No Remorse Read online

  The Sarge made his way over and talked to Mrs. Dupree for several minutes before he informed me I was going to be taking the lead on this case, and to go to the station. He told me Detective Jones would be there soon; he’d ride back with Johnson. I wanted to jump in the air and click my heels together at getting my first major case. Woohoo!

  This should be an easy one to solve. Now all I had to do was get this unfeeling wife to confess.

  Chapter 2

  My mind was all over the place on the drive back to the station. Excited didn’t even come close to describing how I felt. I would have been happy to assist one of the other detectives, but this assignment was amazing! A smile crept across my face, then I’d tried my damnedest to wipe it off. I hadn’t felt that keyed up since my football days in college. But I was nervous, too. I didn’t want to … no, change that. I couldn’t blow my big opportunity.

  In the Academy, they taught us to consider close family and friends as suspects until they were determined not to have been involved by strong alibis. This wife gave off a vibe that made her seem like a really cold-blooded person. I had no idea how many times the professor had been stabbed, but that type of action was usually done by someone who was emotionally attached. I could picture this wiry woman, his wife, wielding a knife, burying it in this guy’s chest over and over.

  Mrs. Dupree was devoid of emotion, too, and it sent a chill up my spine. She was hard-hearted, like she didn’t give two shits about her husband’s life, or death. How could a wife not give a damn that her husband, or estranged husband as she referred to him, had been murdered? She was the #1 suspect in my book. She was going to have a hard time being ruled out.

  Since I’d been instructed to begin the interview, I got us set up in an interrogation room. I’d be joined by Jones, my partner, once he returned from the scene.

  “Can I get you anything to drink, Mrs. Dupree?” I asked.

  “Water is fine.” She waved her pack of cigarettes in the air. “Can I get an ashtray?”

  “There’s no smoking in the office, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “Oh, my gosh. Really?” She pursed her lips and shook her head at my news. “I thought this was a public building.” She gave more of a reaction to not being able to smoke than she had to finding out her husband was dead.

  “You can have a seat in this room; I’ll be right back in with the water.” I exited the room, pulling the door closed behind me.

  We had room number two occupied. I made sure Officer McDaniel’s, at the front desk, knew so he could tell Jones where to find me. After grabbing two bottles of water from the refrigerator, I returned to my interrogation.

  After closing the door behind me I went over, set her water on the table next to her pack of cigarettes, and took a seat across from her. “I’m Detective Brad Oliver,” I said. I extended my arm to shake her hand. I expected her hand to be cold and clammy, like her heart, but it was unusually warm. I quickly released her hand so we could get down to business.

  I rubbed the back of my neck and cleared my throat. My mouth and throat seemed to go dry. I felt a warmth rush through my face and there was a fluttery feeling that took up residence in my stomach. Stop overthinking this, Oliver, I thought. I’d sat in on questioning before, but never had been the one to get things started. I opened my bottle of water and took a couple small sips, then took in a deep breath before I was able regain my composure and begin. “This is really unofficial right now. We’re not charging you with anything, Mrs. Dupree, we just want to get your statement and get an understanding of what you know, or what you might be able to help shed some light on for us. But I will need to record our conversation.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “I told you, I have nothing to hide.”

  I told her she was allowed to decline speaking with us and could get an attorney if she chose, but she declined and reiterated that she had nothing to hide. “When was the last time you saw your husband alive, Mrs. Dupree?”

  “Friday morning, just before I left to go to work. He was still asleep when I left the house. That was also the last time I saw him, I might add.” Her lashes fluttered as her eyes slowly closed; then just as slowly, they reopened.

  “I thought you didn’t live there anymore.”

  I don’t.” Her statement was abrupt. I’d have to come back to this later.

  “How do you know he was still alive when you left the house that morning?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He was lying in bed next to me when the alarm went off. I kissed his forehead and his body was still warm. He was still breathing when I left to go to work.”

