Miller Avenue Murder: An addictive police procedural legal psychological thriller Page 9

  “I hope that’s fine with you Mr. Campbell?”

  “As long as I don’t have to wait in line like I did this morning?” She barked a laugh. It was a nervous impulse.

  “Not at all, I have you squeezed in, so just walk up to my office and we will get started,”

  He rolled his shoulders. “And how much is this going to cost me? This session and the one for next week.”

  “It’s on me.”

  He’d pinned her down with a skeptical look in those blue-green eyes.

  “Business must be great considering you can give away free sessions,”

  Business was tough, she barely had any time for herself… not that it was any of his concern. “Business is fine.”

  He’d been on his way not too long after that.

  She’d lingered taking her time to pack up and organize her workspace. She wasn’t looking forward to the coming day. She would have to tolerate the alcoholics that had booked her a week ahead. Not that she didn’t like her patients… she didn’t hate them, their attitudes, she could live without.

  Nichole who was her 9:00 A.M. for the following morning had been dependent on the bitter-sweet pleasure of a drink for seven-years. Admitted into a rehabilitation Center on 3rd Street, the woman was placed on anti-psychotics for three years. She endured episodes resulting from the unwarranted drug use and the psychiatrists at the center had refused to offer her a listening ear and that’s where Lisa Patterson came into the mix.

  Having walked down a similar path, Lisa found it encouraging to not only share her story of missing her own wedding after checking herself into an asylum at twenty-five and tolerating day after day of unjustified medications and the trauma it trudged with it.

  With her black Calvin Klein bag stuffed, Lisa shut off her lights and sauntered out the door. At twenty-five, she liked to think her biggest mistake would have been imprisoning herself in a marriage with a man she didn’t love.

  She jogged down the stairs. Five-years later and she couldn’t rid her mind of the sleepless nights, the crippling anxiety, the fear that one day she wouldn’t wake up, she would have lost the battle against the shackles of the medication she was given.

  Out the door she approached the rear parking where she’d stashed away her grey Hyundai Elantra Eco. The lot was empty of every other car. That would explain how Julie had found her way to the car and had leaned against the trunk, her phone in hand. At the beep from Lisa’s keys, the lights of the car winked, and the doors unlocked. Julie let herself into the passenger seat even before Lisa could make it all the way.

  She couldn’t just stop the medications… that was the tricky part about anti-psychotics. They had a timeline. They couldn’t be stopped unless they’d reached the six-month mark. In her case, the year and half mark. And stopping it, pouring her time into a psychology degree, she’d battled with guilt… she had brought it on herself… shame, she wouldn’t have turned herself in if she weren’t having an affair with her college roommate, Madeline.

  The night sky was sugar on black marble. And beneath it, Lisa Patterson was in her own head reminiscing a woman that ought not be dug from the recess of her memories. Though she couldn’t help the smile that ghosted across her lips. Madeline had showed her that what she was doing with William Marshal, getting married wasn’t what she wanted. She was using it as a cover. It was the ageless tale of a gripping petrification of her sexuality. In a town as small as Tillamook she didn’t need people carrying it around that she was gay… bi- or at the time, confused. To her, that was a big decision and she feared coming out and regretting it, going back on it and living with the humiliation of coming out in the first place.

  She pulled the driver door open and settled in, her bag flung to the back seat.

  “You look happy,” Julie acknowledged. She’d already buckled in.

  Was she happy? Thinking about Madeline had left her feeling lighter despite her day. It was quite unfortunate things hadn’t worked out.

  “Do I?” She reached for her seatbelt drawing it until she heard the click.

  What could have really happened to that man’s mother? The thought was fleeting. News articles argued over a crime of passion—Stuart Middleton’s perspective—and a premeditated killer. What side was she on?

  One session wasn’t going to answer that question for her. Further research once she’d separated from Julie might bring her closer to the answer she sought, but even still, she doubted it would be enough.

  “I saw that guy from earlier leaving, were you with him all this time? Is that why you were held up?” Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She clicked the car awake and listened to its soft hum as it stirred.

  “You can’t tell the board Julie. His case is technically off record.”

  “Look who’s breaking the rules now, goody-two-shoes-Lisa Patterson,” Julie teased. “I’m proud, I guess I’m finally rubbing off on you,” Lisa resisted the urge to shake her head and rather pulled out of her spot, out of the lot and into traffic towards 3508 on 8th Street.

  “How did he react to being off record?” Julie wanted to know.

  Lisa had nibbled on her bottom lip and kept her attention on switching lanes at 5th Street towards 6th by Sacred Heart Church. Night drives after a long-fatigued day at the Wellness Center were her least favorite. She couldn’t particularly claim to work far enough from home to complain. The commute was reasonable. Her workhours even without the special guest she’d had, was anything but. And the pay, it was decent, a quarter of which went into her upkeep. With another quarter going into rent that she independently shouldered, and whatever she had left going into savings, it was barely enough. She didn’t like it, but for many years she’d been pocketing little bills that came her way from her clients. It was one of many secrets she’d had locked away.

  “Don’t tell me he doesn’t know?” She didn’t know what to tell her neighbor.

