Building Blocks of Murder (11 page)

“It didn’t start until after my brother died,” Jason said at last. His voice was soft, and his eyes never left his plate.

Though she could barely hear him, she didn’t ask him to speak up or repeat himself because she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“It’s pretty common, I guess, for families to melt down after the death of a child,” he continued. Resting his fork on the side of his plate, he sat back, dropping his hand from her knee. Lacy set down her fork, too, and pushed her plate aside, giving him her full attention.

“What happened after your brother died?”

“My parents started drinking. At first they did it together, getting drunk on the weekends after I went to sleep. They thought I didn’t know, but I did. I guess they felt like it was okay because they were doing it together. Maybe they thought it was helping them heal, but it wasn’t.

“After a few months, the drinking got worse and they began to turn on each other. The recriminations were awful, the blame they tried to lay on each other when it was no one’s fault. It was a downward spiral that quickly got out of control. The yelling progressed to physical fighting. I know McNeil made it sound like there was constant abuse, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t one of those situations where my dad was beating on me and my mom; they beat on each other. It was mutual.”

As if that makes it any better,
Lacy thought. “And where were you during all this?”

“I was here,” he said, sounding old and weary. “Trying to make sure they didn’t kill each other. When I was little, I would cry and beg for them to stop. As I got older, I tried to physically insert myself between them. When I couldn’t, I called the police. They were the only ones who could help, the only ones who could restore order, the only ones my parents would listen to.”

Lacy reached out and clasped his hand. He squeezed hers tightly in return, staring at their fused fingers. “What about the part where they hit you?”

“My mom never hit me. My dad did a few times, but never on purpose. He was just so out of his head wasted that he had no idea who I was. He would have decked Mother Theresa if she’d gotten in his way. He was always sorry; they both were. Eventually it was that sorrow that made them sober up. They both got help and dried out, but the damage was done. Neither of them were what you’d call topnotch employees during that time, and they were starting to get reputations on the local bar scene. They decided to move away and make a new start of things. They’re doing pretty well now.”

“But you don’t see them,” Lacy said. She moved closer and added her other hand to the mix, devouring his hand with both of hers in an attempt to offer solace.

“It’s…hard,” he said. “The memories from that time are still fresh. A lot was said and done, and a lot wasn’t said and done. I basically parented myself. It was chaotic. The house was a sty. I never invited people over.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “People thought it was because my parents were so strict I wasn’t allowed to have parties. What a joke. I could have done drugs in front of them and they wouldn’t have noticed.”

Lacy let go his hands and cupped his cheeks, standing as she arched forward and aimed for his lips before he stopped her.

“Don’t kiss me because you feel sorry for me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“What if I just want to?” she whispered.

“That’s acceptable,” he said. His hands settled on her waist, reeling her in as she advanced. For once she had the height advantage. She enjoyed the way his face tipped up to meet hers. She brushed her lips softly against his and began applying the slightest pressure when someone pounded on the door.

Jason and Lacy froze. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands curling around her waist.

“If that’s a Girl Scout, I’m not buying any cookies,” he declared.

“If that’s a Girl Scout, you should check her for steroids,” Lacy said. The knock sounded forceful, urgent.

“Just hold that thought, okay?” Jason asked, opening his eyes. “Don’t retreat.”

Lacy nodded, but already she was having second thoughts. What was she doing kissing this man in his kitchen? Or any man, for that matter, when she was so unprepared for the consequences. As if sensing her emotional backpedal, he clasped her hand, tugging her behind him to the door as if tethering her to him might help. He opened the door and they stared blankly at Detective Brenner and a couple of officers Lacy didn’t know.

“Sorry to do this in front of your girlfriend, Cantor,” Detective Brenner said unconvincingly as his scorn-filled eyes flicked to Lacy. “But you’re under arrest for the murder of Ed McNeil.”

It was like a bad nightmare as Lacy stood there, Jason’s shock matching her own.

“You can’t be serious,” Jason said.

“I am,” Detective Brenner said and, to his credit, he sounded apologetic. Lacy wasn’t buying it, though.

