More of CONSIDERING MURDER

Carti has blown her chance. She told me to take some time and space to work on my writing. I have not asked her if she is ready to share with us. I have gotten turned on with solving the murder of Amy Hayes.

Thus the third installment, but as turns out not the last.

                          

                                                     CONSIDERING MURDER

                                                                    Part 3

The pounding on my door jarred me from a deep sleep. The sunlight not streaming through my east facing window told me I had overslept. 11:30 my clock said.

‘Come by this afternoon or tomorrow morning’, the policeman had said.

The pounding at the door—louder and more urgent. The police no doubt. I exchanged my scanty shorts for my hole filled Levis and ran my fingers through my hair. Opening the door I sighed with relief. Jennifer Collins. “Good, it’s you.”

“How endearing. And I brought you more bread, cinnamon buns. May I come in?”

“Yeah. Sure. Sorry but I overslept. I’m supposed to be at the police station. I think I might be in trouble.”

Over coffee and her bread we discussed the events of yesterday or as she phrased it--  my situation. “You know what’s happened”, I asked.

She assured me the whole neighborhood knew what had happened. “And all the facts.”

“And the facts are what?”

”You likely did it.” I could not sort my fear from my anger from my confusion. “You did call her a little bitch. According to Harold ‘a fucking little bitch’. And everybody knows she took you to court.”

“I’m in deep shit trouble, aren’t I?”

Her grin softened into a warm smile. “Trouble anyhow. Want me to go with you to the police?”

“I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

“I’m in it. We’re having an affair. Didn’t you know? I take that as an insult. All my other lovers have known. Come on. Change your clothes. You can’t go in those horrid jeans. And let’s go.”

                                                             *                      *                      *    

With Jennifer at my side I gave to the receptionist the properly written statement of my activities of the day of the EVENT-  as they called  it. “Don’t go yet,” the receptionist said, “Sherriff Marlings wants to interview you.  Just wait over there and I’ll tell him you’re ready.”

An overweight man, whose shirt gaped between buttons, whose face was puffy and red  came in. He extended his hand which I cautiously took and gave what surely was a wimpy handshake. “Mr.  Murdock, isn’t it?” He did not wait for an answer. “I just have a few questions before you go. Shall we go somewhere more private?”

He led the way. I followed him. Jennifer followed me. “I’m not sure we need the little woman. You two close?”

Without hesitation Jennifer said, “Yes, in fact we are. Very close.”

“I see,” he said. “And what do you know about this matter?”

“Only what I have heard. And that is quite a lot, not all of which sounds plausible.”

As it turned out his questions were simple and shallow. Nothing not covered by the police yesterday, or the statement I had just written. After a good hour of repeated and re-repeated questions, he said, “Well Mr. Murdock, you’re free to go. Do not leave the jurisdiction without informing us until this matter is cleared up. We’ll be in touch."

Cartimandua Insists She Needs More Time.

Cartimandua is being difficult. She insists she needs more time and refuses to do anything just yet. So my story continues. This is Part 2 of CONSIDERING MURDER.
                                 

                                                                                                                 

Amy.Hayes was dead.

Drowned in my pond, whose bank belonged to her.
  

So I learned on my return from my trek into town to stock up on food and wine for what would be my self imposed writing stint.

On my return home I watched events unfold. One by one the vehicles left. Two state police cars, a sheriff’s car and an ambulance.

One car stayed behind. One car: two policemen. The questions began.

“You left exactly when?” the stockier and older of the two asked.

I shrugged. Rarely did I have to remember exactly when I left my house. “8 or 8:30. I didn’t exactly notice.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary before you left?”

“Like what? I saw a deer in the field below the house. That’s not exactly out of the ordinary.”

“When did you last see Mr. or Mrs Hayes?”

“Last week sometime. Thursday I think it was. They came by asking if I had seen their little dog. He had gotten out the day before and they hadn’t seen him since.”

“Which one came by?”

“The wife.”

“Any harsh words between you?”

Their demeanor seemed more accusative than inquisitive. “No, I told her if I saw the dog I would call her. I got her phone number, and she left.”

The silence as they both made notes in their little notebooks was unnerving. I am sure very little time passed, but it seemed like minutes. “How did it happen?” I asked.

.“Looks like she slipped on the bank. It’s muddy still from the past three days rain.  Likely she hit her head on something, fell into the water and drowned.”

“When?”

“Don’t know yet. How deep is the pond?”

“I don’t really know. Deep enough for swimming.”

The two looked at each other. The younger nodded and the older asked, “When were you last swimming?”

“Last week, the day before the rain started.”

First one, then the other, put away their notebooks. The younger and smaller who had said nothing yet spoke. “We will have more questions. Could you come by the station and write out a statement? This afternoon or tomorrow morning. Thank you Mr. Murdock."