By
Michael Coville
Copyright ©2009, Michael Coville
My girlfriend and I were having an early lunch because we intended to do some house-hunting that afternoon when we heard an unexpected knock on the front door. Darlene left the table to answer it. In a moment she called out from the hall, ‘Tim, it’s for you. Detective Lime.’
I put my fork and knife down and stood up. I went out to the hall to greet the man. He was tall and narrow, with a long sour face, and eyes like a miserable dog. I’d always thought he looked more like an undertaker than a police detective, but since he was one of the top homicide men in the department, I supposed he wasn’t that far removed. Death was still his trade.
‘Mr. Stevens, I’m sorry to bother you without calling first, but it’s about your wife.’
I exchanged a quick look with Darlene. ‘My wife?’ I blurted the words.
My wife was a murderess; sentenced to life, the first 25 years without parole. ‘Oh please don’t tell me she’s-‘, I couldn’t finish the question aloud. The last time I saw her she’d been distraught. I had been worried ever since she might hurt herself. She still claimed to be innocent. And she hadn’t been happy when I told her about Darlene and our plans.
The detective caught my inference and began shaking his head. ‘No, sir, she’s fine, that’s not why I’m here. It’s about the case against her.’
‘Excuse me?’
Darlene said, ‘Tim, why don’t you invite the detective in so we can talk about it like civilized people?’
Moments later we were seated in the living room. Darlene and I shared the couch, close together, while the detective sat alone in the arm chair across from us. Darlene’s cat investigated his legs, sniffing at his shiny black shoes. The detective didn’t seem to notice it. His mournful eyes were on me.
‘There’s been a bit of a surprise in your wife’s case, sir. Two days ago a man confessed to murdering Jack Bradshaw. He’d been arrested on a different charge, and under questioning about that, he broke down and confessed to committing several crimes, many of which he was suspected of doing, but in the case of Jack Bradshaw, we had no idea, of course, that he was even involved. He has intimate knowledge of the crime scene, and knew details that were never revealed to the public. They even polygraphed him. It’s not admissible in court, of course, but the test says he’s telling us the truth. It’s now our belief that he did commit the crime. It appears we may have been completely mistaken about your wife.’
The shock of it made me numb. Darlene’s hands gripped my upper arm and she moved closer to me.
‘Er- who is this man?’ I asked finally.
The detective had been waiting for it. ‘Randy Atkins.’ He took out a small digital recorder and carefully set it on the coffee table between us. ‘Would you mind if I recorded this for my records? I just have a few questions to ask.’
‘Questions?’
He explained; ‘The difficulty with confessions of this type is that your wife’s case was highly publicized. It’s not often a young woman like her gets charged with murder, so…well, I’m sure you remember all the media attention the trial got. It’s not uncommon for people to confess to murders they didn’t commit, especially when they’ve read about the trials in the papers or watched them on TV. Sometimes the more determined types will even contact friends or family members and even the police officers who worked on the case to try to gather more information about the crimes to make their confessions more believable. These types tend to be fans of police procedure shows on TV and avid readers of mystery and true-crime novels, so they’re well aware that we deliberately withhold certain elements of any homicide from the media for this very reason. Now, I have to say, Mr. Atkins is a repeat offender, and a violent one, so we believe he is quite capable of the crime, but whenever someone confesses to a homicide for which we’ve already convicted another person, we have to investigate further to see if we can verify the confession, and of course to find out what we missed the first time around, if anything. ‘
He stopped to take a breath and to let that information settle. ‘So I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions? The sooner we tie this up the better. There are some anxious people in the prosecutor’s office who want some quick answers.’ He shrugged apologetically.
‘Certainly.’ I said in a voice that did not sound like my own. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Do you know Mr. Atkins, by any chance?’
‘Know him? No. Why would I?’
‘Just checking. So as far as you know, you’ve never met him? Oh, I’m sorry.’ He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and took out a buff envelope that had been folded in half. He unfolded it and fished a piece of paper out of it. He handed it to me. It was an arrest report, complete with mug shots, front and side, of a scowling man with receding hair, dark and combed straight back, with thick eyebrows and a wide, flat nose. His full name appeared below it- Randolph Charles Atkins- but the rest of the information had been blacked out with marker.
‘Do you happen to recognize this man?’ The detective asked me. ‘Take your time.’
‘No.’ I handed the sheet back to him. The detective frowned and took it from me.
‘Are you certain about that?’
‘Yes.’
