Miranda James - Murder Past Due

Godfrey sprawled prostrate on the floor. The back of his head was a bloody mess.

The coppery tang of blood had mingled with the unpleasant scent of Godfrey’s bowels, loosened in death.

I heard a faint roaring in my head. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Godfrey’s corpse. He had to be dead with a wound like that.

But in the faint hope that he was still alive, I steeled myself to walk around the couch and approach Godfrey’s body. I bent down and grasped his left wrist, lifting the arm just enough to get my fingers in the right spot. I detected no pulse, though I held the wrist for what seemed an eternity.

As I put the arm gently back against the carpet, I caught a glimpse of something sticking out from under Godfrey’s waist. My brain didn’t register it for a moment. I was going to throw up if I didn’t put some distance between me and that horror on the floor.

Out in the corridor again, I drew a deep breath of clear air. I closed my eyes for a moment, but all I could see was Godfrey, his head bashed in.

And Justin’s cell phone by the body.

It had to be his. The phone in that room was purple, and Justin had a purple phone.

Justin had his arms wrapped around his body, and he was shivering. He looked at me, fear in his eyes.

What had happened in that room between father and son? Had they argued? Over what? They hadn’t met before today.

But as I looked at Justin, I couldn’t believe he was responsible. He wasn’t a killer, not this miserable, frightened boy.

Even though I had already called 911, I took out my cell phone and punched in the number of the sheriff’s department. When the dispatcher came on the line, I gave him my name and a quick report. “I’ll be in the lobby, waiting for you.”

Justin was crying now, quietly. I was torn. I wanted to comfort him, but I was also tempted to get back into Godfrey’s room and retrieve the cell phone. I couldn’t believe I was even considering doing something like that, but the last thing Justin needed right now was to be the chief suspect in Godfrey’s murder.

The sheriff’s department was only three blocks away. They’d be here in five minutes or less. The EMTs should be here any second too, though there wasn’t anything they could do for poor Godfrey.

As I wavered, the decision was made for me. The elevator opened, and an elderly couple stepped out.

“Come on, son, let’s go downstairs.” I put an arm around Justin’s shoulders.

The couple cast inquiring looks our way as we passed them, but I ignored them. I had to get Justin downstairs and find us both something hot and sweet to drink—my aunt’s favorite cure for any kind of shock.

The elevator seemed to take forever, and the bland music playing in it stretched my already frayed nerves even further. Finally the door opened into the lobby, and I led Justin to the restaurant.

The hostess took one look at my face and the crying teenager with me and asked, “What do you need?”

“Hot coffee, two cups, with a lot of sugar.”

I sat Justin down at the closest table, and the hostess returned right away with the coffee. “Here, son, drink this. You need it.”

Justin stared at me for a moment, but with trembling hands he picked up the cup and began to drink. The hostess hovered, a worried look on her face.

“Is he going to be okay?” she said.

I nodded. “Just a bit of a shock.” I took a drink of my own coffee, feeling the welcome warmth spread through me.

“Okay,” she said. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

I thanked her, watching Justin as the color slowly came back into his face. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and handed it to him. He scrubbed at his face with it, drying away the tears, and then he blew his nose.

“Thank you,” he said. He wiped his nose again. “I guess I kind of freaked out when I found him.”

“I understand,” I said. “I don’t blame you. I’m kind of freaked out myself.” I took another sip of my coffee. “How long were you sitting out there on the square?”

“I don’t know,” Justin said. “I’m not really sure.” He sipped at his coffee. “Who would kill him? It’s crazy.”

“I know,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense right now, probably never will.” I debated whether to tell him about the cell phone. Would it be better for him to know now?

If I told him, though, his reaction later might seem more suspicious. Probably best not to say anything so whatever he told the sheriff’s department would be unrehearsed.

Lord, what a mess.

“Do you think my dad, I mean Ezra, killed him? He was so angry earlier.” The expression on Justin’s face was heartbreaking.

Lord , I prayed, please don’t let it be Ezra. Or Julia . I don’t think Justin could take it .

What could I say to the boy now that could possibly comfort him? I had no assurances for him. This would force him to grow up brutally fast.

“I just don’t know,” I finally said.

Before I could say anything else I spotted an arrival in the lobby. “You don’t move from this spot, and ask for more coffee if you need it,” I said. “The EMTs and the sheriff’s deputies are here, and I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, sir,” Justin said. “I won’t go anywhere.”

I had an inspiration. I gave Justin my cell phone. “Call your mother. Ask her to come here as quickly as she can. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I don’t want you to be by yourself.”

Justin nodded. He picked up my phone, examined it for a moment, and then punched in a number.

I left him at the table and braced myself for the coming interview. I had been so concerned for Justin that I hadn’t taken time to alert the hotel staff. The manager on duty, I could see now, was reacting badly to the news of a dead body in her hotel. She handed one of the EMTs a key, and they headed for the elevators with a couple of deputies.

As I neared the front desk, a tall, thin black woman in uniform turned to face me. Her expression was enigmatic, to say the least. She had her hair scraped back into a bun, and she regarded me with cold brown eyes.

“Mr. Harris,” she said, her voice neutral. “You reported this incident.”

“Yes, Deputy Berry, I did.” I stopped a couple of feet away from her.

Kanesha Berry and I had a difficult relationship that stemmed from the fact her mother was my housekeeper. Kanesha had tried, once Aunt Dottie passed away, to get her mother to retire. Azalea paid no attention to her daughter. She wasn’t ready to stop working, and she told me the day I moved into the house that she was going to look after me and she wasn’t about to listen to any arguments.

Since it would take a braver man than I—or a more foolhardy one—to argue with Azalea, I simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”

Kanesha couldn’t argue with her mother, so she chose to blame me. Every time I encountered her, I felt like I’d run up against a buzz saw.

After glaring at me for a moment, Kanesha summoned another officer. “Deputy Bates,” she said, her voice taut, “Mr. Harris here called it in. Go with him and take a preliminary statement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bates gazed into the distance, not at Kanesha, when he spoke. His tone verged on insubordinate.

Kanesha’s eyes narrowed for a moment. She did not reply. She turned and walked in the direction of the elevator.

“Come with me, sir,” Bates said. “We’ll be using the manager’s office.” I had seen Bates around town, but I didn’t know him. He appeared to be about Kanesha’s age, mid-thirties.

Praying that Julia could get here quickly, I followed Bates around the desk. The manager came with us into her office and flapped about for a moment, still obviously unsettled. Bates calmed her down and asked her to step outside.