  “I implied it!” She rose to her own defense. However, taking into consideration the kind of man Paul was, she doubted he had listened. She was growing tired of listening to her neighbor on this conversation. She knew how much trouble she could be in if he were to uncover that he was having sessions off record. Best case scenario she would lose her practicing license. Worst case she could be looking at compensating him from funds she doesn’t have and or serving time.

  “Well, I could talk to my sister, you remember her? Regan, she’s been busy with work lately, but she can draw you up a contract to keep you from facing legal charges and to keep him from running to the board!”

  Lisa Patterson’s eyes flashed with confusion. “Wouldn’t she run to the board herself and tell them what I’m doing?”

  “Aren’t you listening, she’s busy with work and what does she have to gain if you go to jail or not? This is just a way of protecting yourself. And besides, she did the same for me when I got the job…” Julie had rambled on and on about how her sister could draw up indestructible contracts, but Lisa couldn’t concentrate. She’d been unable to draw her mind from the possibility that Mr. Campbell could have killed his mother.

  ◆◆◆

  He’d barely met anyone at the Sherriff’s department when he’d bolted through the translucent doors. He’d been addressed by a Gertrude Green who from the looks of things had been packing up as well. Many of the halls beyond the reception were rendered dark, barely any noise approaching.

  “I know I’m late,” He leaned against the marble desk pausing to catch his breath. “but I was wondering if the county morgue would still be in operation?” He had made the trip to the morgue adjacent to the main building. The opaque doors had been locked. And he’d banged and banged and rapped against it for dear life, almost expecting his mother to open up and bear and ear to his half-thought-out apology. She was stubborn, he’d told himself as he’d leaned against the no doubt filth painted glass, one tear after another rolling down his cheek. He huffed at the idea of crying as he pressed his back to the door and lowered himself to the gro
und. A man that on sight rained fear on many, a glare from him, sent a chill down the spine of onlookers was helpless and in tears at the door of the county morgue.

  He hadn’t cared who’d listened in.

  He hadn’t cared if this wasn’t normal behavior.

  He’d felt a release, a tingle in every part of him that brought a macabre grin onto his lips and he’d continued, speaking to his mother beyond the glass doors as if she would answer.

  “I’d liked to say I should have been there. Since it happened, that’s all I could think about. Being there to protect you like I promised I would.”

  Silence. It was in shambles when he released a dry laugh, one that soon turned to a cough.

  “I would have beaten the hell out of whoever did this. I would have killed him.”

  He returned to the scene, a faceless man chasing his mother up the grand stairway that was almost an accent to the foyer. Her old lean legs burning as they pushed her further and further away from her assailant, until they couldn’t. Not anymore and they’d given way on the mattress of the master bedroom. The presumably dust covered unused sheets.

  “I would have killed him.” He whispered.

  Silence.

  “And I would have run, like he did.” He’d squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

  “I… I wouldn’t have been able to do anything,” He resolved hesitantly. “And I hope for your sake, you’re in a better place. And you’ve long forgotten what you had to endure to get there.”

  When she hadn’t for the longest time, he’d picked himself up and darted towards the main building. Towards the front desk.

  He hadn’t been there when it had happened.

  And even after when his wife had requested, he claim his mother’s body, he’d dragged his legs.

  “Looking for Finn?” Gertrude Green asked.

  “Finn?”

  “Yeah, Finn, our medical examiner or coroner but he gets very antsy when people call him that. He’s the one responsible for the bodies. He works with pathologists from Tillamook General Hospital on 4th Street, laboratory experts from Aventist and an autopsy expert from the City Police Department.”

  “Yes, I guess I’m looking for him.” Gertrude Green shook her head of salt hair and continued to shove things into her bag.

  “He clocked out about an hour ago. Said something about heading to a bar, American Angels? My son used to frequent there when they first opened. It was closer to our home than it is here, so I wonder why our M.E. would drive across town for a bar?” Paul couldn’t answer that, but he was more than thankful that the sweet-old-lady couldn’t keep her trap shut.

  He’d thanked her and set off into the street once again.

  He didn’t know how he was going to convince the coroner to let him have his mother’s body, but he was hoping a few beers and a light conversation ought to do the trick.

  ◆◆◆

  Annabelle Dawson had barely been able to contain her excitement turning into work the following morning. Treating herself to a hazelnut latte—her favorite—she’d sauntered through the studio doors, chest puffed in her best pair of Jimmy Choo ankle strapped heels.

  She’d slept like log and risen to the best text in her career yet. Simon Neil had reached out to her. It worked. Her plan to take several steps backwards and peer through the eyes of the dead woman worked. The studio directors had gobbled up the concept and were airing it that morning. Sure, their ratings hadn’t gone through the roof, hadn’t even moved but she had high hopes for her segment.

  It wasn’t breaking news like Lucy Wilkens had, but it was news the people of Tillamook would want to hear.

  The fact that the board had approved the title for the segment was the icing on the cake. Before the Body, on Channel Six. The thought gave a cheeky Annabelle Dawson butterflies in the pit of her stomach. The documentary would be a collection of interviews told through the perspective of the people of Tillamook who’d encountered the victim. Beginning from the days after Blake Campbell’s late husband’s passing to her very own death, Annabelle was determined to paint Blake in a brighter light than the one Lucy Wilkens shun on her.