“Are you crazy?” she said, rousing from her stupor. “You can’t believe Jason did this. What evidence do you have?” She remembered how when her grandmother was arrested, the case had been so full of holes it was laughable. Surely this was the same scenario.

“We have one witness who heard him threatening to shoot Ed McNeil and another who saw him outside his office this morning. That and preliminary ballistics show the bullet came from one of our weapons,” Detective Brenner said, though he was looking at Jason when he spoke as if explaining himself to his colleague.

“Why are you taking him in? Why not question him and let him go until the ballistics prove he didn’t do it?” Lacy said.

“Because there was this article in the paper, written by a certain nosy and bitter reporter, and now our department is under careful scrutiny,” the detective replied. “We can’t make it look like we’re giving one of our own special treatment.”

“But Jason didn’t do it,” Lacy said. “I saw him outside the office this morning.”

“Great, now we have two witnesses,” Detective Brenner said sourly.

“My point is that there was no blood on him. He looked normal.” The officers, including Jason, looked at her sharply when she hesitated on the word “normal.” He hadn’t looked normal; he had been in a daze. But he had been exhausted.

The detective ignored her, turning his attention once again to Jason. “Where’s your weapon, son?”

“It’s locked in my desk drawer,” Jason said. He sounded resigned, and Lacy was afraid.

“Jason, tell them you didn’t do this,” she said.

But he didn’t. He remained silent and stoic, not looking at her as they waited for one of the officers to receive his gun. “It’s been recently fired,” the officer said, holding it out to the detective for his inspection. Detective Brenner looked to Jason for an explanation.

“I dispatched an injured raccoon this morning before my shift ended,” he said. “I called it in and wrote a report. I didn’t clean my weapon because I was dead on my feet. I intended to do it later.”

“There,” Lacy said. “There’s a reasonable explanation. And, besides, why wouldn’t he clean his gun if he murdered someone?”

“Lacy,” Jason said. “Stop.”

She knew she wasn’t helping the situation, but she couldn’t seem to contain her anger, fear, and frustration, especially because this time seemed different than with her grandmother. This wasn’t a witch hunt; there was compelling evidence on the table. How was she supposed to disprove any of this when it was over her head to begin with? What did she know about weapons or forensics? As if reading her thoughts, Jason preempted her.

“I don’t want you getting involved in this,” he said.

“Jason,” she began, but he cut her off, stepping forward to press his palm to her cheek.

“No,” he said. “It’s too dangerous, especially with me not here to protect you. Just let it go; let the wheels of justice churn. They’ll match my gun against the bullet and realize it’s not the same one, and then this will all be over. Please promise me.”

“If it turns out to be that easy, then I won’t get involved,” Lacy said.

“That’s not what I meant. Stay out of it no matter what.” The officers and detective were growing impatient. Jason glanced at them and put his hands behind his back before turning back to her.

She shook her head, choked up at the unbearable sight of him being handcuffed.

“Lacy,” he said, sounding angry now. “Stay out of it.”

“I’ll come see you,” she promised. “We’ll talk more” He was handcuffed and there were three other people in the room, but she didn’t care. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips fervently to his. His lips clung for just a second and then it was over and they were hauling him away.

He turned to look at her once more over his shoulder and mouthed the word “Don’t.”

She turned away, not wanting to see him loaded into the back of the cruiser. His house felt not just empty, but eerily so, as if the house was already mourning the absence of its owner. Lacy was tempted to stay the night, to sleep in Jason’s bed, just to ease the lonely, empty feeling, but that was crazy. How would she ever explain it to her grandmother that she stayed at Jason’s house? Instead she took her time closing up and turning off lights, making sure everything was perfectly tidy exactly as Jason liked it. As an afterthought, she grabbed his keys from the hook beside the door. If he stayed in jail for any length of time, she would have to check his house and retrieve his mail.

He can’t stay in jail,
she thought. Television had taught her what jail was like for cops. He could be seriously injured or even killed if some of the people he had arrested ganged up on him, to say nothing of the misery and humiliation.
I have to do something,
Lacy thought.
But what?

