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“Kimmy, do you remember what you were up to on this night?” I showed her the calendar on my phone, the date pulled up. Sometimes, I found a visual cue helped jog memories better than just words.
She looked at me suspiciously before leaning in, checking the date. She sat back and rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this bullshit.”
“Huh?”
“Just get out.”
She stood and pointed toward the door, determination set in her sharp hazel eyes. I expected something like this happening, but I’d hoped for any sliver of information before it did. The fuse on this bomb had been too short.
“Is there something about the day that upsets you?” I chased these questions like a wolf bolting after its prey. So long as I was still in her apartment, I had a shot at getting the answers I needed. The second she closed that door, it would be over. I’d have to find other ways of cracking this case, and that wasn’t ideal. This stalker seemed to be getting more and more unhinged, making this interview all the more crucial.
“I’m not going to be interrogated like some fucking criminal on Law & Order. If you want to talk to me again, you can talk to my lawyer. I’ll email you her name.”
Fuck, fuck, this was exactly the opposite of what I needed to happen. Once a lawyer was involved, things became infinitely more difficult for me. She was walking me to the door, a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Kimmy, you’ve got to see how this is making you seem. Someone who would want to help wouldn’t react like this.”
“Yeah, but someone who doesn’t want to get falsely incriminated would.” I could almost see the muscles in her forearms tensing for a slap. She rolled up her sleeves further, staring me down. If I thought I was the wolf, then she must’ve been the lion.
I stood directly on the threshold of her door and shot my last shot. “I just need to know what you were doing that night. If it’s something that’s verifiable, then we can clear this entire thing up and move on. What were you doing? Please.”
Humanity and humility sometimes worked more effectively than using a hard stick. If she could see how badly I needed this, then maybe she’d open up—that was the hope, at least. Nothing in her expression said my hope was warranted.
She shook her head and held her lips tight. “You’ll get my email before the end of the day.” Kimmy grabbed the door and shut it directly in my face, the lock clicking and my chances at solving this today dwindling down to near zero.
Fuck!
The word almost came out in a shout, aimed directly at the sky. I swallowed it instead, along with my intense disappointment. This had been as close as I’d been to solving Elijah’s case, and I’d fucked it all up. I got back in my car, gripped the steering wheel, and that’s when I let out the “Fuck!” A slam of my fist on the wheel accompanied the curse. The stakes were too high for me to make any kind of mistake, and getting Kimmy upset was a mistake. I should have kept her talking longer, lowered her guard, been more circular with my questions.
“Fuck,” I said, this time in a more muted tone, my breath coming out in a huff that rolled through my throat.
Still, I might not have gotten an answer to her whereabouts that night, but at least I got an admission on the lipstick and someone else to follow up with. Jen could have more information. I didn’t see her being the stalker, and she had never made it onto my suspect list, but if Kimmy wasn’t lying, then she did have the lipstick, and that was something we had to talk about.
As I pulled out my phone to call the bar, it began to ring.
“Hey, Eli—Elijah? What’s wrong?”
The crying on the other line immediately tipped me off and got my adrenaline spiking.
“Can you—can you come to—grocery store.” He tried squeezing his words past the tears that I knew he was holding back. The soft whimperings tore my heart straight through, as if a chainsaw had been taken to it.
“I’ll be right there.”
I pulled out of my parking spot like Speed Racer, exhaust bursting behind me and all my focus directly ahead of me.
“Oh, baby. Come.” I opened my arms, and Elijah fell right into them, his head burrowing in my chest and tears making his body shake against mine. I rubbed his back as we stood inside of the grocery store, all the customers replaced by officers combing through the aisles. Yellow crime scene tape had been wrapped around the fresh produce stands, which was where the message for Elijah had been left.
A pig’s head, still bleeding, left on the floor of the store, wearing one of Elijah’s wigs. A wig he’d had in his home hours before. The pig had lipstick on—same shade of red as the one I had shown Kimmy. Next to the pig was a Barbie doll, wearing a silver crown and a yellow dress, stained with pig’s blood. The doll held a note that read, “Elijah, honey, not seeing you onstage is driving me crazy. I feel like everyone trying to take your place is just a pig in a wig. You’re the true queen. I just want to lock you up in my basement and have you perform every day, all day. Wouldn’t that be cute? Maybe we can make it work. Xoxo, DollWorshipper.”
