Murder Misstery

I reached into my purse for another cigarette. I waited expectantly for Norman to light it, and this time I touched his hand when he offered his lighter. "Thanks," I said. "Do you come here a lot?"

"I'm one of their best customers. How do you think we got this table?"

Such an ass, I said to myself. "You must be important," I purred.

"And how about you, Ashley? What do you do?"

"I'm just a flight attendant."

"How nice," he said condescendingly. "You must meet some fascinating people."

"Oh sure, you meet a lot of nice cattle on the cattle car." I was beginning to feel more at ease, and I needed to loosen him up. He took another pull at his Jack Daniels and leaned closer to me. I felt his hand brush against my leg. Another long draw on my cigarette while I waited for his next move.

"You're much too intelligent and attractive to be stuck in a job you don't like," he slurred. God, you really must be drunk, I thought to myself, considering that the girl you're hitting on is really a guy trying to act like a total bimbo. The whole scene would have been comical if my situation weren't so desperate. Our wine and salads arrived, and while we engaged in small talk, I tried to remember Tracy's lessons on how to be ladylike.

Our steaks were presented with a flourish on sizzling platters, and my filet was so delicious I almost forgot who I was. Tiny bites! I had to remind myself, while Norman attacked his 16 oz. sirloin like a Rwandan refugee. Suddenly his face turned blue, and before I realized what was happening he started to pound on the table, gasping and clawing at his throat. He was choking on a piece of meat! Without thinking, I jumped up, ran around the booth and dragged him onto the floor. Then I reached down around his massive chest and grabbed him in the Heimlich maneuver. One sharp tug…another sharp tug…and then a piece of sirloin shot out of his mouth and he was able to breathe.

I sat next to him on the floor, my dress up to my thighs, panting with exertion. Several waiters ran over to us offering to help, and one of them took my hand and lifted me back on my feet while Norman brushed them off. "I'm fine," he said with embarrassment.

"Thanks to your lady friend," a man at the next table said, and the whole restaurant burst into spontaneous applause. I did a little curtsey and resumed my seat. Our table top was a shambles, and the waiters swiftly replaced our tablecloth and salvaged what remained of our dinners. A new bottle of wine was produced compliments of the management, and we both sat there sipping in silence. I stole a glance at the compact in my purse to make sure my wig was still on straight, wondering if this episode had ruined my chances for tonight.

To the contrary, when Norman finally spoke, he sounded almost sincere. "Ashley, you just saved my life. I am totally indebted to you. How can I ever repay you?"

Half an hour later, we were cruising up Lakeshore Drive in Norman's Jaguar. Although my scheme had been to lure him to Tracy's apartment, when he suggested that we adjourn to his place for a nightcap, I jumped at the chance, although I was becoming more and more worried as we drove towards his building. If I'd gotten him alone at Tracy's place, I intended to knock him out with booze laced with sleeping pills, tie him up, and force a confession out of him when he came to.

Now I had no plan, and in my little dress and heels I would be defenseless if he tried to take advantage of me. As if to confirm my worst fears, Norman's arm strayed over the console and squeezed one of my silky knees. "Thanks again for saving my life tonight, baby," he whispered. I fought my revulsion and allowed his hand to slide up my dress until it got dangerously close to my secret.

Finally I grasped his hand and gently but firmly guided it back onto the wheel. "Better watch your driving, you don't want the cops to stop you after all we've had to drink."

"Yes, dear," he teased me. "You really are my guardian angel tonight." Talk about clueless, I thought to myself. Norman deliberately jumped a light just to spook me, then he started pawing my legs again. Before I could protest, he pulled into a driveway and parked in his reserved spot in an underground garage. I lifted the visor and peeked at myself in the vanity mirror while he was walking around the car to open my door. The girl looking back at me in the mirror seemed very nervous. Then my door was open, and Norman was treated to a spectacular leg show as I scrambled out of my bucket seat.

He put his arm around me and guided me towards the elevators. We rode in silence to one of the upper floors of an exclusive high-rise. Nobody saw us enter the building, and when the elevator doors opened the hallway was deserted. I took his arm as we walked, unnerved by the clickety-clack of my high heels echoing down the marble corridor. His unit was at the very end, and after he unlocked the door he held it open for me without turning on the lights.

