Part 5 – Back to the Present Day
Detective Batiste swept a hand over his bald head. He motioned for me to take the chair across the table from him. His pale gray eyes followed me as I set my backpack down and slid into the chair.
I clasped my hands in my lap under the table so he couldn’t see that I was trembling. How could I not be tense? Winks was dead. I was up all night. No way I could get to sleep.
A young woman in a blue business suit with a white blouse under the jacket took a chair two seats down from Batiste. She had wavy, brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a nice smile. Her chair squeaked against the floor as she slid it closer to the table.
“This is Lieutenant DeMarco,” Batiste said. He stood up, pulled off his wrinkled gray suit jacket, and draped it over the back of his chair. He sat back down with a sigh.
We were in a small, narrow teachers’ meeting room at Linden High, a room I’d never been in before. I knew that Julie had been questioned here earlier, and now it was my turn.
The air was stuffy and warm. There was no window. The room was probably a closet at one time. The long table took up most of the room. I saw a few wooden chairs against the back wall, a half refrigerator that hummed loudly. Someone had tacked a poster on the wall of dogs sitting around a table, playing poker. The only artwork in the room.
I studied the room, I guess, to avoid facing the two police officers.
Batiste cleared his throat. He studied a sheet of paper in his hand. “Delia Foreman. Do we have that right?”
I nodded. “Yes. Do I have to raise my right hand or anything?” I don’t know what made me say that. Nervousness, I guess.
Officer DeMarco chuckled. Batiste’s face remained solemn. “We just want to talk, Delia. Nothing formal. We set up in here so we could talk to Rich Winkleman’s friends. Anyone who knew him at all.”
“Maybe someone will be able to help us,” DeMarco said. She slid an iPad out of her bag and placed it in front of her on the table.
“We know this is hard,” Batiste said, speaking very softly. His eyes never left my eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“No. I couldn’t,” I told him. “I . . . I couldn’t stop thinking . . .”
He and DeMarco both nodded. She typed something on her tablet.
“It must be really hard on you,” Batiste said. “You two were going together, right?”
Julie must have told them that.
I nodded again.
“How long did you go together?” he asked.
“Since I moved to Linden,” I said. In my lap, my hands were wet and ice-cold. “It was like love at first sight, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry,” DeMarco whispered. She seemed genuine, honest.
“And you were getting along well?” Batiste asked. “No big fights or troubles?”
I squinted at him. Did he think I killed Winks? Did he think we had a fight and I killed him? No way.
“We were in love,” I said. “Sure, we had a few arguments. Who doesn’t?”
Batiste leaned over the table. His chair groaned under him. “Can you tell us about an argument you and Winks had in the parking lot at Chuckles comedy club?”
I swallowed. Wow. He did his research fast. How did he find out about that? I know Julie would never have told him that.
“Some people reported seeing you having a screaming argument,” Batiste added.
“Whoa,” I said. “It wasn’t about anything at all.” I pushed my chair back. “Should I get a lawyer? Should I call my parents? Are you really going to accuse me of killing my boyfriend and drinking his blood?”
Batiste waved both hands. “No. Stop. Sorry. Please. Come back to the table. We don’t suspect you of anything at all.”
“You must be a wreck,” DeMarco said. “First, the horror of finding your boyfriend like that. Then being up all night. And then our questions. We really are sorry, Delia.”
“But we have to ask the questions,” Batiste said. He fiddled with his narrow blue necktie. “We’re talking to everyone who knew Rich Winkleman. Just trying to get some clues. We don’t really have anything to go on at this point.”
“And you might be helpful without even knowing it,” DeMarco chimed in.
I scooted my chair back under the table. I brushed back my ringlets of hair. “I’ll try to answer, but I don’t really know anything. We had a fight in the parking lot that night, but it wasn’t about anything. I don’t even remember what it was about.”
They both studied me.
“It was probably me just being jealous,” I added. “I can’t help it. I’m the jealous type. Well . . . Winks was my first real boyfriend, see.”
I knew I was rambling on, talking too much. I couldn’t seem to stop my mouth.
“I have to ask everyone this question,” Batiste said. “Where were you the night he was murdered?”
