Liquid Lies Part 24

A wave of relief washed over me. He was not the killer. Yet I had the impression that his necklace might somehow be considered evidence. I wasn't sure how all this added up.

We chatted for a while about him trying to start up his own construction company, and all the permits and paperwork that he had been working on.

"Now it's my turn to ask you some questions." He grinned.

"Fine," I said. Although I was worried about what he might ask. "Looks like our lunch is here."

The waitress placed a patty melt with crispy chips in front of me, and an Italian sub with fries by Jacob. Before she left, she put the bill on the table. Jacob slid it over to his side of the table.

Jacob said, "At the memorial reception, I walked around and talked to a lot of people."

"I know, I appreciate your help in trying to figure out what happened to Francesca and Mark," I said, then popped a chip in my mouth.

"Right. That too. Listen, everyone said, without a doubt, you were Francesca's best friend. You did everything together. Is that true?" He put down his sub then wiped his mouth on a napkin.

"Yes," I said.

"So you were best friends?"

"Yes. But why are you asking about Francesca and my friendship? Weren't you supposed to be finding out who killed her?" I asked.

"I was. But I also had some personal things to figure out too," he said.

"Like what?" I took a big bite of my patty melt.

"Who, besides Francesca, killed my father?" he said as he gazed at me.

I had a bite in my mouth, half way through a swallow as he said that. The bite of sandwich lodged immovable as I tried to gasp for air. I wanted to gag, but nothing happened. My heart rate went up and dizziness overcame me in a panic as I choked on my sandwich. Jacob jumped from his seat, and did the Heimlich on me. As soon as the bite of food became unstuck, I breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently seeing what had happened, the manager came over, and several patrons gathered around us. Embarra.s.sment overcame me, and I tried to compose myself.

"I'm okay. Thank you. I'm fine," I said as I waved them away. My throat was sore as I chugged some water. "I think I'm done with lunch."

"That's fine, we can leave," Jacob said as he paid the bill. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." I felt so low that I could walk under a pregnant ant. Francesca and I killed Jacob's father. This meant he was the blackmailer.

This also meant that he and I were each other's alibi for Francesca's murder. Except now the only way to clear him, was for me to go to the police and tell them what happened four years ago at the truck stop.

My mind raced as we left the restaurant.

"Let's take a walk. Are you okay?" Jacob brushed my hair from my face.

No. I killed your father. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Why don't we go there?" Jacob pointed to the lake path. "Listen, I need to know one more thing."

It was only a matter of time until the blackmailer figured out my involvement.

"Four years ago, around August, did you go to an all night truck stop and diner outside of Englewood?" He stopped walking.

I said nothing. I hung my head. My body felt as though it could shrivel up and sink into a crack in the ground.

"Here is where you tell me no." He lifted my chin.

I couldn't speak.

"And?" he asked.

"I don't know what to say."

"Let me help you then. You say you were not involved in my father's death. Because Mark was the one who put the money under the mailbox. It wasn't you. Right?" Jacob asked.

My breath caught in my chest.

"But when I talked to everyone, they said Mark and Francesca had only recently met. They didn't know each other four years ago. Help me out here CiCi. Tell me it wasn't you."

Fear welled in my eyes and tears slipped down my cheeks. A wave of sadness came over me, I was such a miserable lowlife that I didn't deserve him or anyone else. I belonged behind bars for the rest of my life. I numbly shook my head. What complete irony, I thought Jacob was a murderer of my friends, when in fact I was the killer of his dad.

Jacob stomped his foot. "s.h.i.t."

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." To the inner core of my soul, I was sorry.

"Sorry? For killing my father?" He kicked the ground.

"He tried to hurt us." I didn't try to make an excuse, but tried to clarify the circ.u.mstance in which it happened.

"No you're wrong. He would never do that. Never," Jacob screamed.

"But, he did. He had a knife," I pleaded. "He grabbed Francesca, he threatened us, and we couldn't get out of the cab."

"You're lying. You killed my father. You and Francesca. I can't even look at you," he shouted. He turned on his heels then bolted down the path.

Clouds swallowed the sky, wind pushed leaves in the air, and waves smashed against the sh.o.r.eline. Through tear-drenched eyes, I watched him leave. At confession, Father O'Doul had said I would know when it was time to confess my sin.

I pulled Detective Wurkowski's card out of my wallet, and dialed his number.

When he answered. I said, "It's Cecilia Cole. I'm turning myself in for murder."

Chapter Thirty-Four.

"Because you've confessed to a murder, I have to make a few phone calls. We'll let you sit in the booking area. You can wait there with Detective Gentry," Detective Wurkowski said.

"Fine." I sat on a hard plastic bench outside the holding cells. The past I had hidden from for so long was now exposed. My life would never be the same, but then again, after the murder it never was anyway. A lump in my stomach seemed to grow into a boulder.

"Before I make the calls, let me repeat back what you told me. The trucker, who you say is Jacob Elmore's dad, grabbed Francesca's breast, then pulled a knife out. You two took this as a direct threat to harm you and Francesca. The trucker told you that his pa.s.senger door was inoperable, so he blocked the only exit. He had you and Francesca trapped in his cab," Detective Wurkowski summarized.

An additional officer strolled over to us. Maybe it was a big deal to have a hard working, female citizen without a parking ticket come in off the street and confess murder.

"Yes, sir. That's how I remember it happening," I said, my voice barely audible.

