Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

My heart racing a little, I left the garage and crept along the side wall of the building. It made me remember the other night in Bucktown, when I was creeping along the alley, looking for that van. I could feel those hands shoving me, could feel myself going down onto the cobblestones. The thought made my heart pound faster.

When I got to the corner of my building I paused. I would have to step out into the open and walk the twenty or so feet to the front door.

Or run.

“Hey!” I heard a shout. The doors of a news van opened, then another and another. Cameramen leapt out of each. They were running even faster than me, and by the time I reached the door they were right behind me. A reporter must have been in one of the vans, too. “Izzy,” he yelled.

“Did you kill Jane Augustine? How do you feel about being fired from Trial TV?”

My hands fumbled with my keys.

“Where were you Monday afternoon when Jane Augustine was killed?”

It was so hard not to answer. It was so hard not to turn and yell, “Of course I didn’t kill Jane!” But I could hear Maggie repeating in my brain-Say nothing!

Finally I got my key in the door. The cameramen jostled themselves on either side of me, practically pushing their lenses into my face. They felt like big snouts sniffing for a story. I opened the door, pushed it open and fell inside.

The cameramen tried to stick the lenses in the door, but I managed to shove it closed. I was panting so hard that I had to stop and catch my breath before I could climb the three flights.

When I got upstairs, I had never been so happy to see my little condo, my old marble fireplace, my favorite yellow-and-white chair. I opened every blind and curtain in my house, wanting as much light as possible, except for those that might allow the news guys to see in from the street.

I pulled out my phone and texted Theo-Just a warning. The press is outside my house.

Not a problem, he wrote back.

And apparently it wasn’t. By the time I could change into jeans and a T-shirt, he was buzzing from downstairs, and then there he was, unfazed, taking up all the space in the frame of my door.

“Girl, how are you?” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped into my house and he pulled me into his arms. He was so tall that I could lay my face on his chest, against the soft cotton of his black T-shirt, pushing aside the army jacket he wore over it. He wrapped his arms around me and stroked my hair. Then he led me to the couch and sat me down. He pushed up the sleeves of his jacket, and I stared at the ribbons of the red tattoo that trailed down one forearm, the black pointed serpent’s tail that snaked down the other. They made me think of the other tattoos he had-the one on his left hip, the one on his collarbone.

“This thing that happened to Jane,” he said, “it’s got me rattled.” His eyes were sad, and for the first time, he looked older than his twenty-one years, like someone who had seen something haunting. “What can I do to help?”

“I want you to talk to the detective and tell him we were together Friday night.”

“Sure.”

I called the Belmont police station. Again, Vaughn wasn’t there. Again, I left a message. “Maybe he’ll call back,” I said hopefully. I couldn’t believe I actually wanted to talk to Vaughn.

We waited, making chitchat about Theo’s trip, ignoring the sexual tension that, even now, was ripe.

Theo took my hand and, very simply, stroked it. It was an old-fashioned gesture, and coming from someone like him, it touched me more than I would have imagined.

“So how was the surfing?” I asked.

“Forget the surfing,” he said. “This is about you. What else can I do?”

“I don’t know.” I was overwhelmed suddenly by a sense of helplessness.

Theo seemed to sense it. “Anything,” he said. “I’ll do anything.”

I thought for a moment. “You know, as far as I can tell, I got pulled into this initially because Zac, Jane’s husband, thought I was involved with his wife, especially on Friday night. I kept telling him that you were with me that night, not Jane, but he doesn’t believe me. I’m still not sure he does. Would you talk to him?” I thought of what Mayburn had told me. “If I can finally get Zac off my back, it might help with the police.”

Theo looked into my eyes, not saying anything for a second. “If that’s what you need.”

I picked up my cell phone and called Zac. Voice mail. I left a message saying I had something to talk to him about.

When he didn’t call back, I called again. Then I texted him-Zac, I need to talk to you urgently. It will just take a minute.

The phone rang. Zac. “What?” he said, when I answered.

“Hi. Listen, Zac, I have someone who wants to talk to you.” I handed the phone to Theo.

“Hi, this is Theo,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I spent the night with Izzy on Friday and-” He looked at the phone then handed it back to me. “He hung up.”

I called Zac again.

“I don’t think I want to hear anything from you,” he said, “or from anyone you’re involved with.”

“Zac, c’mon! This is about Jane.”

“I am well aware of that.”

“And I didn’t kill her. No matter what you think or what the cops are saying.” I left off, And I think there’s a chance you did. “And I was not with Jane Friday night. You heard him say that.”

“You could have any guy call me and say that.”

“Then meet us in person. We’ll come to you.”

“I’m at our house in Indiana.”

I still had Grady’s car. I remembered Jane telling me their lake house was only a sixty-five mile drive.

“How about this?” I said. “Tell me a coffee shop, someplace public, someplace near your house, and we’ll meet you there.” I looked at Theo, whose brow was creased with concern.

“It takes more than an hour to get here,” Zac said.

“That’s fine. When we get there, we just need five minutes. That’s all.”

Another pause.

“Please,” I said simply.

Another pause, then, “There’s a place called Lakeshore Coffee. It’s in Michigan City.”

I hunted for a pen and wrote down the address and directions.

“Call me when you get close,” he said, “and I’ll meet you there.”

I turned and gave Theo a thumbs-up.

W e took the Dan Ryan to the Skyway, flying past the steel mills that hulked in front of Lake Michigan, which was choppy today, an icy denim-blue. In Indiana, we got off on a rural highway. At first it was all truck stops and car washes, but soon the road began to bend and curve, skimming by golden grass as high as my thighs and outcroppings of trees just starting to bloom with spring’s new green. Every so often there was a burst of yellow daffodils on the side of the road.

Theo looked at the directions. “It’s only a couple more miles.”

I dialed Zac’s phone. He answered right away.

“Hi, Zac. We’re only a few miles away.”

“Already? I’m up on Mount Baldy.”

“What’s that?”

“A state park in the dunes. It’s where Jane and I used to come a lot.” He coughed, and I wondered for a second if he might cry. I felt a war of emotions for him-sympathy for the fact that he’d lost his wife and yet also distrust, wondering if he had caused that loss.

Zac cleared his throat. “Where are you guys now?”

I peered at the street and told him the name of the gas station we had just passed.

“You’re actually almost here. Do you see a brown sign that says Mount Baldy?”

We went around a bend in the road. “Yeah, I see it.”

“You might as well just come here,” Zac said. “Follow the signs to the summit. You’ll see us.”