Closed Door Page 4

  Part Four: The Informant

  I didn’t check what time it was when the detectives went in search of Mary-Kate Pearson, so I couldn’t tell how long we had been standing in the viewing room, waiting for something to happen. We didn’t know what to expect next, but to keep waiting. Dad was walking around in circles, engaging himself in a loud monologue. Mom, on the other hand, was glued to the one-way mirror, her stare fixed steadily on Lexie.

  Lexie was seated in the interrogation room and was agitatedly biting her fingernails. She would stand up, walk around the room twice, sit back on the chair, put her head on the table, draw imaginary circles on it with her index finger, lean back in the chair, bite her fingernails again, and the cycle would restart.

  I stood there and watched all three of them express what they were feeling in different and bizarre ways. My thoughts flashed to Samuel. I wondered if he was still in holding, or if he had been allowed to go. He must have been eager to know what had happened in his absence. Agnes also crossed my mind. I thought of her body still in the morgue, cold and alone.

  I couldn’t wait for the investigation to be over so that we would finally lay her to rest. I felt it was long overdue. If it were left to me, I would have done her funeral the day after I found her in the bathroom, or maybe even on the same day. It had been more than a week, but my folks didn’t want to lay her to rest without first finding out why she was killed.

  While I was still grieving in my thoughts, the door of the viewing room swung open. It was Detective Pruitt. He poked his head through the door and said, “Follow me,” motioning with a slight nod of his head to signal what direction we were to go.

  We all jumped out of our thoughts, startled, our minds fully alert, and we followed him. We went through the same drill: entering into a dark empty room, Detective Pruitt turning on the light, then walking away without waiting for us to say anything at all to him. I looked around and noticed that we were back in the same room we had used to watch Samuel’s questioning, because I spotted the same napkin I had used to wipe my hands after eating a piece of chicken in the bin. I then wondered where Samuel was being “held.”

  After Detective Pruitt left and closed the door behind him, we walked toward the one-way mirror and waited because there was no one at the other side yet. But in less than a minute, the interrogation room door swung open and both detectives stormed in. Detective Slaughter held Mary-Kate with one hand and pushed her to the chair, forcing her to sit down.

  I didn’t know how or where they had found her, but she was clad in a Supergirl costume. I wondered if there was a theme party happening that I wasn’t aware of, because I always knew about every single event happening in my neighborhood. Anyway, I wasn’t fazed. I was better off staying up-to-date on the investigation until the end, than keeping myself informed about parties or events. I didn’t even have my phone on me, and that was my main source for event notifications and gossip.

  Mary-Kate sat down and eyed both detectives menacingly before saying, “Do you want to tell me why you sleazebags dragged me out of a nice party in such an undignified manner?”

  “Supergirl sure knows big words!” Detective Slaughter joked.

  “They don’t call her The Informant for nothing, I suppose,” Detective Pruitt added.

  “Very funny! In case you don’t know, Detectives Dickhead, I go to college. I’m in my first year, pursuing a degree in criminal law,” she uttered, as she rolled her eyes. “So tell me, why the hell am I here?”

  “Criminal law, you say?” Detective Slaughter asked. “Then, please feel at home.”

  Both detectives laughed. I also let out a muffled laugh in the viewing room before suddenly realizing that I wasn’t meant to be happy. I was still in mourning, and Mary-Kate was now a main suspect in the case, so every joke from or about her wasn’t supposed to be funny.

  “This isn’t some game,” Mary-Kate shot out, before turning to look at Detective Pruitt. “Did you see how many video cameras were rolling as you lifted me up with such brutality? I’m so certain that they are floating all over the net right now as we speak.”

  “That’s the least of your problems, young girl,” Detective Pruitt replied. “Agnes Hunter!”

  “That was a rather misconstructed phrase, Detective Slowbrain.” She stared back and forth between them, but they remained silent until she realized what they were trying to say to her. “Oh, I get what you mean, but how exactly is Agnes my problem? She is dead, Detectives.”

  “She is your problem because her blood is on your hands,” Detective Slaughter said.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Mary-Kate shook her head several times, and her index finger as well. “Her blood was all over her bathroom floor from what I heard, not on my hands.”

  “Let’s get serious here, Miss Pearson. What was your connection with Agnes Hunter?”

  “Let me see,” Mary-Kate said, and put a finger on her temple as though she was seriously pondering. “She lives, or lived, in my neighborhood. We went to high school together, and we were in the same college before her demise. There! How’s that for a connection? Or is there something else you need to know?”

  “You think this is a joke?” Detective Pruitt barked at her. “You facilitated Agnes Hunter’s murder and you are counting sticks with your tongue?”

  We all exchanged glances at each other in the viewing room. None of us understood what it meant, but one thing was for sure: Before the end of the investigation, and before leaving the station, we were going to end up learning one or two ridiculous phrases from Detective Pruitt.

