Murder to Go

"Why?" What did he think I could do? I wasn't a lawyer, or a cop, or anything like that.

"I didn't know who else to call! I figured maybe you could help me, somehow. You were right about your mom, even when nobody else believed you. I'm desperate, Cam! Please, I didn't do this, you have to believe me!"

"I do." I touched my palm to the glass as I pursed my lips. The problem was going to be convincing everyone else he was innocent, and I hadn't even heard the evidence against him. "I'll let your parents know what's going on."

"Thanks," he sighed as he raked a hand through his hair then stared at the small tabletop in front of him.

I could imagine how he was feeling. I'd never been in trouble, but I knew I'd dread telling Mom, or even my aunts, I was in jail for jaywalking, much less murder. I felt so sorry for him. It was like all the life had gone out of him.

"Tell me what you know."

"Only that Melina's dead and they think I did it."

"Come on, you have to know more than that."

"I swear, that's it!" He sighed. "I'd gone into town for a pizza that we'd called in. I was on my way back when I met this cop car. His lights were already on, and as we passed, he turned around and chased me down. I pulled over. Why wouldn't I? He pulled in behind me and he got out of his car with his gun out and yelled at me to get out of the car with my hands up and to get down on the ground. I didn't know what was going on, but I did what he told me. I was afraid he was going to shoot me! He put the cuffs on me, stuffed me in the back of his car, and here I am."

"That's it?" There had to be more to it than that. There had to be!

"That's it."

"And Melina was there alone?"

"Yeah. Greg, her brother, had left a couple hours before to go play baseball in his league. Melina called him and he said he'd be home in time to join us for pizza. She called it in. I was just going to pop into Gardner, grab the pizzas, and drive right back. I hadn't been gone twenty minutes when the cops grabbed me."

"Greg found the body?"

"I don't know. As I said, nobody will tell me anything."

He seemed to collapse in on himself as his shoulders slumped and his head hung low. He looked completely defeated. I could understand that. Being accused of killing someone and not being able to find out anything about why they thought it was you had to be terrifying. None of this made any sense. I rubbed my face in frustration. He was either holding something back, or this whole situation was completely messed up.

"How did you know Melina was dead?"

He snorted. "They told me that much when they charged me."

I stared at him. I didn't want to ask the question, but I had to. I had to see his reaction. "Did you do it?"

"No!" he yelled. "Of course not! How can you ask me something like that?"

I nodded, feeling guilty for my question. "Sorry, but I had to ask."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes and face hard. "I thought you knew me better than that," he finally said softly, looking at the table between us, unable to meet my eyes.

"I had to ask," I murmured again, also looking down, my shame for the question weighing heavily on me.

"Do you believe me?" he asked, his eyes pleading.

"Yes... but it doesn't matter what I believe." I leaned forward. "It's what the cops believe that matters. Let me see what I can find out."

"You've got to get me out of here, Cam!"

"I'll try. Just hang in there, okay?" I wanted to touch him, to comfort him, but it was impossible, the mesh so tightly woven nothing could be passed through, not even my fingers. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay," he murmured.

I pushed back the chair and retrieved my purse from the locker. The officer escorted me to the detention lobby. A quick word with the officer at the desk, he jotted something in his book before I was buzzed through into the hall, and then I was free. I stepped outside and dialed Hunter as I walked to my truck.

"What'd you find out?" Hunter asked, coming straight to the point. He knew why I was calling.

"Nothing. He said he didn't know anything about what happened to Melina."

"Do you believe him?"

My lips thinned. I didn't like the tone I heard in Hunter's voice, but then I reminded myself that he didn't know Ken and hadn't been there to see how utterly defeated he looked.

"Yes. What do I do now?"

"Has he seen a lawyer?"

"Not yet. That's supposed to be later today."

"Ask to speak to the arresting officer. Maybe he'll talk to you about what they have on Ken."

I nodded to myself. "Anything else?"

"No. Until you find out what evidence they have against him, there isn't much you can do."

"Yeah." Right now, all I had was a whole bunch of nothing.

"You're sure he didn't do it?" he asked again.

"I'm sure. More sure now than ever. He looks miserable." Ken didn't deserve this, and the sooner I found out what was going on and helped the police, or his lawyer, or whoever to clear his name, the better.

