Black Cat Weekly #19

A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY, by N.M. Cedeño-3

“Yes,” he said.

“Ms. Mara Kalleigh, who lived in this complex, was killed here last night. Are you responsible for making sure the security cameras are working?”

“No, that’s the security company’s area. I deal with the networks in the complex for residential use: systems that run climate control, information access, telecasts, remote operation of appliances. You know, the basics,” he said.

I looked him over. He wore a pale blue shirt with the name Walton embroidered on the chest and carried a small tool kit. “Did you know Ms. Kalleigh?”

“No,” he said, and started to move past me to the office.

“She had noticed you. Can you think of any reason why she might think you were watching her?” I stepped back in front of him and forced him to come to a quick stop to keep from slamming into me.

He looked at me as if I were speaking some ancient dead language. “Watching her?” He paused and recognition lit his face. “Do you mean the lady with the curtains?” he asked.

“Yes, her.”

“I was thinking of asking her to join a group I’m in. She seemed to value privacy,” he said.

“What kind of group?”

“We’re a grass roots movement advocating for the return of privacy protections. I thought she might be interested.”

“Were you following her?”

“No, I wasn’t. I’d seen her around the area a few times. She might have noticed me trying to decide whether to approach her. It takes me a bit of effort to go up to someone.” He glanced at the office. “Look, I got a call from here. I need to get to work.”

He tried to step around me again, and I two-stepped in time with his movements. “Don’t worry about it. I placed the call, and I have a few more questions. Where were you last night?”

“Last night? I didn’t kill the lady. I wasn’t here. I’ve got a second job doing a night shift as the tech maintenance guy at an internet radio station. I was working there from six p.m. until two in the morning. Then I went home. You can check. Four of us work the night shift, including the night disc jockey. I’m sorry the lady’s dead, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.” His voice held an edge of annoyance.

After collecting his contact information and the name of his nightshift manager, I let our little dance end, and he went on his way. Then I called the detective in charge of the case and told him I’d found the guy in the pictures. The police could verify his story and his alibi. I was sure he was telling the truth, which left me no closer to a solution.

My stomach growled, and I realized I was running on fumes. It was mid-afternoon, and I’d been on the move since five a.m. Time to get some lunch and regroup. I was still missing a critical piece of information: Mara Kalleigh’s cause of death. The coroner’s office could provide me with the cause of death, if I asked the right person.

After eating the strictly-portioned, legal-sized serving provided by all fast food joints, except those looking to lose their license, I went, still hungry, back to my office. Plopping down in my chair, I yanked open the bottom drawer, and pulled out a package of almost illegal pork rinds. Munching, I called up the coroner’s office. A guy working there had once needed my help extricating himself from a pyramid scheme.

“Coroners’ Office, how may I help you?” said a deep, rumbling voice.

“Anderson Candle?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Hi, this is Pete Lincoln, with Lincoln Protection and Investigations. A client of mine died last night, and I was wondering if I could find out the cause of death. Do you think you could help me out?”

“Um, probably. Who was your client?” he asked.

“Her name was Mara Kalleigh. Homicide is working the case, but they wouldn’t tell me the cause of death.”

“Give me a minute or two. Let me look.” He clicked something, and put me on hold.

A minute later he was back. “Mr. Lincoln? Her report isn’t done yet, but the autopsy has been done. Cause of death was exsanguination, but she suffered blunt force trauma as well. The doctor thinks she was kicked, punched, hit with something like a baseball bat, and stabbed in the chest. It’s about as brutal a case as I’ve seen. Somebody wanted her dead.”

“Thanks, Anderson. I’m trying to find out who did it.”

“Good luck. Gotta get back to work. Bye,” he said.

I sat and thought while chewing my index fingernail, a habit I’d gained when forced by the implementation of public health laws to quit cigars. Nothing I’d found so far merited that level of brutality. Maybe Ms. Kalleigh lied to me, and she did have a jealous ex-boyfriend. Maybe she had interrupted a thief within the apartment community; someone who knew everyone was at a meeting and was taking the opportunity to steal small items of value. If she’d recognized the thief and he couldn’t risk her identifying him, he may have been over-zealous in finishing her off.