  “First of all, I don’t understand what the hell you just said, or what sticks and tongues have to do with anything. Secondly, I don’t think you two conducted a proper investigation. Agnes committed suicide, duh! And finally, in case you are wondering, I didn’t convince her to kill herself, or give her the knife to do so. Hell, I’ve never even spoken to her in my life.”

  “Counting sticks with your tongue is what a stupid person would do,” Detective Pruitt said. “So is trying to act smart and waste our time when we all know that you are involved in this case.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Mary-Kate replied immediately. “And I’m not involved in the case. I said I’ve never spoken to Agnes before.”

  “So you wouldn’t describe her as your friend?” Detective Slaughter asked.

  Mary-Kate looked at him. “No, not at all. I’m only friends with Angela. Hmm, you know I always wondered if Agnes was actually mute. Never heard her speak before.”

  “So if we go through your cell phone, we wouldn’t find any form of interaction between the two of you, either by calls or text messages?”

  “Didn’t I just say that, Detective Slowpoke? No! I don’t even have her number!”

  That statement instantly answered the one million questions that were flooding my head. I knew it. There had to be a different kind of connection somewhere because Mary-Kate never spoke to Agnes, and I wondered what it was. I shook myself out of the thought and focused on the interrogation again, listening intently. A few questions had flown past me during my brief thinking session, but they weren’t that important.

  “So prove yourself right and give me your cell phone,” Detective Slaughter said, stretching out his arm to receive it.

  Mary-Kate hesitated for a short moment, then bent down slightly, tucked her hand into her boot, and pulled out her phone.

  I laughed out loud when I saw that, then quickly covered my mouth with my hand when my folks turned to look at me. I smiled sheepishly at them, then immediately turned back to look at Mary-Kate. The detectives exchanged glances briefly, probably wondering if she was mad. She didn’t seem to be bothered about what they thought of her. She just slid the phone across the table, without even looking at what trajectory it took. Luckily for her, Detective Slaughter caught it right before it could hit the ground.

  He looked at it briefly, then stretched out his hand to her face. “I need your unlock code.”

  “Oh,
right!” she said as she stretched out her hand, meeting his halfway. She pressed in her four-digit code with super speed, then nodded at him. Detective Slaughter withdrew his hand, as he started scrolling and searching immediately.

  Meanwhile, Detective Pruitt was setting up the TV and a video player. We were speechless in the viewing room. I began to wonder if he had found some evidence or if he wanted to play the sex tape and question Mary-Kate about it. I hoped it was the former, because I didn’t want my folks to know I made it. But I was sure they were going to find out one way or the other. Maybe they would even think I purposely told Mary-Kate the video was from Agnes in order to protect myself from trouble, as it was the assumed case.

  Detective Pruitt hit the play button, and the video came on. Luckily for me, it was Benjamin Clay’s questioning and confession. Mary-Kate watched with wide-open eyes, and a hand over her mouth, letting out a few too many drops of tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, “I didn’t know she was—”

  “Quiet,” Detective Pruitt interrupted. “Keep watching.”

  After watching the end of the video recording, Mary-Kate sprang up, saying, “No way. Wait a minute, it was Lexie’s idea? But why would she want to do something like that?”

  “Well, Miss Pearson, we were hoping you could tell us why,” Detective Slaughter replied.

  “Me? Why would you hope such? I don’t discuss with Lexie like that, especially not about committing murder. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken with her before. I can’t recall. I would have—”

  She paused, because she was interrupted by what Detective Pruitt was doing.

  He removed the tape and put in another one before saying, “This tape should help jog your memory a bit. It will certainly help you recall.” He hit the play button and it was Lexie’s own interrogation and confession.

  Mary-Kate’s eyes dried instantly as she watched it. She couldn’t even wait until the end of the video; as soon as she heard her name come out of Lexie’s mouth, she banged her hand on the table and blurted out, “Don’t believe anything that slut says. She’s a bloody liar.”

  “Oh, is she?” Detective Pruitt asked.

  “Yes, of course. Think about it, Detectives. She’s a renowned slut who has a nasty sex video floating around. Why would she care who recorded it? Her slutty ways aren’t new to anyone.”

  “Apparently, she cared so much about who recorded it that she asked you for your source. And you, Miss Pearson, gave her a name.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “Yes, you did!”

  “No! I didn’t!”

  “But your cell phone says otherwise,” Detective Slaughter butted in, putting an end to the irritating yes-and-no word battle.

  “What do you mean by...” Mary-Kate paused when she realized that she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. “Wait a minute, you tricked me. I fucking hate you. You took my phone for something else.” She looked at Detective Slaughter furiously.

  Detective Pruitt sighed, and said, “Counting sticks with your tongue.”

  “Go to hell,” Mary-Kate yelled. “And count sticks with your tongue on the way there.”