At first I thought that he was going to jump on me then and there, until I realized that he wanted the full impact of the view to hit me in the darkness. It was spectacular, a blaze of lights reflecting off the glistening shore of Lake Michigan. How many women had he used the same technique on, I wondered? While I was standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, he turned on some music and soft lights. "How about a glass of champagne?" he asked, nuzzling me from behind as he slipped off my fur.

"Okay, after I powder my nose." He pointed towards a hall bathroom, and I made a beeline for it, locked the door behind me and grasped the vanity with both hands, shaking uncontrollably. What the hell was I doing here, in women's clothing, with a man who had already ruined my life? I looked up at myself in the mirror and saw a scared little girl who was in way over her head. The best I could hope for was to make my way back to the street without humiliating myself…then all I'd have to do was hail a cab, in a dress and heels, in downtown Chicago in the dark of night.

Maybe there was another way…I desperately tried to come up with a plan as I went through the motions of straightening my dress and stockings, brushing my hair, freshening my lipstick. The only thing I had going for me was the way I looked: the woman in the mirror was undeniably pretty, and Norman Wolf was already impaired from way too much alcohol. If I could keep up the façade long enough to find a weakness, maybe I could save myself. "You're a woman," I told my reflection in the mirror. "I'm a woman," she said back to me.

Norman was waiting for me on a cream leather sofa, two glasses of champagne bubbling on the glass coffee table. I leaned against the wall and unstrapped my heels, gratefully feeling the relief from walking across the plush carpet in my stocking feet. I sat down next to him and tucked my legs under my dress. He handed me a fluted glass of champagne, picked up his, and we clinked them together in a silent toast. "To Ashley," he said as an after-thought, "the woman who saved my life."

To Norman, the shit who wrecked mine, I thought to myself as I sipped my champagne. I got up from the sofa and retrieved a cigarette from my purse. Norman lit it for me, and I sat down demurely in a facing chair, playing hard to get. He drained his champagne in two gulps and topped me off before he poured himself another glass. How much more alcohol could he take before he passed out, I wondered?

As if to answer my question, Norman asked me if I'd like a tour of his condo. God, what a nightmare! I drained my glass and reluctantly got to my feet, pretending to be a little drunk to lower his guard. When we got to his study, I spied a heavy-duty safe behind an open closet door. An inspiration came to me. "What's my reward for saving your life?" I asked.

"Your reward?"

"The keys to your jag? Or maybe I'll just move in here with you…."

Being a guy, I figured that would throw him, and sure enough he responded the way I expected. "Sweetie, I owe you big time. Let me show you how generous I can be." I held my breath while he dialed the combination to his safe…there was a large brass paperweight on his desk, and I deftly picked it up and hid it behind my back. When he bent down to reach into the safe, I came up behind him and brought it down as hard as I could on the back of his ugly head.

Norman collapsed into a heap on the floor. I stepped over him and started unloading the contents of his safe, looking for anything that might incriminate him and clear me. To my astonishment, all I found were thick envelopes stuffed with wads of cash, in large bills…hundreds of thousands of dollars, more like millions, which Norman must have stashed away over the years.

I looked down at him, and for the first time I realized that something was wrong. Not only wasn't he moving, he didn't appear to be breathing, and his face had turned a deadly white. A quick check of his pulse confirmed the worst. I can honestly say that I felt no remorse, considering what he'd done to me. Instead, I felt sick to my stomach over what would happen to me when I was arrested for his murder. When word got out that I'd killed a man while dressed as a woman, I'd be fair game for the boys in prison. One way or another, my life as a man was over.

Or maybe not. Nobody had seen us enter his apartment. I glanced at my watch. It was well past midnight. Coolly, I looked around the study for something to hold the cash. An attaché case on the floor caught my eye, and I went to work stuffing it with thousands upon thousands of dollars. When it was full, I was barely able to snap it shut, and it weighed a ton.

Okay, now for fingerprints…I used a towel from the powder room to methodically wipe down the paperweight, my champagne glass, and anything else I might have touched. While I was doing this, I was already planning my escape. I returned to Norman's corpse and fished his keys out of his trouser pocket. After a last look around, I strapped my heels back on, put on my fur, picked up my purse and the briefcase full of cash, and quietly let myself out.