"You only took up the tire iron to defend yourself after he pulled out his knife?" he stated, reading from his notes.

"Yes sir. I told you everything I remember. Everything," I said. My mouth felt like cotton, my stomach rumbled like a bowling alley.

"Ms. Coe, can you wait here until we make some phone calls?" Detective Wurkowski said.

"Yes sir," I answered. "Do you need to read me my rights? Or put handcuffs on me and lock me up?"

"No." He smiled. "Do you need to make any calls? The cell reception is not great in here. Do you want to use our land line?" Detective Wurkowski asked.

I shook my head. I didn't want to get anyone involved. It was my time to own up to what I had done. I refused to yank anyone into the h.e.l.l I had created. "So, you're not going to put me in jail?"

"No."

"But you need to. I'm a criminal."

"First, it did not happen in our jurisdiction. Second, we have no evidence anything happened. We only have your story. That is why we are going to do some research, and make a few calls." He furrowed his brows. "You're welcome to wait out here on the bench."

"No. I need to be behind bars."

"Only if that is where you prefer to wait, then you can sit in a cell instead of out here. But that is your choice."

"Lock me up."

They led me past offices still buzzing with activity, to the back of the building. We entered through a guarded door to an area with a sign "holding cells." There were two cells divided by a cinder block wall. The whole area smelled of body odor and stale food. The floors were covered in peeling green paint.

The cell door squeaked when the detective opened it. I walked into the cell. It was a little larger than a bathroom stall. With my head drooped down, I shuffled to a bolted down iron bench covered with a thin hard rubber mat. There was a small steel bowl looking object sticking out from a wall. I guessed it was the toilet.

This is where I belonged four years ago. As much as I hid from the murder I had committed, my crime bubbled under the surface, ready to rise up and drag me down.

Now Francesca and Mark were both dead. And it all stemmed from what I had done years ago. My whole body felt drained, as though the life and hope had bled out, leaving just skin and bones.

Also, I thought about Francesca. She didn't have the chance to tell her story. I hoped that I told it as truthfully and with as much dignity as she deserved.

"CiCi, just so we make this clear, you don't have to be in here," Detective Gentry said.

"I understand. But honestly, I feel I need to be here," I said feeling forlorn.

"Listen, from the statement you made, although you were negligent in going with the trucker, he may have had criminal intent all along. I'm just saying, off the record, hang tight. Just say the word when you want out. Okay?" Detective Gentry said. He motioned toward the door.

I stood next to the bars, unable to see anything through them expect the cinder block wall beyond them.

"Thanks. Really I mean it," I said.

"Hey Junior, who's the lady ya got there? Put her with us men, we need a feminine touch in here." A guy with a gravelly voice taunted in the next cell.

I heard two voices laugh in the cell next to mine.

"Guys, leave her alone," Detective Gentry shouted to them. Then he said to me, "They're just a couple of drunks who caused some trouble at the Lake Ness pub. Once they sober up and pay their fine, they'll be out of here."

I nodded, then said, "Thank you."

"Oh, there's a bottle of water for you in there. Let me know if you need anything. Are you going to be okay?" he offered.

"Sure." I'd never be the same again. Francesca and Mark were dead because of me, Ken broke our engagement, Estelle and Hazel are losing their homes, and I killed my new boyfriend's father. Jeez. The life I knew, and had fiercely protected against any alteration, had been distorted wholly and irrevocably.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

I curled into a fetal position on the bench, and I attempted to lose myself in sleep. I failed wretchedly. The plastic mat stuck to my skin and crinkled when I moved.

Every noise echoed. The air conditioning blasted like a blow dryer from the ceiling vents. Footsteps outside the door reverberated like an army marching by. And the conversation of my two drunken next door neighbors echoed off the walls.

"I'm telling you man, he can't come in to our territory and start trouble with us. h.e.l.l, I didn't want to fight. He started it. But no, you and I are here, not Mr. My s.h.i.t Don't Stink," the gravel voice bellowed from the cell next to me.

"Yeah man. And his suit buddy too. They got no business busting our a.s.ses. Can't a guy ask another guy a question?" the frog voice said. "Ain't no law against questions."

Someone burped.

"Yeah. We got rights," the gravelly voice said.

I heard a slap or clap. Maybe, like all guys, they probably high fived each other.

"They ain't better than us. No sir. Matter of f.u.c.king fact I bet they're worse than us. 'Cause you don't go from nothing to big wig without cutting off people's b.a.l.l.s. It just don't happen," the gravelly voice said.

"d.a.m.n straight. You're right man. 'Cause men like us work our a.s.ses off," the deeper frog like voice said. "We just can't get ahead. Can't catch a break."

"f.u.c.k him. Like, he cut off our b.a.l.l.s," the gravelly voice said. "We didn't want to work for them anyway."

"We could work anywhere. We've got skills. I mean, I could have done his daughter's job. s.h.i.t," the frog voice said.

Someone gargled then spit.

"I heard she was knocked up by a married guy. Like f.u.c.k his high and mighty att.i.tude, at least we don't s.h.i.t on people to get stuff, right man?" the gravelly voice got louder.

"Fire us for stealing some axe. f.u.c.k, like he can't afford a million of them," the frog voice said. "Hey buddy. You know I love ya, right? You got my back?"

"Yah. I love ya man," gravel voice said. "But we ain't thieves and he can't prove it. But his s.h.i.t speaks louder than ours."