Murder My Love (14 page)

Chapter 15

Stanton’s Saturday bike ride two days earlier was one of the more therapeutic that he had taken. Coupled with a peaceful and uneventful Sunday, he was able to take the time to search his soul, to reflect more clearly on the issues that tormented him, to confront the demon that haunted him. He knew he had to man-up and do the right thing. It wasn’t easy for Stanton to confess that he had botched the interview with Chicciarelli, but he also knew he was between a rock and a hard place. If he failed to tell the Chief and she discovered his dereliction, it could cost him his job and perhaps his pension. If he told her the truth, it would be an admission of his failure to perform up to the standards of any police officer, let alone a lieutenant.

Stanton arrived at police headquarters earlier than usual. He waited anxiously until the Chief arrived. He wanted to purge himself first thing, even before roll call. His plan was realized as the Chief appeared soon after him. He waited until she was comfortably seated at her desk. He knocked on the doorjamb.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Have a seat, Jeff,” she said.

Calling him by his first name put him at ease, but he elected to be as professional as possible.

“I think I’d better stand.”

He began by telling the Chief that his debriefing of the interview with Alice Chicciarelli had not been totally forthcoming. She looked at him sideways and invited him to explain himself. He went on to recount the interview. Actually, he recounted a long-winded version of what he had already told her. Abby became irritated and demanded, “Cut to the chase, I’ve got roll call in a few minutes.”

“I fucked up the interview,” he said as he flopped into the chair that was offered to him.

“What don’t I know?” she asked.

Like an erupting volcano, Stanton spewed all that had occurred, including his unprofessional behavior. He told her that he had screamed at Chicciarelli and why he had done it. He indicated that it was only after his outburst that she’d clammed up. He felt that Chicciarelli had held back information, that she knew more than she’d told and that it was his fault.

“Why did you lose your cool?”

Stanton didn’t answer. He sat in his chair and remained mute. The silence was getting uncomfortable. Abby got up from her chair and came around her desk. She closed the door to her office and sat next to Stanton.

“What don’t I know about you, Jeff?”

“What you see is what you get,” he said.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she replied. Abby went on to tell him that when she took the job as chief she had read his personnel file, as she had of all the officers in her department. She said she had noticed an omission in his jacket and confronted him with it. The box marked ‘marital status’ was left blank. She asked him why he did not mark it ‘single’?

With his head bowed and a voice barely audible he told her, “I was married for a short time.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“She left me.” He waited a few moments and continued, “She just got up from the breakfast table one day and told me marriage wasn’t working for her. She walked out the door and I never saw her again.”

“You lost her to another guy?” she asked with a soothing demeanor.

Stanton sat limp, his head bowed further, his hands clasped and tucked between his legs. “Another gal!” he whispered.

“Holy shit!” cried Abby. Her instinct was to offer him comfort, to let him know she understood his heartache, perhaps to pat him on the shoulder or just lay her hand on his but thought the better of displaying such affection.

“You got a problem with gay ladies?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said unconvincingly. “It’s just that Chicciarelli is one stunning broad. She looks a lot like …” He couldn’t say her name.

“So Chicciarelli reminded you of your ex?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Stanton began to apologize but Abby dissuaded him. She held up her hand, palm side up, as if to deflect the words coming from his mouth. Jeff suggested that Abby should be the one to talk to her. Perhaps Alice would tell another woman what she wouldn’t tell him. Abby refused to respond to his request. It wasn’t her responsibility to clean up his mess. Nor was she inclined to share her own feelings, since her encounter with Chicciarelli caused her to question, however briefly, her own sexual identity. Everyone has thoughts like that she told herself. After all, she’d gone home and made passionate heterosexual love with her husband. She convinced herself that the act put to rest any such conflict. Abby knew she should remove herself from the equation, but the present circumstance obligated her to give her senior subordinate sound advice. The Chief reassured him that what he’d done was understandable given the facts as he had related them, but the only way for him to put his demon to rest was to apologize to Alice and ask her politely to tell what she knows. Abby commanded him, “Face her and face it, otherwise it’ll eat you alive for the rest of your life.”