“You mean before Julie and I drove to his aunt and uncle’s house and found him?”
They both nodded.
“I was at Amber’s house. She’s another friend. Julie and I were at her house. She can vouch for us.”
“We believe you,” DeMarco said.
“We’ll be talking to Amber later,” Batiste said, studying his sheet of paper.
“You three are good friends?” DeMarco asked.
I nodded. “Pretty good. I’m the new girl. Like I said, I only transferred to Linden last September. I think Amber and Julie have been friends since elementary school.”
“Transferred from where?” DeMarco asked.
“Walter Academy, in Cincinnati.”
She typed something on her tablet. “It’s a private school?”
“For girls.”
Batiste cleared his throat. I saw drops of sweat on his bald head. It had grown hot in this windowless room, not much air, especially with the door closed.
“So you were at your friend Amber’s the whole time? And what did the three of you talk about?”
“I . . . I really don’t remember,” I stammered. “They’d probably remember better than me. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was . . . distracted.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Distracted?”
“I kept texting and calling Winks,” I said, “and he never answered.”
“He was babysitting his cousin,” Batiste said. “Was that unusual that he didn’t respond to you?” He swatted a fly on the table in front of him. Missed. The fly buzzed up to the low ceiling.
“Totally,” I answered. “It wasn’t like Winks at all. He always texted me back. Or called if Spencer had gone to bed.”
DeMarco typed some more on her iPad. I could see the concentration on Batiste’s face. His eyes kept their steady gaze on me, but his mind was sifting through other questions.
He leaned forward again. “One last question, Delia.”
I tried to return his stare, but it was far too intense. I lowered my eyes to my lap.
“Did Rich Winkleman have any enemies?”
“Excuse me?” The question took me by surprise. It sounded like something from a murder mystery.
Of course, this was a murder mystery.
“Enemies?”
“Can you think of anyone who disliked him? Anyone who maybe even hated him?”
I shook my head.
“Did you ever see anyone get into a fight with Rich? Did you ever see or hear anyone threaten him?” Batiste demanded.
“No one,” I said. “Winks was a big, sweet teddy bear. Everyone liked him. He was one of those kids who everyone—”
I stopped. A thought flashed into my mind.
If I hadn’t been so nervous, I might have thought of it earlier.
“Oh, wait,” I murmured.
Both officers raised their eyes to me expectantly. DeMarco stopped typing on her tablet.
“I just remembered something,” I said. “I’m sorry. I guess I just put it out of my mind. It sounded so crazy . . .”
“Just tell us,” Batiste said.
“Winks told me about this, I guess, two weeks ago? Someone beat him up. At his job. Some guy was waiting for him at the car wash and beat him up. And Winks lost his job.”
Silence. They both stared at me. No reactions on their faces. Then Batiste said, “Someone beat him up? Didn’t you think that was important enough to tell us?”
I could feel my face turning hot. I clamped my hands tighter in my lap. I hadn’t moved them since I’d sat down. “I . . . I’m sorry,” I stammered. “This has all been so . . . horrifying. Like a nightmare. I’m not thinking clearly. My brain is, like . . . exploding.”
Batiste scribbled a note on his sheet of paper. “Did Rich describe the guy who beat him up? Did he recognize the guy? Did he tell you anything about him?”
I thought for a long moment. “The guy said he was my stepbrother. That’s what Winks told me. But that’s crazy. I don’t have a stepbrother.”
“And you don’t know why he would say that?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s crazy. It’s just . . . crazy.”
DeMarco crunched up her face. “You don’t have a stepbrother? Is there anyone else in your family who would want to beat Winks up?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. “No way. I told you, this guy must be crazy or something. I don’t know who he is or why he said what he said.”
Batiste opened his mouth to ask another question, then stopped. “We’re going to have to look into this. I’ll send someone to the car wash.”
He sighed. “I guess that’s enough for now.”
“Thank you, Delia,” DeMarco said. She tucked her tablet into her bag.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful about the guy,” I murmured. “I just—”
“That’s okay,” Batiste said. “We’ll check out the car wash. You just gave us our first real clue.”
