The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1) Page 3

  Both men stood towering over her.

  Peeking from under her lashes, she looked at them. They didn’t scare her. She only hoped her innocent act would wash with one or both of them. Sure, she had a motive for Tony’s death, but so did his wife—she reminded herself of this.

  Focus on the here and now, she thought.

  The heavy gaze of Dunne and McDonald thickened the air.

  “Why can’t you ask me whatever you want here?”

  “Interviews under caution need to be recorded—you know this,” Dunne said.

  Chelsea sized him up, moving her eyes over his lean frame. Dunne seemed impatient to her, she sensed it. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he wanted to hurry up the process.

  Only one issue made her skin crawl. At the station, the detectives could cross examine her, then playback her responses, searching for holes. She was well aware of this, and that made her nervous. The thought of her personal life put on display again, brought a sense of dread to rest heavy on her chest. But she didn’t want them to know how she felt or that she was trying to stay one step ahead. She must remain careful with all that she said and did, including her mannerisms and facial expressions.

  “Recorded, yeah.” Chelsea threw her head back and laughed. “How can I forget. Give me a second, I’ll grab a jacket.”

  Chelsea knew then that her hunch was right. He did want to speed up the process.

  “Make it quick.” Dunne let out an impatient breath and shot a side-glance at his partner.

  She turned to leave the room, contemplating what to wear—a coat, cloak, or wool wrap.

  Footsteps tapped against the wooden floor behind her. Chelsea glanced over a shoulder just in time to catch sight of McDonald peeking into her kitchen.

  Pausing for a moment at her bedroom door, she listened to the men’s conversation. Their voices remained low, floating out of the main living area.

  “This is gonna be a headache, I can tell,” whispered McDonald.

  “Yeah, but if we don’t at least follow up on the evidence, who knows what we’ll miss.” Dunne stepped into view. “Or what we’ve already missed.”

  She crept forward, slightly, then watched Dunne, who now stood in front of the circular mirror, smoothing his tie.

  Evidence? She covered her mouth to stem the gasp that almost escaped. What evidence? Her mind raced back and forth over the last investigation. There was no evidence, well not enough, anyway. Otherwise, they never would have closed the case, marking it unsolved.

  She mused further over the information flowing through her thoughts, then backed into her room, gently closing the door. Back against the frame, she wrapped her arms around herself. A frown of frustration hit her lips.

  She sighed deeply, chewing on the skin around her thumb nail.

  Chelsea headed over to her dresser, grabbed her phone, then checked for messages—there were none.

  On autopilot she pulled up Lance’s name and typed out a message. She thought twice about it, and then deleted the message.

  Slowly, she turned around from her dresser and pondered her next move.

  “Chelsea,” Dunne’s voice called out.

  She jumped to attention. “Just give me a second, I’m coming.”

  Tension tightened the muscles in her neck and back. She made her way over to the large wardrobe stuffed with designer clothes and shoes and freed a black jacket from a hanger. Quickly, she slid it over her frame and closed the door.

  In the mirror on the back of the wardrobe’s doorframe, she looked herself in the eye. “You’ve got this!”

  Pep talk over, she grabbed her handbag from beside the bed, shoved her phone inside a corner pocket of the bag, then made her to the door.

  She placed a hand on the knob, then paused a moment. Her shoulders sagged, rolling forward. A grieving expression masked her face, and she let out a calming breath, preparing for her role. Once in character, she made her way out to Detective Dunne and McDonald.

  5

  One Step Ahead

  Detective Dunne

  One hour later, back at the police station, Dunne and McDonald sat opposite of Chelsea in the interview room.

  Dunne pressed record on the audio device and double checked the cameras were rolling.

  “This is Detective Dunne, present with me is Detective McDonald. This interview is being carried out in Interview Room One.” He paused a moment. “For the purpose of this recording, please confirm your name.”

  “Chelsea Jackson.”

  “Date of birth, Miss Jackson.” Dunne glanced at her.

  “Twentieth of March 1983.”

  “Chelsea, as mentioned, this interview is part of an enquiry into the death of your late boyfriend, Mr. Patel—”

  “I understand. Can we just get this over with? I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ve always wanted to find his murderer.”

  “Fair enough.” Dunne reached for the remote control on the table. “Take a look at this.” He pressed play and watched Chelsea’s reaction closely.

  A red blush rose up her neck and touched her cheeks. Her eyes moved over the screen, then she sucked in a gasp as if in shock. For a second, a deep frown covered her lips and a perfectly arched brow cocked toward the screen. The vulnerable, innocent girl look she wore vanished, replaced by a poker face. Her chest rose and fell deeply, she narrowed her eyes and stared off into space, averting her eyes from the screen.

  Dunne loved this part, when a suspect realised he was one step ahead of them. He took full advantage and tried to break her down further.

  “Chelsea, you okay?” He asked.

  Sarcasm dripped from his response, “looks like a pretty intimate moment you were having there, but that’s not Tony is it?”

