Chapter Seventeen #3
“Okay!” Jumping up, she actually went over to Alex, gave him her hand, and then led the winking bastard out the door with the cookies and lemonade.
I just shook my head at his back. It was hard to know where I stood with Alex most days. His hostility toward me vanished after Omma was killed—pity tends to soften the heart. But he wasn’t anywhere near as casually affectionate, or as horny, toward me as Micah and Rhodes.
He was basically as light and teasing as a friend would be, which was definitely better than it was before, but still...
I forced myself to look away and focus on Layton. His back was to me as he put away their sheet music and closed the piano.
“Mr. Layton—”
“Charles, please.” He shone a bright smile on me. “Is this about Lily’s assignments this week? Because I told Mr. Montgomery that she doesn’t have to worry about turning those in. She just lost her grandmother. Allowances can be made.”
“It’s not about that, but thank you.” I stepped inside, gesturing for him to sit in Alex’s vacated chair. “It’s about the party.”
The smile melted away. “Oh.”
“You were one of the ten who went upstairs during the time... it happened,” I got out. “Did you see anything strange when you did?”
“Strange?”
I got straight to the point. “Someone killed my mother, and it wasn’t Courtney. Did you see someone or something that might not have raised the alarm at the time, but looking back seems odd now?”
He was shaking his head before I finished. “I didn’t see anything or anyone. If I did, I would’ve told the police.”
“Why did you go upstairs?”
Charles winced. “Honestly, and no offense, Sue, but the party was a little rowdier than I was expecting. Half the guests were trashed in an hour. The other half were throwing themselves at me in an hour and one.
“I don’t like telling people about the family business, because the second I do, they’re wheeling out every young, single member of their family for me.
It gets pretty old constantly being used for your money.
” He blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, I left the party and snuck upstairs to the library. I was there until a cop burst into the room and said all the guests had to gather downstairs to be accounted for because... you know.”
I just nodded, my brain processing while my phone did the active listening.
“But, excuse me for asking this, but why does it matter where I was?” he asked. “I saw all that stuff on the news—claiming the police did a shitty job and arrested the wrong woman, but you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Of course I believe it,” I said, crossing to the window. “I was right there in the video screaming that they did a shitty job and arrested the wrong woman.”
“Oh.” I sensed his presence at my side. “So, you don’t think it’s over? You think the police are going to come back, interview us all again, and search the manor?”
“I’m pretty sure a search would be pointless at this point,” I confessed.
“The cops stopped searching bags and rooms when they found the knife in Courtney’s.
Then, they sent everyone home—allowing the real killer to slip away with the bloody clothes.
Unless the killer’s an idiot, and they’ve proved so far they’re not, they’ve already burned the clothes and tossed the ashes in the sea.
“No.” Finality rang in my voice. “There’s nothing left to physically find.
.. except for a liar.” I turned to him, my lips stretched in a mirthless, bloodless smile.
“You say you were in the library, Charles? Well, I really hope that’s true, because at this point, anyone who lies to me about that night goes right to the top of my list.”
He lurched back, brows flying to his hairline.
Then, he laughed. “Oh, wow, good one, Sue.” He patted my shoulder.
“You had me going there with the menacing voice and the crazy eyes. Obviously, I didn’t kill your mother.
I didn’t have a single interaction with her that lasted longer than hello and goodbye. ”
Said crazy eyes tracked him across the room.
“All right, I got to get going,” he said, collecting his things, “but I hope you get to the bottom of all this stuff. See you Thursday.”
“See you then.”
I let him go.
Only when the door shut behind him did I take out my phone and dial his number.
“Hello, Mrs. Kim.”
The chill wafting from his end of the call gave my ear frostbite. “Hello, Officer Davis. I know you’re not too happy with me right now, so let me skip right ahead to the apologies. I’m sorry for insinuating that you take bribes, and I’m definitely sorry you got rushed by a mob.”
“What about telling the world I was Officer Cop-A-Feel!” he burst out. “I’ve been put on review!”