As if in answer to her question, her phone rang.

Before she could say hello, the abrupt voice of the town’s local newspaper editor cut across the line. “Lacy, it’s Len. There was a murder today, and the rumor is that they’ve made an arrest. I need you to take this one; I need some hard-hitting journalism and not Marjory’s over-the-top enthusiastic writing style. I swear that woman would report about her own demise with exclamation points and smiley faces. Are you free? Can you do it?”

Lacy bit her lip. Jason had told her to stay out of it, but if it was her job to investigate, then surely he would understand, wouldn’t he?
No, he’ll kill you,
a little voice warned. “I’ll do it,” Lacy said, ignoring the little voice and her own common sense. Just like with her grandmother, she was too close to this case to be objective, but working for the paper would give her the access she needed to get things figured out. She hoped.

“Good,” Len said. “Like everything in this business, I need it yesterday.”

“I’ll send you something as soon as I get home,” she promised.

He paused. “How will that be possible?”

“Because I was the one who found the body and I was here when they made an arrest in the case,” Lacy explained.

There was another pause, longer this time. “You sure get around. Okay, I’ll expect it soon.” He hung up without a goodbye. Lacy let herself out of Jason’s house, making a mental list of what she needed to do. First she needed to write an article for Len. Today that would be easy because she had discovered the body and been present for the arrest. But then what? There was no way Detective Brenner would share information with her. In fact, he would most likely roadblock her at every opportunity. What she needed was someone on the inside, someone who believed in Jason’s innocence and would be willing to help her.

She pulled out her phone and hit a button. “Travis, it’s Lacy. Did you know they just arrested Jason for Ed McNeil’s murder?”

“What? No way. That’s crazy. How could they possibly think Jason would kill anyone? He’s like the best road unit we have.”

Lacy smiled. At five years younger, Travis felt something like hero worship for Jason, which was good because she was going to need his help. “Can you keep an ear out and keep me informed of what’s going on? I need to get this figured out so we can all return to sanity.”

“I’ll do my best, but you know how it is. I’m just a lowly jailer; I don’t hear much.”

“You’re being modest. You always have the scoop.”

“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thanks,” Lacy said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Want some coffee?”

“Is the sky blue?”

“I take it that’s a yes,” she said.

“No, that was a legitimate question. I’ve been working so much that I’ve forgotten what it’s like on the outside. There aren’t any windows in the jail. Coffee sounds awesome. See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” she said.
Take good care of Jason. Let him know he’s not alone. Give him a hug for me.
She laughed at the last thought, as well as Jason’s reaction to it if Travis tried to carry it out, but her laughter quickly faded away as she pictured Jason in jail. How very humiliating. At least she knew that he would be well treated as long as he remained local. And he wouldn’t be in there for long if she could help it.

Lacy plodded to her grandmother’s car, glad she had chosen to drive for once. The last few emotionally draining moments had exhausted her. She would go home, write the article for Len, and go to sleep. Maybe in the morning everything would look better with a fresh perspective. Maybe Travis would call to tell her the sheriff’s office realized their mistake and Jason had been released.

She was so tired as she drove home that she almost didn’t notice the headlights riding her bumper. When she did notice, she was nearly home. Was it coincidence that whoever it was remained right on her tail, obnoxiously flashing his brights so that she either had to divert her mirror to the ceiling or be blinded?

The car followed her all the way to her grandmother’s house. Belatedly she realized home was the last place she should have gone, but where else was there? Their town was surrounded by cornfields. She certainly didn’t want to go out there, and it wasn’t like she could go to the police station for help now that Jason was out of the picture.

Instead she simply turned into her grandmother’s driveway and watched as the car, a dark sedan, drove slowly by. When she was sure it was completely gone, she got out of the car and went inside. She wished now that she hadn’t volunteered to write the article for Len. Like the rest of her body, her brain was exhausted. But she had told him she would write it, so she turned on her computer, dashed off the article, and mailed it before falling into a dead sleep.