The Biker's Doctor

Chapter Nine

The only people present in the Police Station at this late hour were four officers discussing a recent loss by the Oakland A's Baseball team next to a coffee machine. The fact that the A’s were not going to make it to the World Series sounded tragic. But the San Francisco Giants were still in the running, and that seemed to lift their spirits as they started naming several players whose names I recognised. There was not a sound apart from their chatter and a clock ticking. It seemed like the place had been abandoned during the day, leaving a skeleton crew for the night shift.

Alicia guided me past them, down a corridor lined with office doors, until finally stopping at one with a silver title reading 'Interrogation Room 3'. She opened the door for me to enter first. It was a reasonably spacious room with an advanced-looking video camera mounted on the wall and a one-way mirror. It felt sterile and quiet. Two metal chairs were tucked neatly into a rectangular metal-framed table. The room had no pictures, no windows, no ornaments at all, just the camera and the same style of clock I had seen in the other room with the officers.

The space felt as though it had been taken directly out of a crime movie. I didn't expect these rooms to be so exactly represented by Hollywood.

"Just wait here a moment, my dear. The Detective will be right with you.” Alicia said as I looked around my newfound space uncomfortably, “I can tell that you are rather distressed. Can I get you a glass of water?" She kindly offered.

The gentleness and patience in her voice were reassuring. It reconfirmed for me that I had come to the right place and that I was safe. I had made the right decision to leave my apartment and come here. Staying was not worth the risk at all.

"Yes, please." I responded thankfully.

A glass of water would definitely be nice to drink. I think I would rather have a shot of hard liquor. But water would have to do.

Alicia left the door open. If she locked me in, I would have a feeling like being trapped. I don't know why. I knew I was at a police station and that I was perfectly free from danger. It was an instinct, triggered by what I had just seen. I am glad the door is not closed behind her right now.

I pulled one of the chairs out and sat opposite the open door, waiting for her to return. Before long, a man in a blue and white checked shirt, with a cheap-looking tie, a black belt, and grey pants, came into the room. He appeared worn out and tired. It should be about 1.30 in the morning. He is undoubtedly fatigued two-thirds of the way through an overnight shift. He sat opposite me with a yellow A4 notepad in his hand, clicking a pen, ready to start writing. I saw a few scribbled words at the top of the page. My name and address were the details I provided to the female officer, Alicia, so I assumed he was checking up on who I was.

"Hello, my name is Donald Jones, and I am a detective for the Menlo Park Police Department, and for the greater area of San Francisco Bay. I am the detective on duty tonight. Alicia has informed me that you believe you have witnessed a crime?" he said as Alicia returned with a large plastic glass of water. "Can we begin with your name?"

"Avery Levi. And yes, at my apartment, near the University of Stanford." I said, letting him know that this crime had been committed within a five-minute drive from where we now sat discussing it.

He reviewed and confirmed the details that Alicia had already provided. I took a welcome gulp of refreshingly cold water. I don’t think I've ever enjoyed a glass of water as much as I am right now, thankful for it cooling my insides.

"We have a patrol car and ambulance on the way to your apartment. Why don't you tell me what happened tonight, Miss Levi?" Detective Jones said, leaning back in his chair, waiting for me to begin a story.

I took a breath, collected my thoughts, and began to tell you what had happened that led me to sit here now, in front of a Detective I was about to give a formal legal statement to.

"I got back to my apartment just after a night class at the University of Sanford."

"You are a student there?"

"Yes, I am a medical student."

Donald Jones nodded for me to continue. Unlike Alicia, I had a sense of judgment about the way this Detective seemed uninterested in what I was saying. Detective Jones seemed bored, and that brought back a feeling of not being completely secure. He almost had me feeling like I was wasting his time. How could that be the case? Should he not be taking this seriously, as Alicia was? I wish Alicia were interviewing me. At least she seemed genuinely concerned.

"My neighbour Brian let a man into his apartment at the same time that I was getting home. I opened the door to my balcony to let some fresh air in. I was not trying to eavesdrop or anything, but I heard a fight and something shatter. It was pretty clear that their argument had turned physical. I tried calling Brian on his mobile to break up whatever was going on between them. He did not answer his phone. Someone else did. I hung up on them once I knew he could hear me, as I was just right outside on the balcony. I heard a bang. I didn't know what the sound was at first, but it was loud.”

I swallowed, knowing that the last little bit of information was nearly a lie. I knew exactly what the sound was because, unfortunately, it was not the first time I had heard a gunshot. I, however, did not want the police to know that it was not the first time I had heard such a deafening noise. What does that fact from my past mean right now? It was irrelevant.