"Maybe he's feeling guilty."

"No, I don't think that's it. I think he's terrified."

"He should be."

"Hunter!" I scolded.

"All I'm saying is, they must have something on him, or they wouldn't have arrested him. He should be worried."

"Okay. But I'm telling you, he didn't do it."

"I believe you... well... I believe that you believe it, but unless you find out what happened, what evidence they used to charge him, I don't know if you can help him."

First things first. At least I had somewhere to start now. "Talk to the arresting officer?"

"Right. There's no guarantee he'll speak to you, but start there."

"Okay. Thanks, Hunter. I owe you."

"That's two," he said, his tone light and playful, probably trying to cheer me up.

Despite the dread squeezing my heart, I smiled. "Run me a tab. I'll pay up when I get back."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Okay. See you in a day or so."

"Cam, listen to me, okay?"

"What?"

"Don't press. You're not his lawyer, so you have no right to any of this information. If they don't want to tell you anything, then you need to accept that. If you don't, if you get to be too big a pain in their ass, I told you what might happen. You'll be no use to him if you get yourself in trouble."

"I remember."

"See that you do. I don't want to have to drive up there and bail you out of jail."

"I don't want that either."

"Okay. See you when you get back."

"Tomorrow. Maybe the next day."

"Looking forward to it."

"Me too."

We hung up. Taking a deep breath, I turned and marched back to the lobby.

"May I help you?" Officer Pioske asked as I stood at the lobby window again. How had she forgotten me already?

"I'd like to speak to the arresting officer for Kendal Mazerin, please."

"Have a name?"

"No, sorry."

Pioske didn't quite roll her eyes, but her face made it clear she didn't have a very high opinion of me or my lack of information. "Just a minute," the woman said as she turned to her terminal and typed a moment. "That's Officer Peter Muratet. Your name?"

"Camille Wicker," I said, reminding myself the woman had no reason to remember my name.

"Officer Muratet is out on patrol. I've recalled him to the station. He should be here in ten or fifteen minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?" the officer asked. Her tone made it clear she just wanted me to leave her alone.

"So I wait...?" I asked, glancing around the room.

"If you'd like to speak to Officer Muratet."

"Thank you."

I wandered around the room, looking at the pictures when I wasn't watching out the door. It took about five minutes before a police cruiser pulled to a stop in front of the door. An officer with salt and pepper hair stepped out of the car. I decided to take a chance, pushed the door open, and stepped out.

"Officer Muratet?"

"Yes. Are you Ms. Wicker?"

"Yes."

"How may I help you?"

I stuck my hand out and Muratet took it. "I'd like to speak to you about Kendal Mazerin."

"You a lawyer?"

I gave him my winningest smile. "No, just a friend."

"Then I can't discuss an active case."

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Sure. Your boyfriend killed a local girl in cold blood."

I shook my head. "He's not by boyfriend. I've known Ken for years, since we were kids. I find it hard to believe he'd do anything like that. How can you be so sure it was him?"

"I can't discuss active cases," the officer repeated.

I fumed for a moment. "Look, I understand you can't discuss a case, but there's no way he killed that woman. He told me he was arrested on the way home with pizza. I mean, really, you think he went out for pizza after he killed his girlfriend?"

Muratet shrugged. "Not the strangest thing I've ever heard."

"Just tell me you have something, some kind of evidence, and you didn't arrest him just because he's an outsider."

Muratet's face instantly hardened. "We're done here," he said, his voice cold as he turned to his car.

"Wait!" I cried. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that the way it sounded! I'm just so frustrated! I know Ken and I know he couldn't have killed anyone. He doesn't know why he was arrested, and you're stonewalling me. Please, Officer Muratet, please, just tell me what's going on. I promise, I'm not looking to cause trouble. Maybe if you told me what you know, I can help you."

"I doubt it."

"She was killed in a big house, right?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That's right."

"She had a cell phone in her hand?"

"For someone who doesn't know what's going on, you seem to have a lot of information. Did your boyfriend tell you that?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I repeated. "We're just friends, that's all, and no he didn't tell me. Not really. He said he was staying with her in her house. The rest I just guessed."