  “I thought the two of you were separated. Did you move back in?”

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like in the dating world for a woman my age, Detective? I’m not exactly a prime candidate. Men aren’t clambering to be with me. Age has taken its toll. My boobs sag, my ass isn’t tight and firm, and my skin isn’t taut – not exactly a dream to most men who are looking for that Barbie doll arm candy. My husband said he wanted to see me Thursday night, so I went over to the apartment. I wasn’t planning to spend the night, but I wasn’t going to refuse his offer, either. Is that a crime?”

  I felt my face heat up and flush as the vision of sagging boobs and a saggy ass flashed in my mind. I couldn’t help but think of the old woman in room 237 from The Shining. From my quick assessment, I thought Mrs. Dupree was selling herself short. She was a nice-looking woman. “No, ma’am, it’s not.” She picked up the bottle of water, looked at the Deer Park label, then set it back down on the table.

  “What time did you leave your house Friday morning, Mrs. Dupree?”

  “Seven-fifteen, I had to get home to shower and get myself ready for work. And to answer your question before you ask: no, I did not kill my husband before I left.”

  The door opened and Jones joined me, taking a seat in the chair next to me. I welcomed him and did the introductions before he asked me to step out into the hall for a moment.

  “How’s it going? Do you feel comfortable so far? Is there anything I can do?” Jones asked.

  “I’m doing okay, I think. So far, she’s saying she didn’t kill the guy, but she did stay the night on Thursday and left Friday morning at seven fifteen.”

  “Okay, let’s keep her talking and see what else she says,” Jones said. “The medical examiner and his team showed up before I left. He thinks our victim died on Friday sometime. He gave us the obvious – a gunshot to the head and multiple stab wounds. They’ll get back to us with anything else they find. I told Skip to call you.” He swatted his hand against my arm, then smiled at me. “Let me know if you need anything or want me to jump in to ask some questions. I’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” I felt more comfortable now that my partner was here. His years of experience would help ground me and I knew he’d help me if I needed anything.

  We returned to the room and I continued with my questions.

  “Sorry about that, Mrs. Dupree,” Jones said.

  “No problem.”

  “Do you know if Professor Effridge went to work on Friday?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t teach on Fridays this semester,” she replied.

  “He had on a suit. It seemed to me he was going somewhere,” I said. “Did he say he was going out? Maybe he had an appointment?”

  “I have no idea what he did or was planning to do after I left the apartment. Did you check his computer? He keeps his appointments on his calendar there. I stopped concerning myself with Chase’s whereabouts when I moved out.”

  “Do you know if your husband had any other close relatives, besides yourself?” I asked.

  “His parents both died years ago, before I met him. He was an only child.”

  “Hmm. Thanks.” I rubbed my fingers over my low haircut while contemplating the next question.

  “Did your husband have any enemies? Anyone who was so angry with him that they’d want to kill him?” Jones asked.

  “Besid
es me? I’m sure he did. I think he may have burned a few bridges at the university. My son was definitely no fan of Chase’s, but I can’t imagine him doing anything like this,” she said. “My son is no murderer.”

  “I have to ask this question, Mrs. Dupree. Where were you all day Friday?” I asked.

  “I was at work until seven o’clock in the evening. It was a fairly busy day. I had lunch ordered and delivered,” she said. I felt like I was getting nowhere.

  “If you don’t mind, can you tell us how you met Professor Effridge? And help us understand the dynamic of your relationship with him?”

  “I don’t mind at all; I think about our meeting every single day. It’s probably one of the better memories I have of him.” She uncapped the bottle and took a drink of water, then replaced the cap, screwing it on tight.

  “We met nearly ten years ago. I was sitting in a bar with one of my colleagues after work, Melissa, not that her name is of any consequence. Anyway, as we were talking, he walked in. He walked past me and his arm brushed against my back. I never knew if it was intentional or if it was because it was a little crowded in there. I never asked. Either way, the feeling that rippled through my body made me raise my head to look at him. As I did, he looked down at me. Our eyes met. He grabbed my interest immediately. He was absolutely gorgeous.”