“It was then that I saw the same man that Brian let in fixed over him with a gun in his hand.” I continued, “He had shot Brian. I could not tell if he was moving or not. My phone rang —it was Brian's number. The man must have hit call back. I think he heard my phone ring when he called, because I then heard him move out of the apartment and come to my door. I took off down the back stairs, which is through a back garden, got in my car and drove straight here." I blurted out the events, and it felt like I was rambling on with an incoherent structure.

The story was so short, but it felt like an eternity to me. It was only minutes after I entered my apartment that the fight ensued, and I had left again. While my mind was entirely on Brian, I was also worried about Lucifer, whom I had unwillingly left in the backyard. I am sure that dog is pacing right now, waiting for my return.

Having finished telling Detective Jones what happened, I did not even realise that I had begun to fiddle with the pendant at the end of my necklace. Figures. It was such an unconscious habit when I was nervous or deep in thought.

"Right. So, you heard a fight and a gunshot. Did you hear someone in pain, screaming, or anything similar? Did you hear this, Brian, at all?"

"No." I choked back a tear and distracted myself from breaking down by finishing the rest of the plastic glass of water.

Not hearing any sound from Brian after the gunshot was absolutely not a good sign.

"What is your neighbour's last name, please?"

"Brian Stone." I gave his full name.

"Stone?" Detective Jones suddenly looked up.

It was the first time the detective had shown any interest in this statement I was giving at all. He looked across at Alicia, and her demeanor had changed to one of concern, to complete alarm as she straightened her back up, as she had just been hit with a bucket of ice water. Both of their eyes were fixed on each other, and that left me confused. It was almost as if they both immediately recognised Brian’s full name, Stone. I did not know Brian well at all, but I did not think that he was the kind of person known to the police. I had known a fair few criminals from being around my Dad. And Brian did not at all give off that kind of vibe.

"Wait right here, please. I will be right back." Detective Jones stood up and left with Alicia, quickly following.

Detective Jones did what I feared: shut the door behind him, leaving me locked in ‘Interrogation Room 3’. I did not want to be alone.

I wish my father were here. I wish I could call him to come and support me. Who else did I have besides my aunt? I did not want to call her at the odd morning hours to go to a police station because of her niece. That would cause an already high-strung woman to worry even more about me.

I have to relax. I am at the police station and safe. I tried to reassure myself again and again. Whatever happened tonight, I was soon going to find out. The police were on their way to my place. An ambulance with medical care was on the way.

The minutes were long, as all I could do was stare at a simple, circular glass clock on the wall, which had been going past thirty minutes since I had entered the room. Giving up on watching the time, I turned my focus to the bottom of the now-empty plastic glass of water that Alicia had given me and ran my fingers over the pendant of St. Michael to bide the time.

Finally, the door opened again with Detective Jones stepping through it. I could see, beyond his somewhat obese stomach, men and women in black uniforms were passing back and forth, talking on their phones. The station was far more active since I arrived. Was it because of me and what I had said happened at my apartment? Did they find and arrest the man who had been there?

"Miss Levi." Detective Jones looked down at me. "I am afraid the ambulance took Brian Stone to the hospital, but he has been pronounced deceased upon arrival. I believe we are talking about a murder here."

"What…" I choked out in a whisper, my last bit of strength stripped from me.

Brian… my mind lapsed to the last time I had seen him alive. His hand as he opened the door to a man who was a stranger to me. A man I had not seen at the apartment before. He was not a stranger to Brian, though. He knew him. He called him Johnny. He had let him in at a late hour, far past midnight. I had no idea why. Who had a single person visit at that hour? The time they had been in the room could not have been more than a few minutes before I heard the voices grow loud. Brian was angry. He was cursing. I may not have been able to make out every syllable, but it was intense, and then there was the sound of a crash. They had fought, which culminated in the dire bang of a gunshot. A fatal gunshot.

I don't think I can hold back from throwing up for much longer. The turn of my stomach is matching the spinning of my sudden onslaught of a headache. I want to get up and run to the nearest bathroom, but my limbs are not obeying my desire to run and escape this room that seems to be getting smaller by the second. I think I am on the verge of a panic attack.

This was not an accident. That man, Johnny, was there to kill Brian. I knew it. I knew what the assailant looked like. I knew the kind of car that he drove in the basement. His car was a black Lexus. I even knew his first name - Johnny. There would be a search for him. That is, if they did not already have him. I really hoped the latter was true.

Wait, I swallowed. What about me? The killer had knocked on my door. I was a witness to a murder.