"Pretty good guess about the cell phone," he said, his tone making it clear he wasn't completely buying it.

I shrugged and smiled at him, trying to charm my way out of the situation. I shouldn't have said anything because there's no way Officer Muratet would believe me if I told him the truth, just like Hunter hadn't.

"If someone were coming after me with a gun, or knife, or whatever, if I had my phone with me, I'd have called for help. Why wouldn't she?"

He continued to watch me, his steely gaze making me uncomfortable. It was clear he was trying to figure out how I fit into all of this.

"What else do you know?" he asked.

I held my hands up in surrender. "Nothing. I don't know anything. That's why I'm talking to you. I know Ken didn't do what he's accused of doing, and I'm trying to find out what's going on."

"You need to let us handle it," he said.

His officer Friendly act was starting to get old, especially since he wasn't helping me at all. "But you have the wrong man!"

He smiled at me, and I wanted to slap it right off his face. "I don't think so."

"Why? What evidence do you have?" I asked, my frustration making my voice louder than I'd intended.

He looked at me again. "Sorry. I can't--"

"Discuss an active case," I said, talking over him. "Yeah, I get it. Thank you so very much for all the help," I snapped, my tone cool and sharp.

It was Mom all over again. The police were giving me a pat on the head and more or less telling me to let them handle it. If I'd done that with Mom, then Larson Figgette would still be walking around free and not sitting in a jail cell somewhere.

I pivoted on my toe and stomped away from the station. I was so mad I didn't know what to do. It was a good thing my gift didn't allow me to turn someone into a frog, because Officer Peter Muratet was a prime target.

I threw myself into my truck, backed out of the parking space and drove away, exercising all my control to not floor the truck in front of the officer. I had nowhere to go, so I returned to the Star Bright Inn. It was only ten forty-five, but the room had already been cleaned. I threw myself on the bed and stared at the walls. If only I knew how to control my gift, then maybe I could look back in time and see the murder.

I was ashamed to admit that I was talking a good game about Ken being innocent, and I wanted to believe he was, but I still had nagging doubts. Hunter was right, the cops wouldn't arrest Ken without something linking him to the killings, would they? If I could just see what happened, then I'd know it wasn't Ken, and if I were lucky, I'd see who had cast the shadow in the house and could point the police in the right direction.

Even though my aunts had warned me not to try, I sat in the middle of the bed with my legs crossed under me, like I imagined people did when they were meditating. Breathing slowly and deeply, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. I waited, reaching for a vision. Something. Anything. I got nothing.

My phone rang, causing me to start. I looked at the clock and was surprised to see that almost an hour had passed while I tried to access my gift. It had felt more like six minutes instead of sixty. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" I answered, grimacing with the pins and needles in my legs as feeling began to return.

"Ms. Wicker? Ms. Camille Wicker?"

"Speaking," I said, working hard to make my voice normal as my legs burned.

"Ms. Wicker, this is Dena McNeill. I've been assigned the Kendal Mazerin case. Mr. Mazerin suggested I speak with you."

"You're his attorney?" I asked as I sprang to my feet and limped around the room, trying to work some feeling back into my feet and legs.

"For the moment. Can we get together somewhere and talk?"

"Sure! Where?"

"I'm starved. Would you mind meeting at the Downtown Diner? You know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Say ten minutes?"

"I can't be there that fast, but I'm leaving now and will be there as soon as I can."

I put my shoes on and all but sprinted to my truck, my run awkward and disjointed, but I thought I made good time considering I still couldn't feel my feet. I started the truck with a roar and raced away. Finally, I was going to get some answers.

I slammed my truck to a stop outside the diner a few minutes after twelve. The place was packed, and I realized I had no idea what Dena looked like. I scanned the diner and saw a well-dressed woman in the back waving her hand. I weaved through the tables.

"Dena?" I asked as I stopped by the table.

"Camille Wicker?"

I smiled as I slid into the table and reached across, offering my hand. "Thank you so much for calling me. How did you know who I was?"

"Mr. Mazerin told me what you were wearing and that you're a red head."

I nodded. Dena was a little older than me, perhaps thirty, with jet black hair, a pretty round face, and wide-set, dark eyes. She was dressed in a smart, light grey, power suit with a white blouse that contrasted beautifully with her skin. She was carrying a few too many pounds, but she carried them well.

