Chapter 30 #2
Her phone taunted her on the side of the bath as she continued her work, practically falling into the tub as the vibration moved it closer towards the edge.
She grabbed it with slightly wet hands before it became submerged within the makeshift-soup she was creating, illuminating the screen to see that Sienna had texted her back.
She considered reading the message her reprieve; a way of postponing the inevitable upon the detective’s arrival. An electronic purgatory.
Sienna 10:35am: Girl, you have nothing to apologize for.
We’ve both been dealt a shit hand recently.
I’m not quite ready to talk about Dylan, there’s still a lot of hurt there that feels too fresh to uncover right away, but I would love it if you came and looked at some apartments with me!
I’m working on a budget so you can help me find something affordable but cute. P.S. I love you too. x
Lee allowed herself a smile at that moment, acknowledging that despite the fact that her world was crumbling around her, there were still tiny pieces—pieces like Sienna, Kat, and Natalie, that were still intact.
Lee H 10:36am: Cute and affordable are my two middle names. I can’t wait. We’ll chat about it soon. x
Typing the word ‘soon’ felt like allowing herself a future—manifesting the idea that in a few days she would be looking at apartments with Sienna as opposed to stewing in a jail cell.
Sienna would look at that text and see nothing more than a collection of words upon her screen, but to Lee, they meant everything, because without ‘soon’ she had nothing.
When the act was completed in its entirety, Lee Holmes just about keeled over.
Her fitness watch was in the process of congratulating her for completing her cardio for the day when the doorbell rang.
Finalizing the cleaning of the tub in case the detective desired to use the toilet, she wiped herself down, flattened her hair slightly, and left the rest up to chance.
Standing in the newly empty hallway that felt as if it may swallow her whole, she closed her eyes and exhaled.
She wasn’t exactly centered, but all things considered, she was the closest to centered that she could be at the given time.
Upon opening her eyes, she cracked her neck at the same time she cracked open the door, greeting the detective she had met before at the station with a toothy grin and partially lifeless eyes, the same detective that had interviewed her about the disappearance of Edward Beckett.
“Good morning, detective. Please, do come in. Excuse the mess.”
Fortunately, the mess that she described consisted primarily of a few dirty dishes and some discarded newspapers that Morgan had yet to throw away as opposed to dozens of hyacinths connected to a serial killer and multiple bloody floorboards.
Despite knowing how thorough both herself and Morgan had been in relation to cleaning up, Lee Holmes still felt as if she was currently taking an exam, whereby the detective was grading her efficiency at disposal.
As he stepped inside the threshold, the first positive sign was that he didn’t grimace at the smell, suggesting that she could tick that fear off her list at the very least.
The next positive sign was that he handed her his coat in order to hang it on the rack towards the left of her, which implied that he didn’t necessarily feel a dire need to promptly arrest her, or perhaps worse, run in the direction from which he had just come from.
She took his coat with more enthusiasm than was required for taking one's coat, which was to say she nodded and smiled too much, as if his outer attire was some kind of award, and she had just won it.
Placing the coat upon the rack, she extended a hand towards the kitchen, attempting to have the both of them vacate the hallway in which dozens of hyacinths had resided only twenty minutes prior.
“Tea, coffee?” Lee asked, already making her way over towards the kettle at the far end of the kitchen.
Choosing the kitchen as opposed to the living room for the interview was the smarter option, but in order to sell this particular room to the detective, she would have to provide adequate reasoning as to her choice.
“I recently acquired some toffee hot chocolate as well if you’d like that instead. ”
Accepting her sales pitch, the detective nodded as he settled into one of the stools against the kitchen island; Morgan’s stool, or at least, it was, she acknowledged. “A hot chocolate would be perfect. I’m trying to cut back on the caffeine. Adopting healthier habits, as they say. Thank you, Lee.”
Lee wanted to say at that moment that she was adopting healthier habits herself by packing up her belongings in preparation of moving to a new apartment.
An apartment in which a murder had not taken place.
Naturally, she didn’t. Instead, she pulled the now steaming hot cup out of the microwave and placed it in front of the detective before sitting down beside him. She acknowledged etiquette.
“So…” Lee said, watching as the detective blew on the cup. It reminded her of Morgan. “I’m more than happy to answer any questions you might have for me. Go ahead.”