  “You look happy,” Frank leaned against her cubicle wall. She sat at her metal table and placed her Hermès purse on top of it. She couldn’t contain her smile.

  He took a bite of his scone, crumbs raining onto her floor. Even that didn’t bother her.

  “You haven’t heard?” She could have sworn Simon Neil would have blabbed about the segment already? He was never really one to keep things to himself, if the unemployment rumors were any indication. That day had been carved at the back of her mind. She’d barely made it back from his office when the questions begun to pelt her.

  “They’re airing our documentary on Blake Campbell this morning!” His eyes bulged.

  He coughed. Once, twice… she frowned, that hadn’t been the reaction she’d been expecting.

  His coughs were strained. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a bottle of water. She didn’t know how to do those stomach-compression-things to get people to stop choking. With her heart suspended in place, she leaped from her seat and placed the bottle against his lips forcing him to drink it.

  His coughing subsided, her released a breath.

  “I’m sorry, I tried to cut down on my carbs with a scone and… bottom line, carbs don’t try to kill you, stick with carbs.” He straightened and finished the rest of her water. “Really, Neil liked your pitch?” She nodded. “So, we’re not getting fired?”

  She cringed. She couldn’t say. “… I wouldn’t go that far, but we have a chance to keep our jobs!” She did a little dance in her swiveling chair.

  “Alright!” He tossed the scone and the empty bottle of water in the bin and dusted his hands on his pants. “What do we have to do next boss?”

  “We need more interviews and I have a pretty good idea who we should get in contact with,” She reached for the phone on her desk.

  The woman answered on the third ring. “Campbell’s Antiques, Katherine speaking?” Annabelle’s eyes glistened.

  Katherine Tapper was the current storekeeper for Campbell’s Antiques. Having been employed as an intern at nineteen at the time Blake Campbell owned and controlled the business, she was the ideal person Annabelle needed to speak with for her next interview.

  “Good morning, Miss. Tapper, I’m Annabelle Dawson, a reporter for Channel Six News, and we’re interested in featuring you in our latest documentary,” Frank leaned against Annabelle’s cheek, hoping to catch even just a fraction of what the woman on the other end of the line had to say. “If you’re available, my team would like to speak to you about the deceased Blake Campbell?”

  Annabelle fell silent for the longest time and straightening, Frank nibbled on his nails, trying not to read into his friend’s creased eyebrows.

  Annabelle returned the receiver to its rightful place and her smile returned. “Get Amanda in on this, we, are going to Campbell’s Antiques!”

  She had another interview! She couldn’t wait to see the look on Simon Neil’s face when she slammed the pitch for the next episode of Before the Body on his table.

  Despite what she’d anticipated, the store on 6th by Ivy Avenue, wasn’t a deserted crumbling mess… However, Amanda had her own opinion on the place.

  “I can’t believe I let you drag me to another substandard place. I mean Blake Campbell lived in this town; I’m sure we could have spoken to someone at Safeway and still gotten the same result.” Amanda didn’t bother to bottle up her disdain. She’d scrunched up her face as she walked across the parking lot. “At least there I could have picked up some groceries for my kids.” She pushed through the clear glass doors.

  Katherine hadn’t been behind the swollen front desk.

  Frank who’d logged a suitcase full of foldable equipment begun to set up by the windows where the lighting would suit their shots.

  Amanda had vanished through the racks of collectables.

  �
��Miss. Tapper?” Annabelle called out, taking tentative steps into the store. This was Blake Campbell’s store.

  It was sickening what had happened to the poor woman. In her own home. The details were horrendous. Chased up the stairs, and killed in the same room her husband’s body had been uncovered.

  Chase had to do something about it, he had to catch whoever had done this, he had to make sure the sick bastard paid for it for the rest of his life.

  She couldn’t imagine if something like that had happened to their mother… A chill ran down her spine.

  “You must be, Annabelle Dawson.” A woman in a bright green sundress strode through a white door marked staff-only.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss. Tapper. As we discussed on the phone, we would like to speak to you about your deceased colleague—”

  “Boss.” Annabelle nodded with a tight smile.

  “Boss, Blake Campbell.”

  “Sure!” Annabelle guided her to the chairs Frank had arranged by the windows. Amanda was already seated, a small mirror in her palm. “Blake was a wonderful woman and I can’t believe someone would do that to her.”

  “Beautiful, but let’s save it for when the cameras are rolling,” Amanda snapped the mirror shut and shoved it into her bag.

  “And who are you?” Katherine tilted her head.

  “I’m Amanda Hampton, News Anchor for Channel Six,” She smacked her lips and stared at the camera waiting for her que.

  Annabelle bit down on her lower lip, but occupied the chair Frank had set out for her next to Amanda. The chairs were positioned in such a way both the News Anchor and Reporter were facing Katherine Tapper.

  “Ready when you are,” Frank called. Running her fingers through her air once more, Amanda gave him the cue and threw her first question to Katherine Tapper.