  Dunne noticed her energy shift from the grief-stricken girlfriend to pissed off—it was tangible. He focused in on Chelsea for a moment as she stared off into space and avoided his eye contact. Visibly he noticed her try to control her breathing. He watched the muscles of her jaws twitch, then she grinded her teeth together.

  Images of her and an unknown man in a car moved over the screen. In the visual scene, Chelsea’s head dipped low into the man’s lap. He moved his focus from the video back to her, Chelsea rolled her eyes and exhaled a long sigh.

  Dunne adjusted his chair to lean back. There was no mistake over what was taking place in the recording. The camera became unsteady as it zoomed in slightly, and the man in the car grabbed a handful of Chelsea’s hair, pulling her head up from his lap, then kissed her. Once the kiss ended, Chelsea straddled the man’s lap. Dunne shifted his eyes from the scene back to Chelsea.

  She let out yet another frustrated breath, then drummed the already worn wooden table with her manicured fingernails.

  “Switch it off,” she said, “I’ve seen enough.”

  Dunne let the video play on for a moment longer and observed her while she fidgeted in her chair, she stopped drumming her nails on the table. Instead, she chewed the skin around her nails. A habit he thought was disgusting but recognised as a tell-tale sign she was about to break. He wrinkled his nose, then moved his gaze over her further, and noticed her right leg bounced up and down, he felt the vibration against the table.

  “I said, switch it off!” Chelsea’s voice bellowed around the small interview room,

  “where the hell did you get that?”

  Dunne ignored her question. He flipped open his notepad to check his notes. McDonald paused the tape and took over the interview.

  “Chelsea, for the purpose of the tape recording,” McDonald pointed to the screen, “can you confirm who that is in the video footage?”

  Dunne watched her closely he noted that, Chelsea shifted her pinched-up expression from the screen, over to face him. She sat upright, chewed the inside of her lip, then moved her gaze back and forth between him and McDonald, as if she tried to read them. Dunne remained emotionless on purpose. His poker face gave nothing away.

  To Dunne as he took a back seat and let his partner call
the shots, it appeared that her brain was ticking. She straightened her back, opened her mouth as if to talk then closed it.

  “Well, let me explain,” she started, “that was me. And . . . he, uhm . . . that’s a f-friend of mine.”

  “A friend?”

  McDonald questioned as he rose an eyebrow in her direction. “Chelsea, according to the date of this recording you were in a relationship with Tony Patel. He turned up dead three days later.”

  Dunne bit his lip in anticipation of her excuses as he noticed Chelsea fiddle with the hem on the sleeve of her jacket across the table. She twisted the material tightly around her fingers.

  “Yes, we were together.”

  She responded as she blushed then looked away from McDonald’s intense gaze.

  “Chelsea, in your own words what took place in that car between you and this man?” McDonald continued.

  “We had sex, okay. Yes! We had sex.”

  “So, who is he?”

  “A friend.”

  “Name?”

  “Why what does this have to do with anything? You need to focus on finding Tony’s murderer not who I had a two second fling with!”

  Dunne glanced at his partner, McDonald’s ice blue eyes were trained on Chelsea, “name, please Chelsea.” He pushed on and ignored her comments.

  “Lance Duncan, he owns a garage near my office. One day my car broke down and we got talking.”

  Dunne noted down the name and returned his glance to Chelsea. “You mean you were more than friends, by the looks of it?” Dunne nodded in the direction of the frozen video clip on the screen showing Chelsea straddling the man. Chelsea shifted in her chair nervously, every move she made Dunne scrutinised.

  “Yes. You could say so.”

  “How long were you seeing Lance?” Dunne asked.

  She glanced back at the screen.

  He noticed the hesitation in her response and waited.

  The corner of her mouth twisted to one side. She looked at her lap, glanced from him to McDonald, then lowered her lashes, again.

  Dunne took a deep breath to keep his patience in check. “Chelsea, can you answer the question please?”

  “Chelsea, if you could please answer the question.” He pushed her again.

  “About a month or so.”

  “Why the affair? You assured us before you were both happy.” McDonald questioned.

  “Yes, we were happy, I did love him, I still do. It just happened one of those things. Lance knew about Tony’s cancer and wanted us to be together once he passed away.”

  “So, what are you saying? You had free will, you didn’t have to continue the affair.”

  “I know. It just happened.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  Chelsea paused, bit the inside of her lip, then shifted her eyes from McDonald to the table.

  “Well, no. I mean yes, but not like that.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Chelsea, think back.” Dunne sighed impatiently.

  Chelsea glanced at the ceiling, and after a beat, she met Dunne’s gaze. “A few weeks back, I’ve not seen him since.”

  “All right, for now we have no more questions.” McDonald glanced over at Dunne, who nodded in agreement.

  “For now?” Chelsea’s eyes widened. “You mean you don’t believe me? It was just a fling that got out of hand.”

  McDonald reached over and switched off the audio recording. “For now, you’re free to go,” he told her.

  Chelsea stared blankly at the screen with the video paused, then rose to her feet.

  “I didn’t do it. What they all think I did. I would never, I loved Tony.”