Lee Holmes was not, in any way, happy to answer any questions, nor did she want the detective to go ahead, but cooperating as enthusiastically as possible seemed like the best route to take at that very moment, and so, she took it.
The detective took his first sip of hot chocolate, moaning into the cup in the process.
Lee tried not to appreciate the fact that his being distracted by the taste of the hot chocolate could potentially save her from a lifetime in prison.
“Thank you,” he said, putting the cup down.
“I’ll try and make it quick. We have a lot of tenants to get through, though, in all honesty, not a lot to say, so I should be out of your hair before this hot chocolate becomes cold chocolate,” he joked, laughing in the process.
The joke wasn’t in any way humorous to Lee, and yet, she forced a laugh out anyway, if only to dispel the awkwardness that was presently sitting between the both of them, lingering like a bad smell.
The irrational part of her brain told her that all she needed to do to stay out of prison was offer hot beverages and laugh at the detective's poor attempts at humor. “Excellent.” she said. “Fire away.”
“May I ask where you were on the night of Edward Beckett’s disappearance? Namely the 4th of September.”
Lee deliberated as to whether to pause, as if trying to pinpoint a memory, except, the act seemed futile given the fact that the date corresponded with her anniversary with Morgan.
It dawned on her simultaneously that this second experience with the same detective felt surprisingly easier than the first time, as if she had become acclimatized to lying in order to save her own skin only after two attempts.
“Morgan—Diana’s daughter, and I were celebrating our five-year anniversary.
We donated some items to charity after dinner at the apartment, and we had a few drinks after that, and then we went to bed. ”
The detective nodded, taking another sip of his hot chocolate, and it was then that Lee regretted serving it to him in the first place, as if the act of drinking delaying his response by two to three seconds was enough to send her over the edge, enough to make her confess.
“That lines up exactly with what Morgan said,” he said, pulling out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen from his trouser pocket.
“Could you tell me the name of the thrift store so that I may verify?”
“The Hidden Wardrobe," Lee relayed, almost mechanically, memorizing the alibi that Morgan and herself had concocted after being interviewed the first time as the detective jotted the information down. “We donated a teapot, and some other items I can’t recall at the top of my head. Some old books, I believe.”
“Perfect. My next question was in fact about the items you donated, so you read my mind.”
Lee hesitated for a moment, acknowledging the fact that this same detective had visited Morgan that same morning. “Did Morgan not provide you with this information earlier?”
The detective smiled, and Lee hated him for it. “She did,” he confirmed, nodding again like an animated bobblehead. “I just wanted to make sure that the both of you were on the same page. I have no further questions to ask you.”
Lee Holmes was unsure if either of them had been on the same page during the entirety of their five-year relationship.
Alas, she had escaped this interview unscathed without even the slightest mention of Arthur, and going through the intricacies of her time with Morgan Finch was something she would have to unpack another time.
Should she ever choose to unpack it at all, that is.
“Oh, one more thing,” the detective said, looking at her with such an intent gaze that Lee began to truly believe he was going to burn a hole through her face. “Are you familiar with a Mr Arthur Strickland?”
Shit.
Lee knew that a question like this one required no hesitation, and so she put her anxiety aside, gritted her teeth, and got on with it. “I am,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I’m doing an article on him currently, in fact. I’m a journalist.”
And then, with the minute amount of confidence that she had, she pushed further. “As far as I’m aware he might be connected to the disappearance of this Edward Beckett guy. Something about a driver's license?” she asked, feigning her best curious voice in the process.
The detective smiled, his eyes slightly creased, as if curious himself as to her line of questioning.
For a moment, Lee thought she had pushed too far, until he took another sip of his chocolate and began to speak.
“We prefer not to talk about the formalities of the case, Miss Holmes,” he said, using her surname now as opposed to her first name, as if she had just been shed the luxury of first-name pleasantries.
“But with that being said, should you learn anything that might prove useful in your own investigation as a journalist as to Arthur Strickland’s whereabouts, please, do let us know. ”
“I will,” she lied, offering him the same curious look back.
The atmosphere in the room shifted with nothing but silence to linger idly amongst the four walls as he finished his hot chocolate and departed a few minutes later.