I cringed. “I’m sorry about that too. First thing in the morning, I’ll walk into the police station and tell your captain I made all that up.”
“You—! Wait, what?” His voice lowered a decibel. “You will?”
“Of course I will,” I said easily. “I want to foster open lines of communication between me, you, and the detectives. That can’t happen if everyone sees me as a crazy-eyed, lying witch.”
“Open communication? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about seeing the chart or list or whatever it was that the other officers put together for that night,” I said. “They came up with ten names and ten people who went upstairs and passed by the different officers at their stations—”
“Just a minute—”
“—but without context, it doesn’t mean anything to you guys.
You don’t know what’s where or which rooms are which.
That’s why I need to see it because I’m the one who’ll know who’s lying.
For example.” I raised my voice over Davis’s second attempt to interrupt.
“Charles Layton said he left the party and went to the library where he stayed until after my mother was killed. But the library dead-ends a short hallway in the east wing. The only way to get to it is by going through the hall two passages down from where my bedroom is. I need to know if the officer guarding that hallway is the one who saw him, because if they didn’t, he’s lying. ”
There was a pause.
“Are you finished?” he asked, voice flat.
“Yep.”
“Good, then I can get straight to telling you no. All evidence collected is now material evidence in a murder trial. You’re not getting anywhere near it.”
I wasn’t fazed. “You might want to rethink that since you’re putting the wrong woman on trial.”
“Ms. Thorne had means, motive, and the murder weapon in her purse. What more will it take to convince you?”
“She didn’t have motive, and literally anyone could’ve put that knife in her purse—like the twenty-seven other people who also had opportunity.”
“Twenty-seven? What are you—? Hold on,” he cried. “You’re not suggesting that—!”
“One of your fellow cop buddies who were just as free to wander around my home, had just as much opportunity to kill my mother, and were the obvious choices to plant their murder weapon in the first bag they searched.”
“Where are you getting this shit from?” His shout made my ears ring. “The men and women I serve with are above reproach! They would never—!”
“Fuck’s sake, Davis, you’re not this dumb!
” Just like that, I was shouting too. “You’re smart, you’re observant, and you actually care about this community and the people you swore to serve.
Well, two of those people were murdered and another one is about to lose everything for a crime she didn’t commit, so isn’t it about time you did something about that!
“My mother and Mrs. Prado were killed by the same person, right? That’s what you believe, isn’t it!” I demanded. “But you know Courtney was nowhere near Mrs. Prado, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question, but I waited for him to answer anyway.
“Ms. Thorne... is not a suspect in that crime,” he gritted out. “She had a rock-solid alibi. She was serving customers all morning.”
“There the fuck you go.”
“There the fuck I go nowhere,” Davis flung back. “It’s only conjecture that those crimes may be related, and conjecture isn’t proof. We—”
“No, not we. You. You know they’re connected.
You know that two women don’t up and get murdered in the same place two weeks apart, and it has nothing to do with each other.
You know something’s wrong, and you know that some sweet single mom who spends her days baking cookies has nothing to do with it.
You know,” I barked. “So stop parroting bullshit you don’t even believe, and do something about it.
“Give me the list. I’ll look into the people I know, and you can look into your cop buddies. Together we’ll find the monster who did this to Mrs. Prado and my mother.”
He was laughing before I finished my speech. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows, Mrs. Kim. This is the real world, and in the real world, beat cops don’t investigate homicides, and they for damn sure don’t team up with failed influencers.
“I’m not giving you a thing,” he dropped. “Back off. If I find out you’re playing amateur sleuth, I’ll arrest you for interfering in a police investigation.”
I scoffed. “Well done, Officer Cop-A-Feel. Once again, you’ve proven to be a shitstain embarrassment to your profession. Too bad no one was filming it this time. Pervert.”
“Fuck you.”
Click.
Groaning, I tossed my phone at the couch. “Welp, that bridge is burned.”