  She fidgeted in her seat, then crossed her legs at the ankles. “I should have known right then and there to stay away, but I was so enthralled by him and his incredible good looks.” She uncapped her water bottle and took another sip before recapping it and continuing. “He walked over to the bar, ordered his drink, then turned and stared at me. His gaze was like that out of a cartoon, you know where you see the hypnotic rays coming across to you with the finger waggling, encouraging me to come to him.” Her lips relaxed and the corners of her mouth turned up while her eyes closed. “It was like that. I was hypnotized by him.” Her eyes popped open and the smirk dropped from her mouth into a scowl, like she had tasted something really disgusting.

  She uncapped the water and took a large gulp. “Melissa and I spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes talking about the exceptional man who had nearly knocked me over when he bumped into me.

  “I excused myself from Melissa’s company, using the ‘I need to go to the restroom’ excuse. She said she needed to leave anyway, and she did. I felt compelled to walk over near him. His stare stayed on me as I walked in his direction. Once I was within a foot or two of him at the bar he grabbed my hand and pulled me around the corner into a dark little hallway over by a storage closet.”

  “Did you scream? Were you frightened?”

  “I didn’t scream and I wasn’t scared. My stomach was doing flip-flops. He pressed my back against the wall. His hands slid down the length of my arms until they reached my wrists. While holding them firmly in each of his hands he lifted them above my head and held them tight against the wall with one of his hands, and his other arm wrapped around my body. There were no words exchanged. There didn’t need to be any words exchanged.” She inhaled and her eyes drifted close. As she exhaled she raised her hands and pulled her hair back, letting it cascade over her shoulders. She looked tranquil as she reminisced.

  “Did you feel threatened at any point?”

  “Oddly, no. He towered over me. His physical presence made me weak. He leaned in close as if he were going to kiss me, but he didn’t. His lips just grazed mine. His hand worked its way down until he reached the small of my back. He pulled me forward not letting go of my hands that he held tight to the wall. His knee pushed between my legs, parting them.”

  I noticed Jones was twirling the pencil around on the table. I think we both would have preferred to have been anywhere except in that room listening to this encounter, but this was my job. And I was dumb enough to have asked the question. Telling the sergeant we let our #1 suspect go because we got sick of hearing her erotic encounter would not end well for me. So, I sat up straighter in my chair and looked at her. “Please, go on.”

  “Are you sure you boys want to hear this?”

  “We’re men and, yes, Mrs. Dupree, we need to know for the investigation.”

  “Please, call me Carlotta.” She flipped her hand through the air and smacked her lips.

  “Carlotta.” I smiled at her.

  “As I was saying, things got pretty hot and heavy back in that private little nook area. He pressed himself into me flattening me on the wall, making sure I could feel him.” She inhaled deep through her nose, then exhaled between those red lips of hers. “I wanted him. I wanted him because he wanted me. I didn’t think I looked bad for my age or anything, but it was obvious looking at the two of us that I was older than he was.”

  “How did the dating begin after such an intense first meeting?”

  “I guess it’s called, um, stalking. I made it my business to get to know as much as I could about him, and I made sure to coincidentally have a presence in the places he frequented. We began dating shortly after he’d seen me a few more times. He’d recently graduated with a degree in education. I offered to help him since I have contacts throughout the city. And that …” she pointed her index finger first at Jones, who wasn’t paying as much attention, then toward me. “… is what got him into his job at the college.”

  She sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at us. As I looked back at her, I still saw no emotion on her face. No nervousness. No feeling whatsoever. I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer we’d have to talk before she said something, anything, that would confirm my gut feeling that she’d killed her husband.

  “What else can you tell us about your husband?”

  Chapter 3

  “Before I tell you anything else, I need to take a break.” She lifted her pack of cigarettes and waved them back and forth.

