Chapter Three - The killer
742 Words
Detective Marlene Cross stands in the doorway of the Westbrook Police Department's interview room, a manila folder in her hands. Her face is the color of oatmeal,neutral, professional, but her eyes betray something softer. Empathy. The kind that comes from seeing too many families shattered.
Alexa sat at the metal table. She hadn’t moved in forty-seven minutes. Not since they brought her here from the morgue, still wearing the same clothes she'd worn for fourteen hours of travel. Her duffel bag sits on the floor beside her chair, unzipped, Alice's sweatshirt visible at the top.
"She has visible marks on her wrists," Detective Cross says, stepping into the room. She closes the door behind her, a gesture of privacy that feels almost kind. "Which means she did try to struggle. Your sister was murdered."
The words land like stones dropped into still water.
Alexa stands frozen in her chair, her face emotionless. The only thing she can grasp from what Marlene said is that her sister was murdered, which is something she already knew, deep in her bones, from the moment she heard drowning and accident in the same sentence. But having it confirmed is different.
It's a door slamming shut.
It's the end of hope.
Alexa's hands rest on the table. She looked at them as if they belonged to someone else. Her nails are bitten to the quick. Her knuckles were white.
"How?" she asks. Her voice didn't c***k, neither did It rise. It's flat, like a stone skipping across ice.
Detective Cross sits down across from her. She opens the folder. Inside are photographs. Alexa can see the edge of one, purple and swollen, the curve of a wrist.
"The ME found ligature marks consistent with someone gripping her tightly. Both arms. The bruising pattern suggests she was held from behind, pulled underwater, and kept there until she stopped breathing." Detective Cross pauses.
"There was also water in her lungs, but not enough to suggest drowning as the primary cause of death. She was already unconscious when she went under."
Alexa's stomach turns.
"She was strangled first?"
"No. Suffocated. A plastic bag was used. Then she was placed in the water to make it look like an accident." The detective's voice drops. "Someone wanted her dead. And they wanted it to look like she'd just had too much to drink and fallen in."
The room tilts. Alexa grips the edge of the table.
"Who?" she whispers.
"We don't know yet. But we’re taking this case as a homicide investigation. We also found her phone near the lake, we tried to look for clues and question some people we believed were her friends but…"
“But what?”
“We couldn’t find anything useful.” She handed the phone to Alexa and stared into her eyes.“Once again, I’m so sorry about what happened to your sister.” Detective Cross added.
"Sorry doesn't bring her back."
"No. It doesn't." The detective closes the folder. "But we have a chance to find out who did this.” She held Alexa’s hand. "You knew her better than anyone. Who no would want to hurt her? Did she have enemies? Was she seeing someone she shouldn't have been? Did she mention any conflicts with professors, classmates, anyone?"
Alexa thinks about the phone call. The one three days before Alice died. She thinks about the way Alice's voice had trembled. The way she'd whispered "I'll explain when I see you."
But she doesn't tell Detective Cross any of this. She couldn’t trust anyone.
"No," Alexa says. "She didn't mention anyone or anything "
Detective Cross studies her face and sighs heavily.
“Thank you for your time Miss Lean, my men will escort you to the motel.”
“I don’t need them following me.” She stands up, picks up her duffel bag, slings it over her shoulder, and turns around to leave. As Alexa reaches the door, Detective Cross speaks again.
"Alexa. If you find something, if you remember something, call me. Not the station. Me directly." She slides a card across the table. "I owe your sister that much."
Alexa takes the card. Slides it into her pocket without looking at it.
Then she walks out of the police station and into the cold night air.
The campus looms in the distance, its clock tower lit up like a beacon.
Somewhere out there, a killer is breathing the same air.
- Writer
