A Master's in Murder Page 5

  Brielle’s eyes flashed open, and there was a sudden fire lashing out in her gaze that had not been there before. Someone had stolen everything from her, but more importantly, they had stolen it from him. They had stolen a life of possibilities, a life of highs and lows so exquisite that no length of daydreaming or imagining could capture it all. Every life is a masterpiece of its own making, and Eric’s had been scorched into ashes. I won’t let it, she thought. I won’t let it just be gone. They can’t erase him like that. She gripped her fists so tightly together that she could feel her nails digging into her palms. Turning to face the weathered wood door, she knew what she had to do. With every step, she felt the weight digging deeper into her stomach, threatening to drop her to the floor. The pain was almost more than she could bear. But through the pain, through the stabs of sorrow like fiery knives to her chest, a renewed sense of purpose blossomed. Brielle was going to bring justice to Eric’s death… even if it killed her.

  10

  He glanced back behind his shoulder as he hurried down the stairs in front of the hospital entrance. Gingerly, his fingers traced the outline of the bandage across his forehead. He winced. Even with just the light contact, he could feel the tenderness of the bruise swelling beneath. There had been blood, but it had only helped to sell his story, he decided. What was a little cut on the forehead with the amount of money he had just scored?

  As the man called Kevin Trent climbed into the front seat of his red Jeep, he snorted softly. It sometimes amazed him just how easy people were to dupe. That kid’s parents had practically mourned with him, had bought every tear and every tortured look. They held his hand as they cried.

  After some deliberation, the police officer had told him that he would be required to pay a hefty fine for texting while driving, and his driver’s license would be put on probation. However, due to the fact that the young man had been jaywalking, any criminal charges would not be brought against him at this point.

  He smiled as he recalled that morning. He had been sitting there in his car as the rays began to peak shyly through the cloudy sky, waiting. He was impressed with just how accurate his client had been in predicting the timing of the young man crossing the street. His watch had blinked and beeped with the numbers “8:13” just as a young man in his mid-twenties stepped out from behind the shaded walkway onto the street. He was dark-haired and quite good-looking, and he walked with an air of confident determination. Kevin averted his gaze as he saw the young man’s eyes quickly scan the road for approaching cars before turning his face forward.

  Eagerly, Kevin leaned forward and grasped his keys hanging from the ignition, grabbing a black flip phone with the other. He had a matter of seconds to move in, or the boy would be across the street. Kevin glanced at the light pole where a camera hung. He had discovered how far the camera could see down the road and had chosen his spot carefully so that he would not be seen parked prior to his approach. Everything detail mattered, down to the open phone. Everything had to look like an accident. Kevin smiled grimly to himself. He had been an expert at that since that day decades ago…

  But now was not the time to relish in that memory. With a roar, the engine sprang to life and, like a lion, reared forward towards its vulnerable prey. Now gripping the steering wheel firmly, Kevin zoomed forward as his other hand traced the phone, miming the action of typing. He couldn’t resist the urge, though. He watched hungrily for that moment—the moment when fear crosses his prey’s face as it dawns on them what is about to happen. Kevin couldn’t fully hold back the smirk as he watched those hazel eyes widen and that mouth drop in horror. As the tremor of the impact shuddered through the car, Kevin slammed on his breaks and swung his head down onto the wheel. He had decided beforehand he could not walk away from such a brutal crash unscathed. Even the families of the victims needed to see him as a poor, pitiful soul.

  As the car skidded to a stop, Kevin lifted his head to gape out his window. Everything had become eerily silent except for the distant birds singing their morning melodies. Staring avidly ahead, Kevin focused on the crumpled, tattered body in the middle of the weathered, cracked asphalt. He could see the boy’s arms and left leg bent out at abnormal angles, folding uncomfortably around him like a collapsed spider. His right leg twisted grotesquely towards his shoulder, bending much further than any whole leg would. There was no movement. No sign of breathing. No life.