  “My partner, Detective Jones, will go down with you.” Finally, something that got his attention. He’d offered to help out, and I didn’t want to walk down so this woman could have a smoke break. I’d hear about this for sure after the interview was over. I was still considered a rookie to some of the guys, after all. If anyone should have gone out with her, it probably should have been me. But I hated cigarette smoke.

  “Five minutes,” Jones mumbled.

  By the time they returned, Carlotta seemed in better spirits. I guess she needed a nicotine fix. She took her seat, lay the pack on the table, and drank the last swallow of water from the bottle. It was only going to be a matter of time and we’d be taking another break.

  Jones and I both sat down. The unpleasant smell of cigarettes emanated from her. I leaned back as my lips curled. I turned my head away from her and inhaled, hoping not to breathe in any of that smell. My parents had been chain smokers. Sometimes I saw them light a new cigarette before they’d even tapped the old one out. I hated their habit. But I hated it even more when I was forced to watch them both continue to decline and eventually die of lung cancer. I shrugged my shoulders in an effort to shake my thoughts so I could refocus.

  I took a drink of my water, cleared my throat, and then resumed the questioning right where we had left off. “Tell us more about your husband. Everything seemed like it was going pretty good. When did things start to deteriorate between the two of you?”

  “Like I said, it was really the last year or year and a half that I began to notice something was amiss. I worked a lot of hours. I own a fashion design house in the Manhattan, and I travel a lot, work late hours, and work on weekends. I thought our relationship was in good shape before then.”

  “What was happening that led you to believe things weren’t so good anymore?” I asked.

  “Chase was staying out late, and he wasn’t quick to answer my phone calls. When he’d finally come home, I could tell he’d been drinking – sometimes very heavily. At first I thought it was just harmless fun, blowing off steam and drinking with fellow professors. Then one night he came home with pink lipstick on his collar and was reeking of cheap perfume. I loathe that dime-sto
re scent. When I questioned him about it, he told me I was crazy. In his words, I was ‘probably going through menopause,’” she said. She whispered just loud enough to be heard, “That fucking bastard.”

  She inhaled and shook her head. Her eyes closed and that breath stayed trapped in her lungs while her body shook. Then, she exhaled every bit of breath in one huge puff from her mouth. Her face had reddened and a tear streamed down her face. She wiped it away quickly and raised her head. “Can I have another bottle of water, please?”

  “Sure.” I kicked Jones’ foot indicating he was up, again. He shot daggers at me with his narrowly-pinched eyes before shoving his chair backwards so he could go out of the room.

  “Your partner, Rob, doesn’t seem to be the talkative type. Is he new?”

  “Jones? No, he’s been on the force for almost ten years now. He’s a very good detective. I’m actually the new one.”

  “Hmpff,” she forced out of her throat. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at her response. When she shook her head at me, I muffled myself.

  Jones came back in with the bottle of water as I asked my next question. “Did your husband ever admit to having an affair? I mean, that’s what you thought was going on, right?”

  “He never admitted it, not to me,” she said. “He was a coward. I told him early on in our relationship, when things began to get really serious, if he ever thought about being unfaithful, just tell me he wanted to call it quits. Not that it wouldn’t have crushed me, but it would have been proper. I just wanted him to be honest with me. He couldn’t even give me that courtesy.” Her shoulders rolled forward and her eyes were focused on the table as she shook her head slowly. We didn’t rush her or pry with more questions. Instead, we waited patiently for her to give us the signal that she was ready to resume.

  With her body angled away from us, and her gaze on the wall, she continued. “My son, Jonathan, despised Chase from day one. You see, Chase is not my first husband … he’s my third. He and Jonathan only have a few years’ age difference. My son is very protective of me, and he felt Chase was pretending to love me but really was just a gold-digger. They fought a lot after we married, especially after a couple years into the marriage. I never really understood that because I thought they seemed to get along fine before we were married.”