Stanton stiffened. He knew she was right. He had told himself many times the same or similar things. Every time those thoughts coursed through his mind he’d just have another drink until they disappeared. It just wasn’t in his makeup to humble himself, but he knew that his life sucked and maybe with Abby’s encouragement he could accept and deal with his life’s disappointments. He promised that he would attend to it. He knew that arresting the criminals was infinitely more important than his bruised ego. As Stanton got up to leave the Chief’s office, she called to him, “Just remember on thing, Jeff. Chicciarelli is as much a victim as anyone else. She should be treated accordingly”

He returned to his cubicle and immediately made a phone call.

Huff waited for roll call to be completed before he approached the Chief. “You won’t believe what I found yesterday, Chief.”

“I’m all ears, Huff. It’s only Monday morning and the shit is already hitting the fan.”

Huff was so excited he was beside himself. He was stammering as he told his boss how he retrieved his fishing gear and drove to the marina to practice casting. He described its location. He described the marina and the culvert in excruciating detail. Wilson tried to be patient. She sensed that he had discovered something important by the enthusiasm he displayed.

“I went to your house on Sunday to show you but, you weren’t there. At that point Wilson became exasperated. “What did you find?”

“A pistol!

“Where is it?” cried the Chief.

“In my locker,” he proudly said.

“Jesus Christ, Almighty! Huff, do you think it has anything to do with the murders we’re investigating?” Abby held both hands to her head as if she was going to squeeze it like a melon. “Where is this marina in relation to Elm Street?” she asked softly.

“Come to think of it, Chief, if you drove down Elm to get to Route 3, you’d have to pass the marina.”

“Get me that pistol!” Abby demanded.

Huff retrieved it from his locker. Fortunately, he had made no further attempt to clean the debris from the weapon. It was still in the same plastic bag in which he placed it. He laid it on the Chief’s desk. Abby looked at it for a moment and thought she felt her heart skip a beat. It was a .38 Smith and Wesson Special. She picked up the phone and dialed. “Greg? I think we may have the murder weapon.” Abby directed Huff to log it into evidence, write up a ticket as to discovery and chain of custody, then deliver the pistol to Dr. Kruger.

Once the flowerpot had been retrieved there was nothing left in the house on Elm Street that was germane to the investigation of the crime. The medical examiner, in conjunction with Chief Wilson and DA Rocklein, had allowed Alice Chicciarelli to reenter the house and resume her residency. Her phone was repaired on the day before she moved back in. It rang. Alice answered it assuming it was the phone company testing the service. It was Lt. Jeff Stanton on the line.

“Yes?” she said.

“It’s Jeff Stanton.”

“What? Not Lieutenant Jeff Stanton?” she said with derision.

“I’d like to pay you a visit,” he said evenly.

“You mean you’re not going to drag me down to the police station?”

Alice accepted his offer. She had taken the day off from work to tidy up her home and to rummage through Linda’s papers to determine the length of her lease. If she stayed in the house, she would be obligated to pay the entire rent herself for the remainder of the lease, provided the landlord allowed her to assume it. She believed she’d been paying half the rent, but wasn’t certain. The thought of finding a roommate was daunting and she wasn’t sure she could accommodate one so soon after the murders. Awaiting Stanton’s arrival, she sat at her desk poring over papers.

Stanton drove up to her house in uniform. In order to appear less formal, he left his hat in the patrol car, as he alighted from it. He carried a package in his right hand and walked up the path that was now free of debris. He rang the bell. After a brief pause, Alice opened the door.

“Is this your version of Greeks bearing gifts?” she asked with a smile.

“Call it a peace offering,” he said.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

He entered the house and Alice ushered him into the living room. It was only two days since she had reoccupied the house and had not yet been emotionally able to enter the kitchen. She placed the package on a side table and turned to look at Stanton who was smiling. She peeled back the paper to see a plant brimming with bright yellow tulips. She smiled. “Why?” she asked.

“It’s my way of apologizing for being a shit-head.”