  Kevin hastily typed a message to the only number saved in his black burner phone: “Done.” He had finished the execution, and now it was time for the performance. Raising the phone to his lips, his felt his heart beating against his chest as wild triumph surged through his veins.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Hello, please! P-p-p-please help me, please there h-h-has been a terrible, terrible accident!”

  11

  Brielle tapped her foot anxiously as she listened to the soft ringing on the phone. Pressing her cell to her ear, her heart fluttered nervously as she listened to a gentle click, followed by a male voice: “Corey here.”

  “Officer Corey, hi. This, uh, is Brielle Daymon. Not sure if you remember me, but I’m, I was a friend of Eric Artimer.”

  The man’s voice seemed to relax into an easy tone. “Yes, of course, Brielle,” he said kindly. ” Call me Corey, if you like. Everyone does. What can I do for you? Did you—“ His voice cut off, hesitating. “Were you wanting to talk about what you saw?”

  Brielle’s heart beat faster as she mumbled, “Y-yes, Officer, Corey, but not quite in the way you think I want to.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t think the accident was, well, an accident. What I mean is, I think Eric was—was murdered,” she stuttered jerkily. As soon as the words left her mouth, Brielle grimaced and cursed inwardly. Even to her own ears, she sounded like a frightened little girl with a vivid imagination.

  She could tell that she had given Officer Corey the same impression when, after a moment, he soothingly murmured, “You have been through a terrible ordeal that no one should ever have to endure. Even the best of minds, when they go through terrible trauma, start to imagine—“

  “I’m not imagining anything!” Brielle replied forcefully, and the fire blazed again within her. “I know what I saw, and it wasn’t from trauma or shock. It was real.” A subsequent moment of silence followed, and Brielle knew that Officer Corey was still skeptical. Rubbing her eyes with her free hand, Brielle tried to make her voice sound reasonable. “Look, I already can imagine everything you’re thinking. I know I sound crazy, honestly. Everything you could say to me, I’ve already said to myself. But I also know that my eyes are not lying. I’m not seeing things,” she said. Brielle swallowed, trying to hold back the emotion that was threatening to creep into her voice. “Please, just humor me. Go look at the tape again,” she pleaded.

  Brielle held her breath as she listened to a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “I can’t make any promises about what I’ll see… but I’ll look,” a resigned Officer Corey conceded, and Brielle’s cheeks flushed as a thrill of hope flared through her.

  As she listened to Officer Corey’s shuffling on the other end of the line, Brielle feared her heart would burst through her chest with the ferocity of its beating. This, she knew, was a defining moment, her point of no return. If she could not convince Ray Corey of Eric’s murder in this moment, she never would.

  “Alright,” Officer Corey sighed, and Brielle did not miss the subtle hint of exasperation in his tone. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  Brielle took another deep breath before answering. “That man, Mr. Trent, claimed he never saw Eric in the road because he was looking at his phone. But look at his face, Officer. Watch his face closely the entire time. He was looking straight at Eric as he drove up. He knew exactly what was about to happen. He even—“ Brielle paused. “He even seemed to like it,” she finished lamely.

  Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. Brielle waited.

  “…I… I’m not sure,
Brielle,” Officer Corey said slowly, but the skepticism had disappeared. His tone was careful, calculating. He sees it too. It’s real. It’s not just me. The words rushed through Brielle’s mind like a dam had just shattered to release a mighty current. Her breath caught in her chest, and she gasped softly.

  “Yes, you are,” Brielle whispered softly, her voice surprisingly steady. “I know you saw it too. When you look at that man’s face, I know you can see it. He meant to hurt Eric.”

  Such a pervasive silence ensued that Brielle was shocked that the birds outside her window had the gall to continue chirping. Everything around her seemed frozen in time as Brielle waited for an answer, as if the air itself had stopped to listen.

