Liquid Lies (9 page)

I looked over the side of the boat. Spotting something that looked like a large floating clump of string attached to a ball, I leaned over the side to take a closer look. “Ken, I see something.”

He stood next to me, and asked, “Where?”

“Over there.” I motioned toward a shadowy dark area in the water.

The waves were knocking whatever it was up against the boat.

Thud.

Splash.

Thud.

Splash.

Leaning, I bent over and pointed at the floating object. “Can you tell what it is?”

“Let me reposition the boat so that I can shine the headlights on it.”

When Ken pulled around, and the headlight shone on the water, I saw what it was as the beam of light reached the floating object.

I gasped for air.

In the water, its tangled hair wrapped around a log, Francesca’s decapitated head bobbed up and down.

Her lifeless eyes stared into the sky.

“CiCi, let’s keep moving,” Ken said as he assisted me out of the boat. “I want to help you get your bearings. Reorient you. It’s Friday, eleven forty five at night. You were on a boat with me, your fiancé Ken Wilson. We’re back at Round Lake’s pavilion dock. I need you to take slow deliberate breaths.”

A small groan escaped as I tried to hold my wobbly legs steady. I knew where I was, I just didn’t want to think about what I’d seen.

Ken had his arm under mine, guiding me along as we walked onto the dock. I remembered that he’d called the police before we got off the boat. Sirens in the distance punctuated the cool, quiet night.

My head throbbed. “What happened?” I whispered as I stared into space. Ken pulled me along to a bench near the pavilion. My whole body felt light, as if it floated.

“You fainted,” Ken said as he helped me sit.

An image materialized in my mind. Francesca’s head bobbing in the lake. Jerking forward, I dry heaved onto the grassy area next to the bench.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Ken rubbed my back.

I shivered as I sat up. Just a while ago, Francesca was fighting with me, and now she was dead. What happened, was it an accident? Murder? In a soft raspy voice I asked, “What about Francesca?”

“The police will handle that now. Try not to think about it. Really, I’m so sorry. I know you were once best friends.” Ken touched my shoulder and shook his head. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

I closed my eyes as tears streamed down. I feared my hell had only begun.

***

“I’m Detective Wurkowski.” He stood over me, hand stretched out for a shake.

Resting my head in my hands, my elbows propped in my lap. “Hi.” I shook his hand.

“Do you need an ambulance?” Detective Wurkowski asked.

“I’ve already called them and they’re on the way. She’s in shock,” Ken said. He introduced himself and shook Detective Wurkowski’s hand.

Detective Wurkowski said, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.” I slowly straightened my back upright. A wave of sickness overcame me and I put my head between my knees. That didn’t help my queasy stomach, so I hunched over again.

“I think I need to go home. Get a good night’s sleep.” However, I knew I’d never be able to sleep. The image of Francesca’s severed head and the reality of her death would forever revisit me.

When in trauma, fight or flee. I wanted to sprint.

“After EMS takes a look at you, I need to speak to you.” Detective Wurkowski pulled out a small pocket size notepad from his shirt pocket and looked at Ken. “Dr. Wilson, an officer told me you were the one who pulled the victim’s head from the water.”

“You have her
head
?” I shrieked. After we saw Francesca, I must have fainted while Ken took care of her remains.

Ken’s eyes flickered toward the dock where I saw a body bag, with only a small bump in the middle, being carted away. I tasted sour bile in my mouth as my stomach lurched.

“Please call me Ken. I’d already given the location of discovery to the first officer on the scene. If you need any more information, I’d be glad to help.”

EMS arrived. I sat on a stretcher in the ambulance as they began their evaluation. They hooked a monitor to the tip of my index finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around the top of my right arm. An EMT explained to me that they would also do a blood sugar punch. One of them flashed a pen light in my eyes and then checked my heart rate.

A few feet away from the ambulance, Ken was talking and Detective Wurkowski had his notepad flipped open and his pen was moving across the paper. He was just as tall as Ken, but much stockier. Detective Wurkowski looked like a GI Joe action figure dressed in plain clothes with a badge hooked to his belt. I wondered what Ken was saying about what happened.

I knew that, sooner or later, I would be next for questioning. What would I tell them? Of course I would tell them the truth, as long as I stayed away from anything that could lead to the truck stop incident four years ago.

Francesca. My God. Poor Francesca.

Then I dry heaved again. An EMT gave me a sick bag to hold onto.

Half paying attention, I didn’t give more than one word answers to the EMT as they asked how I felt. Just past me, a knot of police officers, were chatting. I only heard a cluster of voices. I couldn’t make out any words. Did they know what happened to Francesca?

There was a flurry of activity. Police cruisers were parked with lights flashing in the parking lot adjacent to the pavilion and a smattering of people gathered outside the yellow crime scene tape that sectioned off the pavilion and dock area. The media arrived. A white van with TV4 on the side, parked and camera operators and reporters scrambled out.

“She seems stable, but we should take her to the hospital. What do you think Dr. Wilson?” An EMT asked Ken as he approached the ambulance. Detective Wurkowski was at his heels.

“Yes,” Ken stated.

I felt irritated. “Please excuse me, but I can speak for myself. No. I don’t need to go to the hospital,” I said as they undid the monitors. I slung my legs over the side of the stretcher and hopped off. I hiked away from the ambulance calling back, “Ken, can you take me home?”

“I’m sorry Ms. Coe, but I can’t let you go quite yet. Dr. Wilson told us his story and now I need to talk to you,” Detective Wurkowski said as he followed me. “It shouldn’t take too long. Can I get you some coffee? We just got some from the all night diner.”