Lime put the paper down on the coffee table on top of the envelope. He reached into a side pocket of his dark jacket and pulled out a notebook and slowly flipped through the pages, looking for something in it. Darlene’s grip on my arm tightened and we exchanged a look. She was clearly upset. I tried to reassure her by patting her hands.
‘Yes. Sorry, but, on or about June the 12th of 2006, did you happen to buy a used Chevrolet Impala from Glenwood Auto Sales?’ The detective looked up from his notes with raised eyebrows.
‘Er- yes, I suppose it was around then. Why?’
‘Do you remember the man who sold it to you?’
‘Not really, no.’
The detective reached out and tapped the sheet with Randy Atkins’ photo on it. ‘He was a salesman at the lot at the time you bought the car. We checked their employee records. He was let go a short while afterwards when they discovered that he’d lied about his criminal record. His parole officer had found out he was working there and called to have a chat with the manager…in any case, Mr. Atkins claims he sold you that car.’
I blinked at the detective several times. ‘Oh. Well, I just didn’t remember him. Maybe he looked different then.’
‘Perhaps. So now do you remember him?’
‘Only vaguely. We did a search for cars on the internet and found that one and called them up and spoke to the man on the phone to see if it was still available. Then we went down and bought it but we didn’t spend a lot of time with the salesman. I honestly can’t remember much about him.’
‘Very well. So do you remember having drinks with him at the Pig and Rooster Pub on or about June the 30th? That would have been a Saturday night.’
I felt Darlene shifting next to me, her hands clammy on my sleeve. ‘Er…no, I don’t, detective. That was a long time ago. Is he saying we had drinks together?’
‘Yes. He claims the meeting was purely accidental. You were already in the pub when he went in and saw you there and recognized you. He stopped to ask how you liked the car and you offered to buy him a drink, so he sat with you and the two of you talked. For about an hour or so.’
I pulled Darlene’s hands off my sleeve and stood up. I walked over to the lamp in the corner of the room and turned to look at the detective. ‘What’s he claiming we talked about?’
Lime’ eyebrows went up. ‘I was hoping you could tell me that.’
Darlene stood up. ‘Should I get coffee?’
‘None for me.’ The detective said.
‘Sure.’ I nodded at her. I put my hands in my pockets. ‘Look, detective. I don’t feel like playing games here. Is this man saying I had something to do with the murder?’
‘We’re just trying to verify the story he gave us, sir. To see if his confession is in fact true. We’re checking all the particulars of what he’s told us. We’re interviewing a dozen people.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question. Is he saying I put him up to the murder?’
The detective looked at his notes. He licked a finger and flipped a page. ‘Now, I know you were asked about this at the time, and I know you said you had no idea, but were you aware that your wife was having an affair with Mr. Bradshaw previous to his death?’
‘Of course I had no idea. Why are you asking me that?’
‘Mr. Atkins claims you knew. He said that’s what the two of you spoke about at the pub that night. You’d discovered the affair and were quite upset about it. I suppose any husband would be. He claims you knew about it and told him about it.’
‘He’s a liar.’
The detective licked a finger and flicked another page over in his notebook. Darlene came from the kitchen and held a cup of coffee out to me. I looked at her and said, ‘I don’t want it.’
‘So then it isn’t true that you had a client cancel his meeting with you on the afternoon of June 28th- that would be a Thursday- and for that reason you came home much earlier than expected. Only to find Mr. Bradshaw’s car in your driveway.’ He looked up at me expectantly.
‘This is all nonsense. I had no idea that Kelly was sleeping with Jack. None.’
‘So you contend that you didn’t come home early that day?’
‘I can’t remember what I did on Thursday June 28th three years ago, detective. I’d have to refer to my calendar from then to be sure.’ I added; ‘But I know I did not come home and find Jack’s car in my driveway. That never happened.’
‘Then you also did not find Mr. Bradshaw and your wife on the couch having sex?’
‘No! Do you think I would have tolerated such a thing if I’d actually seen them doing it? What kind of an idiot are you? This Atkins is making up stories. That never happened. You would have known about it if it did. Didn’t you investigate me at the time? Didn’t you check my story out? I know you had to suspect me then. You would have had to.’
The detective stared at me for a moment while Darlene stood there with a hand to her mouth. Finally Lime said, ‘Sir, there isn’t any reason to shout. Why don’t you have a seat?’
‘I don’t feel like sitting. Do I need to call my lawyer?’