  After what felt like eons, Officer Corey spoke. “I’m going to run a more in depth background check on Kevin Trent,” he said decisively. Tears sprang into Brielle’s eyes, but Officer Corey cut her off before she could speak. “I still can’t guarantee that there is anything more to this,” he cautioned. “But I can’t deny what I saw. So I’ll see if there’s anything else connected to this guy and get back to you.”

  As Brielle sputtered her thanks, Officer Corey stopped her again. “I would advise you to not share this with others until we have more to go on,” he said. “Causing panic and further pain for his family would be unfair to them until we have good reason to think there is more to this. I’ll call you back soon with what I find.”

  With a click, the line disconnected, and Brielle collapsed onto the grey sectional, running her fingers wildly through her hair. It was real. It was real. The words pulsed through her mind like a drum. The police were looking into it. But what was she supposed to do in the meantime? She couldn’t just sit here, patiently waiting, while Eric’s killer moved further and further out of their scope. She clasped and unclasped her hands, jittery with adrenaline. Unable to sit still, she looked like an addict going through withdrawals. The question that had troubled Brielle echoed again through her mind: But why? Motive still eluded her. She wanted to know, needed to know, why anyone would have done this to her Eric.

  In this day and age, she knew the first place she should look. Brielle hurried over to the front door next to which a torn blue backpack sat leaning against the wall. As they had left the hospital that terrible day, a nurse had rushed up to the group. “I have the belongings that Mr. Artimer had on him at the time of the accident. I’m required to return them to next of kin,” she had said, holding up the backpack. Surprising everyone, Eric’s father had turned to Brielle and said quietly, “You take it. We’ll gather what we need when we come to pick up his belongings, but in the meantime, Eric’s belongings are really more yours than ours.” As soon as she had arrived home, Brielle had dropped the bag by the door, unable to look at the evidence of Eric’s misfortune. Now, she dug through the pockets filled with loose paper and mechanical pencils until she felt her hand graze the edge of a smooth, rectangular object. Carefully, Brielle pulled out a silver smartphone and examined it. She could see a few light scratches that had not been there before, but thanks to the military-grade case Eric had chosen and the cushioning of the bag, the phone had avoided any major damage in the crash. She couldn’t help observing that the phone had been much luckier in its outcome than Eric himself had been. Brielle shook her head quickly, brushing off that morbid thought.

  Holding down the power button, a bright white and red symbol of a battery appeared. Dead. As Brielle groped for the charger plugged in a few feet away, she shuddered. Even using that word in reference to an uncharged battery would never have quite the same connotation. After a moment, the dark screen lit up to display a colorful array of apps. Seeing the familiar screen that she had seen Eric use so many times made Brielle ache. Stay focused, she thought determinedly. Brows furrowed, she clicked on “Messages.” It seemed likely that any evidence of motive would most likely be found in Eric’s correspondences with others. Brielle scrunched her brows together in confusion. It was blank. Not a single text displayed. Even her own text chain with Eric had been wiped away. The only thing to be seen was a light grey caption that read “No new messages”. Dismayed, Brielle closed the app and pulled up Eric’s recent calls list. Nothing.

  Brielle looked around, the wheels in her head spinning. Someone had cleared the history of Eric’s phone. Something on Eric’s phone had been worth hiding. But who would’ve had a chance to access the phone? She didn’t remember seeing Mr. Trent using the phone on the footage, but maybe it had been shielded from the camera. Or perhaps someone had gotten access to it in the hospital. What had been on the phone that had been worth erasing?

  A small voice whispered in the back of her mind. But why wouldn’t he tell you? What was he keeping from you?

  Stop it! Brielle thought angrily in response. Eric didn’t hide anything from me. He didn’t do anything to deserve this. Furious at herself, Brielle combed her brain for how to proceed. Unless it was someone who knew the software well, she had a feeling that the deleted files could be recovered. But I don’t know the first thing about how to do that, she thought, rubbing her eyes in distress. Abruptly, words she had heard only the day before floated back through her mind: “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, I’m always here to help.” Brielle’s eyes snapped open in surprise. She knew who to call.