Nobody saw me ride down the elevator to the garage and get into Norman's car. I drove carefully through the city streets to the JFK Expressway, and stayed well under the speed limit all the way to Rosemont. It was almost dawn when I pulled a ticket for the lot at Tracy's building, parked and locked Norman's car, and made my way to the apartment. A few early risers noticed the pretty girl coming home alone in her black dress, and a guy offered to help me with my heavy briefcase, but I waved him off politely and kept my cool until I was safely inside.

Then I lost it, totally. I fell to the floor, curled up and cried, shedding a woman's tears over what had become of me. Matt McCoy's only chance to clear his name had died with Norman Wolf. Now I was a murderer, a thief, and from the looks of things, I was going to have to become a woman. I was already a wanted man, and when they found Norman's body, they'd assume it was me who killed him. I'd be better off hiding out as a woman for as long as I could. Once they caught up with me, if I was lucky enough to avoid the death penalty, I'd spend the rest of my life getting raped in prison, so I was going to be a woman whether I liked it or not. Why not be a pretty, rich young woman? There were millions of dollars in that briefcase…could I really get away with it?

"Let's go, girl," I said to myself with grim determination. First I hid the briefcase full of cash in the hall closet. Then, after removing my clothes, wig and makeup, I took a long, hot bath. After I shaved, put on a little makeup and my wig again, I dressed myself in a simple skirt and top. I was beginning to get used to the feel of women's clothes. Good thing, I thought sadly, since I'd be wearing them for the rest of my life. I was making toast and coffee when there was a sharp rap on the door.

Could the cops be onto me already? Maybe they found Norman's car! I pulled myself together and opened the door. It was the same two FBI agents who had questioned Tracy two days earlier! This time they didn't ask if they could come in, they just barged through the door and confronted me. "You weren't completely truthful with us the other day, were you, Ashley?" one of them said.

Some instinct saved me from blurting out what I'd done. Instead, I fell into the flight attendant's role that had worked for me last time, hoping to buy some time. "I don't know what you mean. Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, thanks."

I sat down on the sofa and wrapped my long skirt around my bare legs, a feminine gesture that didn't seem to impress the men. "Ashley, why didn't you tell us that Matt McCoy gave you a check for five thousand dollars last week?"

I was so relieved that they weren't accusing me of murder, I felt almost giddy. "Because Tracy was in the room."

"What do you mean?"

I gave a little sigh. "Tracy doesn't know that I've been seeing Matt."

"Why did he give you the money?"

"He forgot my birthday, and when I got mad he flipped open his checkbook and wrote me a check. I was so insulted, I wasn't even going to cash it."

"But you did cash it, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"In fact, you cashed it the day before yesterday, after you learned that we were looking for him."

I lowered my head. "Yes," I nodded.

"Would you care to tell us why?"

I looked up at them defensively. "Things are tough for a working girl. I needed the money."

"Have you heard from him since we were here?"

I nodded my head again and started to sniffle. "Yes."

That got their attention. "When did you talk to him?"

"Matt called me after Tracy left for her trip, around six o'clock."

"What did he say?"

"He told me he's innocent."

"They all say that, Ashley. What else did he tell you?"

"Do I have to say?"

"You're in enough trouble already, Ashley. If you cooperate with us, we'll give you a pass for covering up for him yesterday. If you don't, we'll be going downtown for a longer conversation."

I shook my head sadly. "He told me he was going to lie low in California for a while. He really did tell me that he was innocent. He said he was set up by some guy named Norman."

The agents exchanged glances. "Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he loved me," I sniffled again.

"All right, Ashley. I want you to promise that you'll call us immediately if you hear from him again, and above all don't tell him what you just told us. Is that clear?"

"Definitely, I don't want Matt knowing that I told you anything."

"Did he say where in California?"

I screwed up my eyes like I was trying to remember. "I think he said San Francisco."

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?"

"That's all I know. I'm sorry I didn't say anything yesterday. Can I ask you a question?" I inquired as I got up to let them out.

"What?"

"Does Tracy have to know about this?"