"Why did Ken tell you to call me?"

"He seems to think you can help him. He said you solved another murder... one involving your mother, one the cops had written off as an accident? Are you some kind of cop, private investigator, or what?"

"No, no, nothing like that." If I were to tell Dena how I'd done it, she'd probably start the paperwork to have me sent off with the nice men to a relaxing, soft, white room wearing a new jacket... the kind with really long sleeves that buckled in the back.

Dena frowned. "Then I don't see how you can help."

We paused our discussion while we placed our order. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger without even looking at the menu, just to speed it along.

"Maybe I can't," I said after the waitress left. "But I want to help you if I can."

Dena sighed. "Your boyfriend is in a lot of trouble. A lot."

"He's not my boyfriend," I corrected. Why did everyone think that just because Ken was a guy, and I was a girl, we had to be boyfriend and girlfriend? "What can you tell me?"

"He's been charged with first-degree murder. Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah. The murder was premeditated."

"Exactly. The police found the murder weapon in his room, in the bathtub, covered in the victim's blood. Gregory Riis, her brother, who she shared the house with, stated that he'd heard Ken and Melina fighting that morning. Mr. Mazerin confirmed that they'd had words, but he said it was nothing. They'd been arguing over some guy bothering her since they'd gotten back in town. He wanted to confront the guy and tell him to leave her alone, but she told him to stay out of it. All he knows is the guy's name is Eric and he's a police officer. Apparently this guy calls her, a lot, and has been an ongoing problem for them."

I felt sick. This was clearly more than a case of mistaken identity. "What murder weapon?"

"A hatchet."

"Hatchet? One of those things that looks like a little axe?"

"Yeah, why?"

I stared at Dena a moment. "This keeps getting stranger and stranger."

"What do you mean?"

"Ken is a genius with numbers. He can do math faster in his head than I can on a calculator. He's attending the University of Michigan to be an engineer, but he's not exactly the outdoorsy type. Why would he have a hatchet?"

"You don't have to be an expert outdoorsman to chop someone up with an axe," Dena pointed out.

"I know that, but what I'm saying is, where did Ken get a hatchet? And why?"

"You'd have to ask him."

"I did," I replied. "I didn't know about the hatchet, but Ken said he didn't know anything."

"They all say that, Ms. Wicker." Dena took a sip of her ice water.

"I understand, but when you talked to him, did he seem to know what was going on?"

"No," Dena allowed, pausing as our food arrived. "I had to fill him in on most of the details of the case."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?" I pressed.

"No, not really. Many people won't admit their guilt, even to their lawyer."

"But what if he's telling the truth? What if he really didn't know how Melina was killed?"

Dena paused as she bit into her grilled cheese sandwich. "I can't prove he doesn't know in court. It's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because you can't prove a negative. For example, I can prove you had lunch with me. I can produce a photo, find someone who saw us together, something like that. But how do I prove you didn't have lunch with me? Just because nobody saw you, and I don't have a photo, doesn't mean we didn't have lunch, right?"

I leaned back as I slowly nodded. "Okay. I see. But if nobody saw him do it?"

"They still have the murder weapon in his bathroom."

"And they're sure it was her blood?"

"Want to see the lab report?"

"No, that's okay. It just seems so wrong. This just isn't like Ken." I stared at my untouched burger. Something was still off. The more I heard about this, the stranger it seemed. "We're missing a piece of the puzzle."

"Well, if you can find the missing piece, let me know. Otherwise, your boy--sorry--your friend is going to go away for a long time."

I fumed. "What about bail?"

"Not a chance. The prosecution will claim he's a flight risk, and there's the brutality of the crime. He's going to be transferred to county later today and he'll be arraigned then. I'll try, but it's not going to happen."

"He's going to have to spend all the time in jail until his trial?" All this was so unfair! Figgette had been allowed bail, and he was guilty, where I was certain Ken was innocent.

"Probably so."

"And there's nothing you can do?"

"Not a lot. The cops have him dead to rights. The only reason this isn't an open and shut case is his fingerprints aren't on the murder weapon."

"See! That proves he's innocent!"