Murder My Love by Victor Keyloun Page A

did everything in his power not to look surprised. He had said nothing to her about the events at Elm Street and couldn’t imagine where Sharon had gotten her information. His first thought was to stay calm. He told himself to remain professional. He remembered what the chief had said. He didn’t tell his wife, so why would he talk to Sharon about it? Then he wondered what would happen if he divulged the information to Sharon and the Chief found out. He knew Sharon could keep a social confidence but he didn’t want to test her ability to keep quiet about these murders.
    “What murders?” he said blandly.
    “Hey, Steve! Don’t bullshit me. I know you too long.”
    Sharon proceeded to tell Huff that the news was all over town. There was a whispering campaign. Some of the neighbors on Elm Street were not totally befuddled. They were aware of the new tenant who lived there and knew that she had a frequent visitor but said nothing to the cops. They didn’t want to get involved. When they had seen all the police at the house they’d put two and two together. “Hell,” she said. “You can’t sneeze in this town without some stranger saying ‘God Bless You’.” Steve kept his gaze on his coffee. He dared not look up for fear Sharon would see right through him. He didn’t want to corroborate her gossip by some inadvertent facial gesture and he certainly didn’t want to be accused of being the official leak. He wanted to ask her what she knew about the tenant and her visitor, but thought the better if it. Any question would only confirm that he was working on the murder. He got up from his stool, placed several dollars on the counter, turned and walked out without saying good-bye. As he reached the door, Sharon called to him, “I guess I’ll have to read about it in the papers.”
    He knew that would be imminent, judging by what Dr. Kruger had said. People blab. At least, he wouldn’t be the one accused of doing the blabbing.
    At one o’clock sharp all relevant officers on duty were assembled in the conference room. Sgt. Devlin had acquired and set up an audiotape player. He was about to press the play button when Kruger entered the room and took a seat. The room was so quiet that breath sounds could be heard. There were two tapes; a smaller prerecorded announcement tape and a larger one that recorded messages. Devlin inserted the first tape and pressed the ‘Play’ button. “This is Linda. I’m not here. You know the drill,” followed by a beep. No comment was proffered by anyone. It was a straightforward announcement; yet, it confirmed that Linda alone was the telephone subscriber and apparently the sole resident. Devlin removed it and inserted the message tape. He pushed the ‘Play’ button. The first sounds were those of static. It lasted about eight seconds. The next sound was that of a woman’s voice pleading for her life.
    “Oh my god, Rita! What are you doing?” followed by screaming as if she were in pain, perhaps being injured. “Why, why are you doing this?” followed by static, then hollow thuds as if someone were banging on an empty barrel. “Rita, for God’s sake, don’t do this!” Then the sound of something crashing, more like shattering. The woman’s voice, “Oh God, please don’t do this!” followed by repeated shrieking, agonizing cries, then a voice that changed the dynamic of the investigation. A male voice was distinctly heard. He said, “Is she?” A five second pause, then “Here … just do it.” Subsequent to his order, repeated thuds were heard. Screaming. Shrieking. With each shriek, a thud was heard. A loud noise. Then silence. Then static.
    The conference room was tomb quiet for a very long time. No one moved a muscle, not even to scratch a nose. No one wanted to ask a question or offer an opinion. Everyone stared at the Chief, awaiting her direction. Her face was like stone, impassive, enigmatic. At last, she looked up as if she had emerged from a trance.