Alice laughed. Her deep, throaty chuckle put Stanton at his ease. She agreed, “You were a shit-head,” but said so with a smile. He returned the smile but reverted to being professional. He asked her how she was coping. They talked for a time about how to deal with the tragedy, living in the house where murders occurred, trying to understand the horror, trying to resume a normal life, as if that were ever possible. In the middle of their conversation Alice interrupted him to ask, “Why did you yell at me?”

“You reminded me of someone.”

“Your wife?” she asked.

Stanton hesitated. Certainly he knew the subject would come up but he wasn’t sure how he would react. He chose to follow his boss’s advice, to ‘face her and face it’ leaving nothing unsaid. He told her he had been married, that his wife had left him. He swallowed his pride and admitted that she’d left him for a woman. There was a brief moment of silence. Alice picked up the conversation. She told him that being gay in New York or San Francisco was difficult enough. Being gay in West Warwick was near impossible. The abuse the lesbian community encountered and the rebuke they suffered forced them to remain underground or, as the jargon went, ‘remain in the closet.’ Just like men, she explained, who marry to appease family or society, or to mask their sexual orientation, women do the same.

“I just wished she had told me before the wedding,” he said.

Looking at Stanton with a bit of tenderness she offered, “Maybe, she didn’t know.” Alice let the thought sink in before she asked, “Bruised your ego?”

Jeff acknowledged that it did. He went on to describe his marriage. He told her that he had a torrid romance and never suspected for one second that she was anything other than a woman in love with him. He confessed to Alice more than he should have, hoping she could explain how a person could fake happiness and then, later, turn on a dime and walk away.

“Jeff, some things are inexplicable. All I can offer is for you to try to imagine the confusion and conflict she was enduring. She must have known she was living a lie. I’ll bet anything she suspected she was gay at an early age. You’ll probably never know who she was appeasing by marrying you. In a way it was courageous of her to end the marriage. Perhaps she could have been more considerate in the way she told you but, at least, there were no children involved. That would have further complicated matters.”

Stanton leaned back and sunk into the sofa. He stared out the window as if in a daydream. He had nothing more to say. He was emotionally spent. His mind was far away.

Alice clapped her hands, waking Stanton from his trance. “Therapy session is over,” she announced. Stanton burst into hearty, robust laughter. “Is there a fee for your service?” he asked through ripples of laughter.

“Are you ready for the answer to you question?”

“Which one?”

“Zephyr Cove!” she said.

“What?”

She repeated herself. Stanton sat bolt upright and was wide eyed attentive. She told him that Linda Greenwell had lived in Zephyr Cove. At least she did before she moved to West Warwick and invited her to be her roommate.

“You made my day!” he shouted.

“Don’t try to be a Clint Eastwood. You’re nowhere near as handsome.”

Stanton laughed again. He was a grown man but flushed crimson with embarrassment. He excused himself and walked to the door. He turned to thank her. She waved him off. She looked him squarely in his eyes and said, “It wasn’t about you. It was always about her. You just helped her make up her mind.”

“I hear you,” he said softly. “You’ll be the first to know when we catch the bastards who did this.”

He walked slowly down the path, got into his car and drove back to the stationhouse. He was floating on air anticipating the Chief’s reaction because he had confronted his demon and had rectified his situation.

Chief Wilson had returned from lunch and saw Stanton sitting in her office. She asked him why he was waiting for her. When he had completed his recitation of meeting with Alice Chicciarelli at Elm street, Abby leaned back in her chair and let out a whistle, then added one word at a time, “Oh…my…God! This is the break we were looking for, Jeff.” She went on to tell him that Huff had found a gun. It was highly probable that it was the murder weapon because of its caliber and the location of its discovery. Abby told Jeff that the gun was already on its way to Hartford for ballistics analysis. Before she dismissed Stanton she asked, “Do you see what off-loading your shit can do for you? Imagine if you were a Catholic?”

Stanton snickered. “I like the way the Jews do it. One day of atonement and the rest of the year you can be your bad-ass self.”