Lime shrugged. ‘If you would like to have him present, that’s your right, sir.’
I looked at Darlene. ‘Call Doug Reynolds. Tell him to get over here. No- wait. Don’t. I suppose if I do that you’ll just presume I must be guilty of something? Is that how it will look?’ I asked the detective.
Lime shrugged again. ‘Some people prefer to have a lawyer present whenever we question them, and some don’t, sir. I don’t presume anything.’
‘How many more questions do you have for me?’
‘Just a couple, sir.’
‘Alright, go ahead and ask them. But if I decide I want Doug in the room-‘
‘That’s your right, sir. We can always end the interview now and reschedule it so that your legal representative can be present. We can have it in my office if you’d prefer. I was hoping to keep it informal, though.’
I took a moment to consider my options. I said, ‘No, go ahead. Let’s get it over with. Darlene and I have things to do this afternoon.’
The detective referred to his notes again. ‘On our about July the 8th, did you happen to call Mr. Atkins at his home and ask him to meet with you again at ten pm in the parking lot behind your office building?’
‘No. Could you just tell me what story he told you so that I can deny it? Clearly he’s spinning some tale about me being involved in this and none of it is true.’
‘So you deny that you called him?’
‘Yes, I deny it.’
‘Then you also deny meeting with him that night and asking him if he would kill Mr. Bradshaw for you?’
‘Jesus Christ. I knew you were going to say that. Of course I never asked him to kill Bradshaw for me. I thought Jack Bradshaw was my friend. I did not know he was screwing my wife.’
‘So then it follows that you did not offer to pay Mr. Atkins five thousand dollars to kill Mr. Bradshaw and make it look as if your wife did it. Money you then failed to pay him, knowing he couldn’t exactly go to the police and tell them what he’d done?’
I laughed. ‘Oh my God, detective. You said these guys like to read a lot of mystery novels, didn’t you? Clearly he pulled that story out of some third-rate pot-boiler.’
The detective closed the notebook and picked up the digital recorder and returned it to his pocket. Then he stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, sir. Sorry to have disturbed your day with this matter.’
I watched him walk towards the door. ‘That’s it?’ I asked.
He paused with his hand reaching for the door knob. ‘Sorry, just one more thing. You said you keep a calendar of your business appointments?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Could you please find out for us where you were that Thursday afternoon Mr. Atkins claims you came home early and discovered your wife was having an affair? We’d like to speak to whoever it was to verify that you were at work at the time.’
I stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Oh, very. You see, I spoke to your wife about this and she remembers having sex on the couch in your living room that Thursday afternoon, so it seems Mr. Atkins wasn’t just making that part of the story up, after all.’ He looked at me, waiting for my reaction.
‘It must have come up in the trial. You said these types can find out information like that.’
‘Yes, we’re reviewing the trial transcripts and media reports to see if he could have done that.’ He turned the knob and pulled the door open part way and then stopped to ask, ‘Um, you wouldn’t happen to know a man by the name of Victor Jenkins, by the way?’
‘Victor who?’
‘Jenkins. He’s a bartender at the Pig and Rooster.’
‘A bartender.’
‘Yes. I spoke to him before coming over here. He remembers you speaking to Mr. Atkins at the pub on the night in question. I showed him both your photographs. He even remembers the same story Mr. Atkins told us about you finding your wife on the couch with Mr. Bradshaw. He said he remembered thinking how awful it must have been for an unsuspecting husband to walk in on something like that. He said what really made him remember the story, though, was how you claimed to have slipped back out without disturbing them, when anyone else would have blown up at them in a rage. He remembers the story because of how odd it seemed to him that any man would do such a thing. He thought you must have been quite the coward.’
The detective closed the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out his digital recorder and looked at it. ‘I keep forgetting to turn this off. Mr. Jenkins also remembers the conversation because Mr. Atkins replied to you that had he found his wife and a lover together like that, he would have killed them both and made it look like a murder-suicide.’ He turned towards me. Darlene made a moaning sound from where she stood. I thought she might faint but I couldn’t move.
Lime continued, ‘Mr. Jenkins never realized that the woman in the news being charged with Bradshaw’s murder a few weeks later was your wife, because he never knew your last name. He would have told us at the time about what he’d heard you and Mr. Atkins discuss that night, if he’d put the two things together. He’s quite apologetic about it now.’ The detective looked up at me, still holding the recorder. ‘Do you still deny having that conversation with Mr. Atkins, sir?’
The End
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