Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

I shook my head. “It’s just the press.” I curled myself into him for another moment. But the banging got louder, and the buzzing didn’t let up. Every few seconds or so, buzz, buzz, buzz. And then finally, whoever it was started laying on the buzzer, so that a long screech filled the stairwell.

Theo stood straighter. “I’ll get rid of them.”

“No, don’t. Don’t do anything.”

More pounding, more buzzing.

“Look, Theo,” I said, trying to ignore it. “You asked what you could do, and I think the only thing you can really do right now is stay away from me.” I thought of Maggie’s comments. “It doesn’t look good that you dated Jane and then me, and then Jane ended up dead, and I ended up with her job. And really, I’m in no shape to spend time with anyone.”

He shrugged. “I want you however you are. Wherever you are.” He touched my jaw with the fingers of his left hand. He pulled my face toward him. He kissed me with those lips, that tongue. And for that moment, the world was vaporized, gone, nothing lingering except us.

But then more banging, the buzzing. Whoever it was, they weren’t going to stop.

I groaned, blinked a few times, pulled my face away. “I should get that. And you should go. Maybe when this is over…” I trailed off, struck with fear that it might never be over. But I shook that fear away. Enough with the fear, I thought. It would get me absolutely nowhere.

Once more, his fingers on my jaw; once more, a kiss, this one quick. Too quick. “When this is over,” he said, nodding, as if he was very sure of something.

Thumping, buzzing from the front door.

I groaned. I turned and stormed down the stairs. “Who is it?” I shouted through the door.

“Detective Vaughn.”

I looked up at Theo, heard Maggie’s words-this doesn’t look good. Should I take him up to my apartment and leave down the back stairs? But that would look like I was hiding something. And I had nothing to hide.

“McNeil,” I heard Vaughn yell, “I have a warrant.”

W hen I opened the door, Vaughn stood with two uniformed cops behind him. The cameras and reporters formed a half circle around them, clicking and shooting like mad.

Oh God, what was happening? I zeroed in on Vaughn’s face, which bore his usual self-satisfied half grin.

“Izzy! Izzy!” the reporters yelled. They were a pulsing mass.

Vaughn’s eyes shot over my head to Theo. And he grinned. “How about that?”

“He was here to show me his passport,” I said. “He’s leaving.”

Theo touched the small of my back-a gentle, lingering touch that said so many things-and then he stepped outside, moved around Vaughn and the officers and walked right across my lawn. I watched him until he reached the street. A few of the reporters followed him. He said nothing to them. He kept walking.

And then he stopped for one minute, turned around and met my eyes. He raised his arm. He gave a wave, and then Theo kept walking away from me, just as I’d asked him to do.

“You better let me in,” Vaughn said with a full, cold grin, “or I’m going to make a statement to these guys.”

Damn it. I didn’t know what to do. I needed to call Maggie.

He glanced over his shoulder at the retreating figure of Theo. “The press love a good sex triangle. It won’t just make the headlines here. You’ll probably get international coverage when I tell them this one.”

Vaughn turned around and held up a hand. The media went silent. I felt the situation spiraling away from me. I had no idea what he was going to say or do. All I knew was that the last time he made a statement I got fired.

“No,” I said, before he could start.

He threw a glance at me over his shoulder. I gestured for him to step inside the door.

He did so with a smirk, and then it was just the two of us in the dark stairwell, the door shutting, bringing a relative silence.

For a weird second, it felt as if we had gone on a date, and we were saying goodbye. I’d never been that close to him before.

And I didn’t want to be. “What do you want?”

“To come into your apartment.”

“No way.”

He smiled again. “Like I said, I’ve got a warrant.”

“An-” I could hardly get myself to say it “-an arrest warrant?”

“Not yet. That’s next.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded sheets of paper. He opened them up and handed them to me. The top of the first sheet read, Search Warrant. I tried to read it, but my breath was short and the words seemed to skitter around. I could see that it listed my name and address, as well as the address for Trial TV, and it was signed by a judge. I flipped to the other sheets. There was an affidavit and a complaint requesting the warrant.

“I didn’t get a copy of this,” I said. “In order for this to be valid, I should have received notice.”

Vaughn smiled. “You’re not so good of a lawyer, are you? We don’t have to give you notice of anything.”

My mind whirled over conversations I’d had with Maggie and realized he was right-they didn’t have to give notice for a request of a search warrant. They just had to tell you when they got it.

“Ever seen an Emmy Award?” he asked.

“What?” I said, irritated.

“An Emmy Award.”

“I’ve seen the show.”

“I mean the award. The trophy. Ever seen one?”

I shook my head. What was he going on about? Then I remembered something. “I guess I saw Jane’s.”

“Really?” He cocked his head to the side. “When did you see that?”

“The Saturday before she died. When she found the flowers in her house and asked me to come over. I told you about that.”

“You told me you went there. You didn’t tell me you’d looked at the Emmy, picked it up, whatever.”

“I didn’t pick it up. My brother did.”

“Your brother? Really?” His eyebrows shot up. “What’s your brother’s name?”

I hesitated. Should I tell him? But he could easily find it out. “Charlie. Charlie McNeil.”

“Charles McNeil.” He seemed to be saying it as though he was memorizing the name. “And what about the day Jane died, when you were there that day. You see the Emmy then?”

“Enough,” I said. “I’m not answering any questions without my lawyer.”

He looked at me and blinked. Then blinked again. Then once more. The blinking was making me think of the way he clicked his pen. Instead of click, click, click, it was now blink, blink, blink.

“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “What did you tell a judge in order to get this warrant?”

He guffawed. “Are you kidding me? What didn’t we tell them? You were the one who was supposed to see Jane before the party. You took over her job the next day. You were seen kissing Jane a few days before she died.”

“We did not kiss. I told you that. Just like I told you I wasn’t with her on Friday.”

He cocked his head. “I’ll give you that one. Your boyfriend, Theodore, came in.” He gave me a mocking look. “Isn’t he a little young for you?”

Ignoring the crack, I said, “He told you everything.”

“Yeah, yeah he did. Boy, that was fun.” Vaughn, the jerk, really looked as if he meant it, as though questioning Theo had been a party for him. What was wrong with this guy? Why did he dislike me so much?

I said nothing. I could feel myself scowl. And then a thought occurred to me-maybe it wasn’t so simple as Vaughn not liking me. Maybe he really thought I was guilty. The feeling of being wrongfully accused was a terrible one, an unbelievably vulnerable one. And to have someone truly believe something horrible about you-that you killed someone-was even worse than the accusation.