* * * *

I decided to go back to the apartments and get more details on the thefts. Arriving at the complex, I saw the police were there ahead of me. An officer was escorting a man in handcuffs to a patrol vehicle. I parked and strolled over to Jeannie and her teenage assistant, Toria, who were standing outside the offices watching the arrest.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“The police are arresting Mr. Belk for the thefts in the complex. Apparently his medical records show he’s being treated for kleptomania. They got a warrant and found some stolen items in his apartment. He wasn’t home when they arrived, so they showed me the warrant and had me unlock his place for them,” Jeannie said.

Medical record privacy was all but dead. First the databases collecting everyone’s medical information were created so that doctors anywhere could have instant access to a patient’s records. Officials had hoped this would provide consistency when insurance transitions forced multiple changes of primary care physicians. Then law enforcement agencies gained access to the database to deal with disturbances caused by mental health patients and hostage takers. They quickly began using it for most situations. Schools were hooked into the system to verify vaccinations and to better serve children with special needs. Now any health tech, schoolteacher, vice cop, doctor, nurse, inspector general’s agent, or school librarian, along with thousands of others had access to everyone’s health records.

“Do they think Mr. Belk killed Mara Kalleigh?” I asked.

Toria said, “I don’t think so. He was in charge of the residents’ meeting last night. He was the first one in to set up for it and the last one out. My parents stayed to help clean up after the meeting. We all walked home together around 8:20 p.m. If she died during the meeting or right after it, he couldn’t have done it.”

I looked at the girl. “You were at the meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Was Ms. Kalleigh mentioned?” I asked, thinking back to the couple I’d interviewed who said they’d heard a rumor Ms. Kalleigh was responsible for the break-ins.

“I don’t know. I was listening to music.”

Now completely out of suspects, I turned and scanned the buildings around me. People were visible through their transparent walls watching the police activity. A woman caught my eye. She was standing with the knuckles of her right hand pressed into her teeth and her left hand pressed against the Polyvendow, as if for support. Even from a distance, I could read her distress. I recognized her as Ms. Jensen, the cat lady.

I nodded goodbye to Jeannie and Toria and jogged over to Ms. Jensen’s door. She opened the door to my knock.

Before I could say a word, she said, “Why are they arresting Mr. Belk?”

“He’s suspected of the thefts around the complex. The police found some of the missing items in his apartment.”

“Oh! Not for murder!” She relaxed and her shoulders dropped as she took a deep breath.

“No, not for the murder,” I said.

Suddenly her slightly protuberant eyes bugged out. “Wait! What! He was the thief? He said…” Her voice trailed off, and the color drained from her face. She began to sway.

I grabbed her arm and walked her several feet back into her apartment. She collapsed onto a frayed couch that her cat must have used as a scratching post.

“What did Mr. Belk say?” I asked.

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“What did he say?” My raised voice penetrated the sobbing. Ms. Jensen leaned back on the couch and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

“He said that people with curtains were probably hiding something and attracting bad elements to the area. He mentioned the thefts and recommended we all be sure to lock our windows and doors and set our alarms.” She blinked back tears and looked at me with big puppy dog pleading eyes, “We thought it was her.”

“You thought Ms. Kalleigh was responsible for the thefts and the death of your cat.”

She nodded and sniffed hard to keep her nose from running.

“You said, ‘we thought it was her.’ You and who else?”

“Mr. Ryan said she was making the neighborhood dangerous, and she shouldn’t be allowed to live here.”

I remembered Mr. Ryan. He was half of the couple expecting a baby. I had a bad taste in my mouth, like unsweetened chocolate, cloying and bitter. Belk wanted to ensure no suspicion fell on him so he chose Mara Kalleigh as a convenient scapegoat. What if his suggestions got her killed? What if the neighbors created a vigilante posse at the end of the meeting to rid the area of a perceived bad element? That would explain the use of multiple instruments and the feeling of malevolence Ms. Kalleigh had noticed around her.