  12

  As he lifted a spoonful of Frosted Flakes to his lips, Mason was grateful that it was Saturday. Even though he had gone to work following the funeral the day before, he’d had little success actually focusing on the tasks. Every time he would stare at his desk, the face of a withdrawn, tearful Brielle flickered before his eyes. She had seemed so distraught, so miserable. Mason had desperately wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her until there were no tears left to cry.

  Mason shifted in his seat as he crunched down on another mouthful of cereal. She was out of his league, he knew that. Every time he saw her shining brown hair, her wide doe eyes, he knew that she was on another level. And, in terms of romance, well… Mason lowered his head to catch a rogue drop of milk threatening to fall from the spoon. Anyone who saw her and Eric together knew that anyone else was invisible as long as he was around.

  Frowning slightly, Mason grabbed the remote from off the table next to him and flicked on the television to display the morning news. His eyes stared at the screen unseeing, still lost in his thoughts. As a photo of a petite, attractive young woman with red hair labeled “MISSING” filled the screen, Mason reflected on just how cold life could be. Brielle, in his opinion, epitomized what it meant to be angelic. Not only did she have the open innocence and beauty of an angel, but she also legitimately treated everyone with a soft kindness that Mason was not used to. In all the time Mason had spent with her, he had never heard Brielle speak negatively towards a single person. She was not unaware of evil in the world, but neither was she tainted by it. So Fate saw her goodness and spat on it. Mason thought resentfully. By ripping away the one person she treasured most.

  Mason, on the other hand, knew the injustice of life all too well. Since childhood, Mason had found the world to be unforgiving, judgmental, and condemnatory. No one was really any good, least of all him. He grimaced as he reached up to stroke the faint scar under his right eye. Dad made sure I learned that, he thought bitterly. No matter how many hits it took. Slowly, Mason closed his eyes, and for just a moment he was transported back to those terrible nights, cowering in the shadows while a clenched fist rained down on him. Mason opened his eyes, his forehead creased. There were people who would have to pay for the things they had done. But Brielle should not have been one of them.

  Suddenly, a loud buzzing made Mason twitch so violently that he almost upturned the remaining milk in his bowl. Swiveling around, he reached out to pick up the vibrating, blinking cell phone, but he froze, gaping at the phone screen. As if hearing his thoughts, the name “Brielle Daymon” was flashing up at him. Without thinking, Mason reached up to smooth his unkempt hair before rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. Hastily
, he snatched up the phone and clicked the green phone icon. “Hello?”

  “Mason! Hi, it’s Brielle. Hey, listen, I know it’s kind of early, but I need your help.”

  Mason felt his cheeks blushing slightly as he responded eagerly, “Of course, anything I can do for you. Are you doing okay?”

  He wanted to slap himself. Of course she’s not doing okay, he thought to himself angrily. Brielle answered in a quivering voice, “Oh, you know, not great. But your help will make a difference.”

  Mason’s heart seemed to burst. “Yes, anything! What do you need?”

  He listened as she drew in a breath. “Look, I know it sounds crazy but… I don’t think Eric’s death was accidental. And I was looking for information on his phone, but someone erased all of his recent communication. I need someone to help me restore the files. Could you do that?” she asked.

  Mason looked as if someone had just slugged him in the stomach. “Are you serious? Are you sure? I mean—”—he searched for words to sling together—“Have you told the police?”

  “Yes, and they’re looking into it. But—but I can’t just sit here waiting while they do all the work. I need to be involved! This is about Eric! Please, will you help me?” Brielle’s voice had become thick with emotion, and Mason sensed that she was in tears again.

  Mason tried to process what he was hearing. The pain in her voice was unbearable. “Of course, Brielle. Anything at all. I’ll need the phone. When can I come get it from you?” he asked.

  “Oh, thank you, Mason!” Brielle gushed with so much warmth that Mason’s heart skipped giddily. “Come by as soon as you can! See you soon!”