  Chelsea broke down in tears. “He was still legally married, but we fell in love.” She sobbed. “His wife and family hate me, but I didn’t force him to change his will in my favour when I learned about his cancer.”

  Dunne eyed Chelsea closely, then pulled out a box of tissues from the desk drawer.

  “Here, wipe your eyes. Just stay calm and head home.” He handed her a Kleenex. “We’ll be in contact if anything further comes up.”

  “Okay.” Chelsea sniffed, then blew her nose. “Thank you, Detective.”

  6

  I Spy

  Chelsea

  Chelsea approached the reception desk of the police station to collect her things.

  “Sign here,” said the female officer on duty.

  She wrote her name, signed, then picked up the clear plastic bag containing her belongings.

  In a huff, she placed one hand on the door handle, exited the police station, and stepped out onto the pavement. She glanced around, not sure what she expected to find.

  Swiftly, she walked to her car and got inside. Once seated, she blew out a frustrated breath, then massaged her temples.

  “Think, think.” She examined the damage around her thumbnail from chewing around the edges under Dunne’s hawk like gaze.

  She pulled out her phone, then scrolled through her contacts.

  Lance’s name in bold text stood out on the screen. A sense of paranoia came over her. It was almost as if his name itself mocked her for the situation she had found herself in for the second time.

  Chelsea moved her thumb over his name on the screen.

  Three months ago, when Tony’s body had turned up on the common in the local park, it had been a surprise to her, yes. But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t happy.

  “You were good to me, Tony. But you weren’t Mr. Right—just the Mr. Right for now.”

  She laughed out loud, then muted herself with a serious expression.

  Scrolling past Lance’s name, she landed on Manisha Patel’s contact details—his legal wife’s name.

  A twisted smile and a small chuckle escaped her lips. She threw her phone in her bag, started the car’s engine, and then took off towards her home.

  Thirty minutes later, Chelsea shut off the engine on the quiet road and glanced at her watch. It was only mid-day.

  She sat a few houses down from where Manisha’s car was parked, outside what was once the marital home of Manisha and Tony.

  What am I even doing here, again? Every now and then, she had driven past the property to keep tabs on what Manisha was up to, especially during the battle over Tony’s Last Will in Testament.

  Nothing ever looked out of place, and to her surprise, she hadn’t put the house up for sale to try to claw back some of the money—according to Manisha—the woman felt she had been robbed of.

  A figure made its way out of the gate of the house. It was Manisha.

  Chelsea ducked down slightly, keeping her whereabouts a secret.

  Manisha got into a car and took off in the opposite direction.

  “That was close.”

  Chelsea chuckled, half-startled and half-intrigued by where Manisha could be on her way to. Curiosity got the better her. So, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking space.

  “Nah.” She decided against that course of action. “I’ll check on you some other time, Manisha.”

  Chelsea did a three-point turn on the quiet road and headed back the way she came, away from Manisha’s home.

  7

  I.O.U’s

  Lance

  The phone rang loud from inside the office.

  “What the—” Lance literally jumped out of his skin, banging his head against the undercarriage of the vehicle he was working on.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Glancing in the direction of his office, he glared with distain at the echoing ringtone.

  All morning, he had been on edge, anticipating John’s surprise visit. Especially in light of the man’s threat yesterday morning.

  Time’s ticking, he recalled John’s warning.

  He was still no closer to raising part of debt money he owed. Not by a long shot. He’d borrowed a hundred grand from the loan shark in a fit of desperation, and a
gainst his better judgement. And now, he had only managed to make an odd payment here and there.

  John wasn’t the kind of man to settle for inconsistency. Nope, not one bit.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  He moved from under the hood of the car he was working on, then headed into his office. Shifting around the papers and tools on the desk, he searched for the ringing cordless phone.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Lance, we’re in the shit,” Chelsea blurted out.

  He hadn’t expected her to be on the other line. In some ways, he thanked God it wasn’t John.

  “What? Why? Wait, where are you?”

  “In my fuckin’ car.”

  “What’s happened now?” Lance signed. “Look, before you answer, have you thought about that money. I really need it?”

  “Shut up, Lance. Stop going on about the fuckin’ money. We’ve got bigger problems.”

  Lance grabbed a cloth from off the chair and balanced the phone on his shoulder. He wiped his hands to remove the engine oil. “What do you mean?”

  “They found a tape of us together. The detectives are sniffing around again. They pulled me in for questioning just now.”

  “So, what’s that got to do with me? I told you what I wanted Chelsea.”

  “Lance will you get a fuckin’ grip.”

  Chelsea banged what he could only assume was the steering wheel of her car.

  Shit, what now? He thought.

  “I’m in the hotseat again. What don’t you get?”

  Lance pushed the end button, hanging up the call, dropped the phone on the desk, then slumped down into the chair behind his desk. He placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes so tight, he felt like he would burst a blood vessel.

  The phone’s loud and shrill ring penetrated his ear, but he ignored it, pushing it to one side. He rose to his feet and paced his office space, and as he did, the phone rang again. This time, he snatched it up.