“What did you do after the meeting ended last night, Ms. Jensen?” The muscles in my jaw tightened, and I spat the words through clenched teeth.

“We just wanted her to leave.” Ms. Jensen covered her face with her hands again.

“What did you do?” I yelled this time, my anger boiling over. She shrank back against the couch. I turned away from her and paced the room to get control of myself.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Tears streamed down her nose and cheeks and dripped onto her floral print blouse.

“What happened? Tell me. She didn’t hurt your cat or break into the apartments. Mara Kalleigh was innocent, but someone killed her. If it wasn’t your fault, who did it?” I forced myself to speak calmly, coaxingly. Controlling my temper had never been easy for me, but I knew I’d get more out of her if I didn’t scare her to death.

“I can’t say. I never meant… No one said anything about killing her.”

I laid it out for her, guessing at the sequence of events. “You didn’t want her dead. You wanted her to move. At the meeting a few of you decided to encourage her to leave. You decided to go right after the meeting to a camera blind spot near her apartment. You waited there for her to come home. Then, what happened? It’s okay, you can tell me.”

She inhaled raggedly, the tears still flowing. “We met in the blind spot. I wanted to scare her and let her know she wasn’t wanted here. I didn’t know that they were bringing a bat and a knife. They lunged at her as soon as she walked up. I thought we were going to threaten her, to talk to her. But, they attacked! It happened so fast. I never wanted her dead. I just wanted her to leave! I didn’t touch her. I swear! I only watched. And then it was too late. She was dead.” Ms. Jensen flung herself down on the couch, gasping sobs and almost hyperventilating.

I bit back my anger and my desire to scream at her that she should have called for help.

I didn’t believe she hadn’t participated in the attack. Whether her intent had been to terrorize her victim into moving didn’t matter. The result was murder. “How many of you were there?”

“Five.” The word came out muffled by the couch cushions.

I groaned inwardly. Mara Kalleigh never had a chance. I yanked my phone from my pocket and called the police. Ten minutes later officers arrived at Ms. Jensen’s door. I gave them a statement and went back to tell Jeannie what had happened before I went home.

A few hours later, I called the detective in charge. He told me officers had found the knife used to kill Ms. Kalleigh in the Ryan’s apartment as well as blood-spattered clothes in Ms. Jensen’s apartment. The names Ms. Jensen supplied also led police to one bloody baseball bat and two pairs of bloody shoes.

Mara Kalleigh was killed for wanting privacy. I’d heard of bullying cases coming from a person wanting privacy, but this was the first case I knew of where it had escalated to murder. I called Walton from January Technical Services. It struck me as ironic that he’d been my prime suspect because of his desire for privacy. I was guilty of the same prejudice as Ms. Kalleigh’s neighbors, and I was old enough to know better.

“If you need a rallying cry for your privacy movement, I’d take Mara Kalleigh’s case to the press.” I gave him the details and hung up.

Jeannie had promised me she was going to have another residents’ meeting and explain what happened. Some idiots would probably still blame Mara Kalleigh for making herself vulnerable or for “looking guilty,” but maybe a few eyes would be opened. Hopefully, the privacy movement would catch the national consciousness. Society was overdue to respond to the erosion of privacy. Those in the so-called silent majority should have been up in arms. The changes had come so gradually that people failed to recognize what they were losing. When I get a little more flush in the pockets, I might send in a donation supporting the cause. I like to root for the underdog.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

N. M. Cedeño writes mystery short stories and novels that vary from traditional to romantic suspense, and from paranormal to science fiction. She is the author of the Bad Vibes Removal Services paranormal mystery series. Ms. Cedeño is active in Sisters in Crime: Heart of Texas Chapter and the Short Mystery Fiction Society. For more information, please visit nmcedeno.com. “A Reasonable Expectation of Privacy,” first published in the June 2012 Analog, placed third in the 2013 Analog Reader’s Poll.