They relented a bit. "We won't say anything to her about your relationship with Matt."

"Thanks." I opened the door for them, and waited for them to disappear down the hall before I closed the door, fell to the floor and curled up once again, wiping my tears with the folds of my skirt. My crying jag was shorter this time, and when I got back up, I was actually proud of myself. After all, I'd given the feds a bum steer that would have them combing San Francisco for me. Now all I had to do was head in the opposite direction.

I went to the nightstand where I'd found Ashley's airline credential and looked for her passport. Sure enough, she'd left it there, and her passport photo was the spitting image of me in her wig. I thought for a moment of all the trouble I was causing for Ashley. Between linking her to Matt McCoy's flight from justice and stealing her passport, I was doing quite a number on her. I resolved to leave $1,000 for her in the nightstand as a gesture of atonement.

Surely she wouldn't mind my borrowing one of her suitcases too! I found her airline-issue rolling bag and opened it up on the bed. It swallowed up my meager woman's wardrobe with room for more, but I decided not to steal any of the girls' clothes. My getaway outfit would be a wool jumper, nylons and flats. I threw the skirt and top I was wearing into the suitcase, put on my dress and stockings, and crammed my cosmetics bag into an outside pocket of Ashley's suitcase. My flats were almost comfortable compared to the heels I'd been wearing, and they made my feet look downright dainty.

I put Ashley's passport in my purse, and got the briefcase out of the hall closet. I didn't take the time to count it, but I was sure there was well over a million dollars in hundred dollar bills in those envelopes. After taking out Ashley's grand and ten thousand in traveling money for me, I scattered the rest throughout Ashley's suitcase, burying the money with skirts, tops and lingerie.

The last thing I did was sit down to write a note to Tracy. I sat at her kitchen table for the last time, wearing a dress, trying to think of how to say goodbye to the woman who had literally changed my life. Forty-eight hours ago, I was a brash young man with his whole life ahead of him. Now, because of Norman Wolf's treachery and my own stupidity, I was a hunted man. Thanks to Tracy, I had another chance, even if it meant living the rest of my life as a woman. How could I tell her how I felt without revealing too much, knowing that the FBI might get their hands on my letter?

I crumpled up several sheet of paper before I found the right words:

Dear Tracy,

By the time you read this I will be far away. I want you to know how much I love you for what you did for me. I'm afraid I wasn't very grateful at first, but I have gotten used to it and to tell you the truth, I kind of like myself this way.

I've got to believe that the FBI will clear me some day. Maybe Norman Wolf will come clean and admit that he set me up. In the meantime I will be on the run, thinking of you, and the incredible time we had.

Love,

Matt

PS - Please tell Ashley I'm sorry for any trouble I caused her, I left some money in her nightstand.

I left the letter on her pillow, grabbed my purse and suitcase, and let myself out of the apartment. As an afterthought, I returned for the empty briefcase, which I tossed down the trash chute. Norman's car was where I left it, and with any luck his body was still undiscovered. I turned on the news during the short drive to O'Hare, but there was nothing about a murder on Lakeshore Drive. I left his car in the long-term parking lot, tossed the keys into a storm drain, and caught the shuttle bus to the international terminal.

Tugging Ashley's suitcase behind me, I entered the ultra-modern concourse with no destination in mind. The large departures board hanging from the ceiling indicated that the next flight out of the country was in ten minutes, to London. After that there was a flight to Hong Kong, and then one to Tokyo. I kept looking down the board until I found a flight to Zurich, leaving in two hours. Perfect. I walked up to the first class counter at Swissair and asked if they had any space available. Yes, I was told, there was one seat left in first class. I asked what the one-way fare would be. It was a small fortune, and I had to fish a wad of hundred dollar bills out of my purse to pay for it. The ticket agent gave Ashley's passport a long, hard look before issuing my boarding pass.

I knew that I was in for a gauntlet at security. A one-way ticket paid for with cash set off alarm bells, and there was nothing I could do but grin and bear it. I took my chances and checked my bag, reasoning that the risk of my money being discovered and stolen by a dishonest airline employee was preferable to the trouble it could cause me during secondary screening, and besides I had all my cosmetics to think of.