Chapter 5
The Five of Cups suggests loss, regret, and despair.
CAL
Iled the detective out a side door and across a parking lot, behind the Anthropology Museum, to my little stone cottage.
The detective stops as I walk up the stone steps, “I’m confused. I thought we were going to your office.”
“First floor is my office; second floor is my home.” I kick off my shoes as soon as I enter the door. My Golden Retriever picks them up in his mouth and takes them to the closet. I had often wished my husbands were as trainable as dogs. “Good boy,” I pat his head.
I pointed the detective in the direction of the kitchen. “Would you please make the coffee? I like it strong. Use two scoops per cup.”
From upstairs in my bedroom, I hear the detective rattling around in the cupboards, filling the coffee pot, and clinking cups.
The smell of coffee sends a wave of comfort over me as I change into leggings and an oversized tee shirt.
When I switch on my phone it takes a full minute to stop pinging with missed calls and messages. Twenty-two calls from Marci. She must be frantic if the media is reporting the news about Paul.
I listened to the last message from Marci first.
“Honey, I’m so sorry about Paul. I mean, I know he’s a shit and everything and I’m surprised YOU didn’t kill him before now.” Silence. I hear a sharp intake of breath. “You didn’t, did you?” Marci is whispering now. “Shhhhhhhhh, never mind. Don’t tell me if you did. Call me!!”
I send a quick text to Marci, making no mention of the fact that there is a police detective downstairs about to interrogate me.
I’m tired, feeling off center at the news of Paul’s death, and jittery as hell. I don’t have the slightest clue how to convince Detective Chan that I had nothing to do with Paul’s death. I don’t have much experience with being a murder suspect.
I walk into the kitchen and say, a little too animatedly, “That smells heavenly!”
Why did I say that? Why is the detective making me nervous?
Detective Chan ignores me. He is standing in front of the dripping coffee maker examining one of my coffee cups.
“Dr. Cassidy, mind telling me why you have cups that match the ones found at the murder scene? And I reiterate, anything you say may be used in a court of law.”
“This is ridiculous. No great mystery there. Paul and I bought these cups together when we were first married. When he left, I gave him eight and I kept eight.”
“Eight. I see.” He waves a cup at me. “You have seven cups in your cabinet. Is one in the dishwasher? Or did you break one? Where is the missing cup, Dr. Cassidy?”
I am starting to get angry. I forget for a moment that this man standing in my kitchen suspects me of murdering my ex-husband. “Are you freaking kidding me? I don’t keep track of my coffee cups.”
I pour a half cup of coffee and add a half cup of cream. The detective looks at my cup in amazement. “I know, most people think how I take my coffee is disgusting.”
Detective Chan pours himself a cup. “Got any sugar?”
The threads of sanity snap.
The thought that forms in my mind makes my knees buckle and I stumble into a kitchen chair. I place two fingers on my pulse. It is wild and erratic. I feel nauseated.
It takes every ounce of willpower I can muster not to grab Detective Daniel Chan, kiss him on the lips and say, “Here’s your sugar, mister.”
Dear God, it has finally happened. I have completely lost my mind.
No, calm down, it is just the shock of the news of Paul’s death.
Detective Chan stirs his coffee and the spoon clangs impatiently against the cup. “Sugar?”
Sugar? I can’t remember where I keep the sugar.I stare blankly into space as the detective rummages in my pantry for sugar. He pulls out a box of coconut sugar and empties a packet into his coffee. “Oh good god no,” he sputters after the first sip. He empties more packets into the coffee and stirs.
He sits at the table across from me.
“Dr. Cassidy, let’s….”
“Cal.” I interrupt him.
“What?
“My name is Cal.”
“Yes, I noticed your friend called you Cal. I thought your name was Caroline.
“It is. In high school I decided to call myself Cal. Much cooler than Caroline.” I can tell Detective Chan does not think I am cool at all. He just looks annoyed. I tend to have that effect on many men.
He clears his throat and wipes a small bead of sweat from his forehead. “I prefer for this interview to remain on a professional basis, Dr. Cassidy. This is a murder investigation. Can you tell me where you were the evening of Thursday, April 20th from midnight to about 5 a.m. Friday?”
My gut tightens. I’m afraid I’m going to be sick. I am sweating profusely.
“Is that when…?”
Detective Chan’s face is an impenetrable mask.
“I had office hours for my students until 5:00 and a client until 6:00. I picked up dinner for me and Carl at Trader Joe’s. We ate, went for a walk, and then I worked on today’s presentation.
Detective Chang holds up his hand and checks his notes. “So, you were with Carl all night? What time did you two go to bed?”
“Carl doesn’t sleep with me. He has his own bed on the porch.”
“Excuse me? Your husband sleeps on the porch?”
“Carl’s my dog, Detective.” I nod to the Golden Retriever on the living room sofa.
“Carl is an unusual name for a dog.”
“Jung.”
“Young? Oh, Jung. Carl Jung. Clever.”
I must be psychic. I can tell Detective Chan does not really think I’m all that clever.
“Dr. Cassidy, please call your attorney and come to the precinct tomorrow at 11:00 to answer a few more questions.”
“I don’t have an attorney. I mean, I do for issues involving my book contracts, but I don’t have an attorney for something like this.” I can’t bring myself to say, ‘criminal matters.’
“Call your attorney and ask for a recommendation. If you can’t make it by 11:00 please call and let me know what time you are coming.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday, Detective.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Isn’t it unusual to conduct an interview on a Sunday?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with Paul’s murder. That’s just crazy.”
“11:00 tomorrow morning, Dr. Cassidy.”
“What happens if I can’t get in touch with my attorney for a recommendation? What happens if the attorney she recommends can’t come tomorrow? It’s Sunday, for goodness’ sake. What if…”
Detective Chan holds up his hand. “Stop.” He seems exasperated. Men call it nagging; I call it being thorough.
He pulls a business card from his jacket pocket. “Call Laura Fuller. She’s the best Criminal Defense Attorney in DeKalb County.” Opening the door he turns and says, “Tomorrow, Dr. Cassidy. 11:00 a.m. He shuts the door with a little more force than I think is necessary.