He opened the door and saw two burly police officers standing outside his apartment. The bigger of the two introduced himself as Officer Weston. “Are you Dan Kaplan?”
“Yessir. How can I help you?”
“I need you to come with us. I’m sorry to report there’s been a terrible accident. It involves your girlfriend, Cynthia Fox.”
Dan swayed against the door frame but caught himself. “What kind of accident?”
“We’re heading over to her apartment now. I’ll brief you on the way.”
Dan slid into the back seat of the cruiser. Instead of filling Dan in on the problem like he promised, Weston elected not to speak as they drove across town to Cynthia’s apartment.
Upon arrival, they took the elevator to the third floor. At the end of the hall, Dan could see Cynthia’s door standing open. Inside, several more police officers were busy conducting a search and collecting evidence. Entering the apartment, Dan immediately noticed a denim jacket draped across the beige sofa; he recognized the embroidered collar. The garment dripped blood, staining the carpet.
Across the room, an officer bagged a colorful scarf. It, too, was drenched with blood. What the hell was going on here?
Turning to Weston, Dan demanded, “What’s with the bloody clothes? What’s happened?”
“Do you recognize them?”
“They were birthday presents for my girlfriend. That is, she was my girlfriend until earlier tonight. Please tell me what’s happened,” Dan said, his voice rising.
“Someone called the station requesting a welfare check. They reported sounds of a struggle coming from this apartment. When no one answered, we let ourselves in. I’m sorry to say, but we found her body in the bedroom and the place wrecked. Care to explain?”
“What, me? I can’t explain it. How would I know? I haven’t seen Cynthia since earlier this evening. I’d only been home a few minutes before you showed up.”
“Where were you?”
“The entire office goes to Mick’s Irish Pub for happy hour every Friday night. Cynthia suddenly blurts out to all our friends and colleagues that we’re no longer a couple. Believe me, I didn’t see that one coming; totally unexpected. Needless to say, I was devastated, not to mention humiliated, so I left. I just wanted to be alone.”
“And you didn’t see or speak to Cynthia again after leaving Mick’s?”
“Like I said, I was in and out of several places drowning my sorrow. But, I have no idea what happened here. I swear it.”
“This is going to be a long night. You’d better come with us.”
Dan reflected how one minute you’re enjoying happy hour with the office gang, and the next minute the cops think you’re Jack the Ripper.
Once at the station, the police dropped the bombshell that Dan was being held on suspicion of murder. Weston quickly processed the paperwork and then placed him in a secured interview room.
Dan repeatedly denied any knowledge of Cynthia’s death. He had no idea who would do such a horrible thing. After several hours of grueling, repetitious questioning by Detective Blasik, Dan was allowed his one and only phone call. He called Pete, fellow computer nerd and best friend since their college days.
An hour later, Pete arrived and was shown into the interview room.
Dan started in right away. “Get hold of my attorney as soon as you leave here. He’s got to get me out of this place.”
Pete glanced over his shoulder to ensure he was not overheard. “Relax, buddy. Everything’s on track according to plan. One step at a time.”
“You’re not the one locked up with a three-hundred-pound tattooed gorilla giving you the hairy eyeball. I may not make it through the night!”
“Did they buy your story?” Pete asked.
“I think so, but they’re being cagey. Breaking up with Cynthia on the same night she gets murdered is too much of a coincidence for them.”
“I’ll say. Who knew she’d pull a stunt like that? But you were careful about establishing an alibi, right? People will remember you?”
“They should unless they were more drunk than I was pretending to be. I’m not too worried about an alibi. So, how did it go?”
“Shortly after you left, that little rat, Simon, offered to take her home. I got there ahead of them and watched from the back stairwell. He tried to put the moves on her, but she wasn’t having it.”
“One day soon, I’m going to fix old Simon. What happened next?”
“I waited until Simon got into the elevator before knocking on her door. Cynthia must have thought he’d come back for a second try, because she snatched open the door. She was about to give him hell, but before she could say a word, I knocked her out cold. Then I staged the scene just like you instructed, down to the last detail.”
“Good man. And you’re sure no one saw you going into her building?”
“Not a chance. Back in the stairwell, I used the fire-escape and side-stepped along the ledge to the balcony, so it looked like a burglar got in that way. Her window was already unlocked, but I left it wide open just to make sure.”
“She always forgot to lock that window. Folks at the office can confirm I warned her a thousand times to keep it closed.”
“It was so easy, I’m telling you, it was the perfect plan.”
“You’re a good friend, Pete. I owe you big time for this.”
“Six months from now, you can repay me in kind. And I can’t wait to collect!”
Just then a guard banged on the door and shouted, “Let’s go. Visiting hours are over.”
The two friends stood and clasped hands. Suddenly, Blasik and Weston charged into the interview room. Weston ordered them to sit back down.
Blasik said, “Not so fast, Mr. Kaplan. We’ve got a few things to clear up. Beginning with your admission to conspiring to kill your girlfriend and then having your bud, Pete, do the dirty work. You see, we’ve been listening and got it all on tape.”
“Hey, you can’t do that! Whatever we discussed is privileged information.”
“You’re in jail, Mr. Kaplan,” Blasik sneered. “There’s no expectation of privacy here. Privileged information only applies to you and your attorney. Besides, we found Pete’s fingerprints on the bedroom window. We just needed proof you two had colluded. Nice of you to be so obliging.”
“How did you know we were working together?”
“Oh come now, Mr. Kaplan. We’ve all seen Strangers on a Train. I have to admit, it was a darn good try, but for me, I prefer the classics any day.”
Terry Adcock © 2022 (story word count: 1118)
Author Notes: Any comments or suggestions for improvement are welcomed. Thanks for taking time to read my story.
Recommend Reviews (1) Write a ReviewReport
United States • 71 years old