No. I just wanted to get the hell away from here and pretend the whole day never happened. That Francesca was still alive. That there was no blackmailer. That life was safe, normal and predictable again.

Nevertheless, I knew I had to cooperate. “You can call me CiCi, and I like mine black.” Maybe the sooner I talked to them the quicker I could get away from this whole nightmare.

“Are you up to it?” Ken asked me.

Hell no. “Sure.” I said.

“If you don’t mind, I need to talk to Ms. Coe alone.” Detective Wurkowski adjusted the phone on his belt.

“I’ll be over by my boat. Holler when you’re done.” Ken kissed my cheek then proceeded to the dock.

Detective Wurkowski handed me a cup of coffee and guided me to a bench next to the pavilion’s park area. We chatted as he jotted down my demographics and pertinent information.

“I need to establish some details about your discovery,” Detective Wurkowski said.

“You mean Francesca’s head?” I shifted on the bench, crossing my legs.

His eyes squinted, “You knew the victim?”

“Yes,” I said. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed me. I put my hand up to signal stop. It took a few moments to compose myself. As soon as I took a deep breath he continued.

“How well did you know her?” he asked.

I turned the paper coffee cup in my hands. I didn’t think it mattered that we were best friends years ago, or together we killed a trucker. I figured I’d just provide current information. “I mean, I used to know her years ago. I wish I could help you more. Really I do. But I haven’t seen her in four years.”

“But you knew her, from where?”

How could I say enough without saying too much? “We went to Saint Francis from elementary through high school. But I have no idea what she’s been up to since graduation.”

“Were you friends?” he asked

“I guess you could say so,” I said.

“Would you say that you were good friends?” He raised an eyebrow.

“At one time, yes.” I said. And those times were the best of my life.

The dock lights cast a ghostly glow on him as he continued, “Good enough friends to know her family? Boyfriends? Likes and dislikes?”

For years we were merged as tightly as blood relatives, as twin sisters. We knew every freckle on each other. “Again, at one time yes. But I hardly know her now. Like I said, it’s been four years since I’ve seen her.”

“So you hadn’t seen her at all in these past four years?” he asked and took notes.

“Correct,” I said.

“So, when did you last see Francesca alive?” he inquired.

All right. Now I was feeling restless as my leg swung back and forth. I knew that officers were trained in body language. I steadied my leg, and sat up straight and still. “I ran into her at H&K’s tonight.”

“Wait a minute,” he flipped though his notes. “You just told me that you had not seen her in four years. But now you say you saw her tonight.”

“Well. Yes. Before I saw her tonight, I hadn’t seen her in four years,” I responded.

He shook his head. “Let’s move on. When you saw her tonight at H&K’s, was she alone?”

“As far as I could tell she was.” But she was meeting someone. Who was it, and did they kill her? My thoughts felt like an anchor stuck in mud.

“Did it look like she was having any problems?” Detective Wurkowski asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Did she seem upset?” he asked. “For example, did it look like something was bothering her?”

She was scared shitless and pissed off. We had a blackmailer after us for a murder we committed. I answered, “No. She seemed okay I guess.”

“I see.” Detective Wurkowski took a sip of coffee.

I watched him jot down notes. I thought it best to keep quiet because I had a tendency to babble when I felt stressed or excited. This was not the time to babble.

He cleared his throat. “When you saw her at H&K’s, did you talk to Francesca?”

Talk? Well it was more like yell. “A little.”

“What did you talk about?” He ran his thick long fingers through his military haircut.

Murder, blackmail. “Nothing really,” I said.

“Let me get this straight.” His eyes narrowed. “You hadn’t seen her in four years, you claim she was an old school friend, and you had nothing to talk about?”

Oh we had a lot to talk about. Like where to drop the blackmailer’s money. “That’s right, pretty much nothing. We talked a little about where I planned to attend graduate school. We talked about Mark’s mortician job.”

He pulled his shoulders back. “Do you remember what time you saw her at H&K’s?”

“I’m not too sure,” I said.

“When did you get there?” he asked.

“After eight, I had dinner with a friend, Mark Stevens. Shortly after that, Francesca walked in. So, if I had to guess, I would say a little before nine.” I gave him Mark’s information.

“So you saw her after you had dinner?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you have your dinner receipt?”

“I don’t have it. Mark paid for dinner.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “Are you investigating what I ate?”

Detective Wurkowski chortled, showing straight white teeth under his trimmed moustache. “No, but most receipts have the time on them. That will help us narrow down the time of her death.”

Detective Wurkowski then asked me about all my friends and anyone one else I recognized at H&K’s. He jotted down their names and information. “Let me make sure I’m clear. Today was the first time in four years you saw the victim?”

“Correct.” I nodded.

Detective Wurkowski took notes.

My heart raced. “This is so nightmarish. I mean finding her in the water. Just horrifying. What happened to her? She was alive one minute, and then… I just don’t understand.” I put my head in my hands, my shoulders slouched.

“Do you need a break?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

Detective Wurkowski continued. “Okay then. Let’s get back to after dinner. Then what did you do?”

“I went on a boat ride with Ken,” I said. “That’s when we found her.”

“Okay then, let’s talk about the actual discovery. Are you okay with that?”

“Not really, but I’ll tell you what I know.” I stretched my legs. I wished I never had to talk about it.

“What were you doing on the boat?” Detective Wurkowski leaned in.