if he knew that the sound drove me crazy. He made some notes.

“Okay.” He sighed. “They make us write all this stuff down when we interrogate a suspect.”