  Detective Slaughter cleared his throat. “Okay, so your cell phone showed a missed call from Alexandra two days before Agnes was killed, which you didn’t answer. But then you sent her a text message a couple of minutes later, asking her ‘what’s up?’ She told you she wanted the name of the person that sent you the video. And in another message, sent almost immediately, she said she had some interesting information to give you in exchange. And after you told her it was Agnes Hunter that sent you the video, she told you she had slept with your boyfriend earlier that evening, and called you an ugly, big-mouthed loser for uploading the video.”

  “Well, I told you she was a slut. Didn’t I? If she had told me that information first, I would never have given her my source. Hell, I would have told her to shove it somewhere.”

  “Counting sticks with your tongue,” Detective Pruitt said again, making Mary-Kate angry.

  “What the hell is your problem?” She turned to Detective Slaughter. “What’s his problem?”

  Detective Slaughter didn’t reply to her question, instead he continued what he was saying. “That’s not all. You were right. You don’t have Agnes Hunter’s number on your phone, and the video was sent to you by Angela, to which you replied: ‘Thank you, Angie!’”

  I immediately felt iron spikes in my belly at that moment, and shut my eyes as soon as I saw my folks’ stare rest on me from the corner of my eye. Mom called my name a few times, but I didn’t answer. Dad also called my name; I still didn’t answer. I knew what they were going to say and I wasn’t ready for any form of scolding or questioning. They kept on calling my name until I was forced to answer.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I said to both of them when they started raising their voices.

  “No, you would be sorry,” Mom fired back. “Your foolishness cost your sister her life. How mean could you have been? Weren’t you thinking?” She shook her head. “What am I saying? Of course, you couldn’t have been thinking. You study make-up and you paint faces, so you obviously can’t think!”

  “Geez! Why don’t you cut off my head and hang it on a spike while you are at it?” I asked.

  “Oh, you can count on it. Then you would properly apologize to Aggie when you see her.”

  “Speak now or so help me I will fling you into a cell right now!” Detective Pruitt shouted, distracting Mom and I from our argument.

  We looked into the interrogation room, then looked back at each other in what was a brief staring contest before Mom said to me, “This is not yet over, Sandra Angela Hunter. It is not over!”

  Well, bring it on! I said in my mind. Then we both turned away and continued watching the interrogation quietly.

  “Okay, okay. No need to threaten me any further,” Mary-Kate said. “I can explain.”

  “We are listening,” Detective Slaughter replied, giving her the go-ahead.

  She took a deep breath and started, saying:

  “On the evening I missed Lexie’s call, I was on another call with a guy I met some months back. Although I had Lexie’s number on my phone, we had never spoken before. So I was too curious to know why she was calling. I wanted to put the guy on hold, but he said he had an interesting deal for me that couldn’t wait. So I ignored Lexie’s call and listened attentively.

  “He said that people had been asking questions about the video I had uploaded, especially who had sent it to me. I interrupted him immediately by saying ‘no way.’ My principle was to never disclose my sources to anyone. He then said he didn’t care to know, but if anyone came asking, I should say it was Agnes Hunter. Honestly, I was shocked, so I had to ask him why he wanted me to wrongly implicate Agnes. I couldn’t do that. He simply said it was for some funny game. He had been dared to make Agnes talk, since people thought she was mute.

  “He said if he won the dare, he would get three thousand bucks and give me one-third of it. Sadly to admit, the offer interested me, and I wanted to know how serious he was. I asked him for proof and a signed agreement, because I didn’t want him to cheat me out of the deal. So he sent a photo of him holding the ‘dare’ money. I thought it was a doctored image at first, until I noticed the TV behind him was showing current news. So I agreed to the deal and promised to tell who ever asked me that Agnes was the source.

  “I should have known it was a trick, because right before the guy hung up, he reminded me to call Lexie back. So I sent her a text message and she replied, telling me what she wanted to know. She then offered to tell me something important in exchange for my source... you know the rest. I thought it was a mere coincidence that day — the guy telling me to call Lexie back, and Lexie asking for my source. But thinking about it now, I feel used,” she concluded.

  “Used, you say?” Detective Slaughter asked, sounding very sarcastic. “But you accepted the money, without even think
ing twice about it.”

  “I didn’t know it was blood money, Detective. I thought it was a joke. I would never—”

  “Your sudden show of morals doesn’t interest us,” Detective Slaughter interrupted. “But the name of the guy does. Who offered you the money?”

  “His name is Greg.” She paused briefly before adding, “Gregory Kindle.”

  My eyes popped open when she mentioned Gregory’s name, because the case had appeared to be a confusing and entangling triangle. I couldn’t speak for the others, but it was difficult to say if we were ever going to get to the bottom of the mystery at that moment.

  And sadly for us, Detective Slaughter confirmed that Bill Newman and Gregory Kindle had been released after Benjamin Clay’s arrest and ensuing confession.

  None of them were going to let the closed-door mystery go unsolved, and neither were we.

  The detectives left the station immediately in search of their new piece of the puzzle. And the wait continued.