Chapters 26 & 27

of Unrequited

Chapter 26

	Detective Wallace sighed loudly as Salvador pleaded with him over the phone. They couldn’t make the upgraded charges stick and Salvador was bailed out shortly after his arrest. Now, the man wouldn’t stop calling him. First, he complained that he couldn’t go back to his house, then about his detail. Detective Wallace checked his watch. It read 7:47am. I don’t have time for this. 
	“C’mon. You saw my hands. If I beat him up so badly, why weren’t my hands bruised at all? I didn’t touch that man. I’m being set up here. There’s something off about that guy and you know it,” Salvador said.
	“You could have used anything to hit him with. Now, unless you want to talk to me about that email this conversation is over,” Detective Wallace said, exasperated. 
	“Wait! He’s an IT guy. He could have…yes, I followed him, but only because…” Salvador started to say. 
	“You followed him,” Detective Wallace said matter-of-fact. An admission. 
	“Well, yes, but, but…?”
	“Mr. Montes, you’re spiraling. Now, when you’re ready to talk to me about the money you sent to Ms. Lynch, the mistress that you joked about killing your wife with, and finally, the email ‘from Grace,’ that came from inside your home, I’d love to chat. Now, enjoy your freedom while it lasts,” Detective Wallace said, then hung up. 
A voicemail rang through. 
	Hi. Detective Wallace. I was told you were the one I should speak to. This is the security guard from Chesterton Realty. Bobby, erm, Robert Mason was fired yesterday, and he made threats against Cherise Lynch. Since there’s already one missing woman here, I thought I should tell someone. 
	The person hadn’t left a call back number, and it would take too long to get IT to fish for it. 
	Instead, detective Wallace dialed Cherry. 
        It went to voicemail. Shit. 
	He dialed 14 on his desk phone and dispatched a uniformed officer to perform a wellness check on Cherry. “Have them call me directly please.” He bit his fingernails as he waited. The shrill of his phone ringer made him jump. 
	“Wallace. Okay, secure the scene, then back out. Do not step in or on anything. Do not touch anything. I’m coming.” 

Chapter 27

	Wes squeezed into the bed next to her. He stroked her cheek. 
	“Why so balmy? No, stop, I couldn’t. Yes, things are getting precarious, but after all we’ve been through, I couldn’t leave you. You love me so much. I couldn’t wish for anyone better. No need to worry yet – I’ve put something in motion for us.” Wes said, pushing a curl out of her face. Then, he closed his eyes and kissed her cheek, and climbed out of the bed. 
	Wes was running behind schedule, but he couldn’t bring himself to look in the mirror. The paperweight had done more damage than he anticipated. Worth the sacrifice. The police weren’t looking at Salvador hard enough, or fast enough. They can’t see how dangerous you truly are. Poor Grace, he thought to himself. 


	Detective Wallace took a deep breath before climbing out of his truck. The crime scene techs were already there and a perimeter set. He couldn’t accept it; he couldn’t understand how he missed the signs. The detective flashed his badge and ID at the officer at the front porch. A second officer waited inside; he handed Wallace a pair of booties to slip over his shoes. 
	“Detective Wallace? No forced entry – though the door was open when I arrived. The only disturbance is in the bedroom….on the bed. I checked her pulse just in case, but the bruising on her neck,” the officer stopped cold when they got to the bedroom door. His face paled, and he cleared his throat; Detective Wallace gave him an out. 
	“No need to go back in there. Just tell me what you experienced.”
	“Yes, sir. I…there’s nothing else I can add. After securing the scene, I walked a straight path out to keep from contaminating anything,” he added, then backed out towards the front door. 
	Detective Wallace pursed his lips, holding in a chuckle. Poor guy. 
	His breath caught in his throat when he stepped into the bedroom. There was a technician photographing a pair of men’s underwear on the floor, then a pillow closer to the bed. Another technician said without looking up, “ligature strangulation - that was pressed against her neck until she expired. No sign of sexual assault.”
	The detective’s eyes followed the tech’s finger to what looked like an award of some kind in an evidence bag. I’m sorry, the detective thought to himself. He hadn’t known her boss had lost his job, or how Cherise played a role, but all he could think of was her vibrancy and the life she could have had. Now, she lay here, hair shrewn about, and her face ashen. He couldn’t bare to look at her any longer. He turned to examine the bedroom. Is she asleep when he comes in? But how does he…a hideaway key most likely. Then, he noticed her cell phone. It was bagged up, but he took the chance. 
	“Gloves?” he asked. 
	One of the techs hurriedly supplied him with a pair. After donning the gloves, he picked up the phone and winced as he leaned over to use Cherry’s face to unlock it. The screen opened to her text messaging application. Everything was deleted. 
	“All the text messages were deleted. We have to recover those.”
	“On it. There’s DNA from the underwear, and a second toothbrush in the bathroom.”
	“A toothbrush.” Detective Wallace thought of Salvador instantly. Both had claimed there was no affair, but the money, the lies, the scheme in the first place. “I need a call directly, and a rush on this DNA. We may have released her killer just in time to do this.”
	When Detective Wallace got back in his car, he pulled up Mason's DMV records. 

	The detective pulled up to Cherry's boss's small, dilapidated home. Under the grime, were the remnants of what once was a beautiful house. It had a large porch that was overshadowed by overgrown shrubs. A large ceiling fan flanked two small, mostly dead ferns, and a single wicker chair. This was the head of a prominent realty firm? He tried to wipe the judgement off his face. The screen was locked, but the front door was open. 
	“Mr. Mason. It’s the police.” Detective Wallace squinted to see the outline of a man lounging on a recliner. “Mr. Mason. I can see you.”
	“Hold your horses,” he said, his words sloshing. “I’m comin’.” 
	Detective Wallace took a step back as Mason swung the screen door open, almost hitting him. 
	“Mr. Mason. I’m Detective Wallace. I need to talk to you about Cherise Lynch.”
	“Paid that little slut a visit,” Mason said, swaying and gripping a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. 
	“When? Last night?” Wallace asked, trying to stay calm. 
	“Sure…did. Went right to her house. Think she can…think she can get me fired,” Mason said. His face turned pale, and he fell over, crashing into Detective Wallace and sending them both down the stairs of the porch.  
	Detective Wallace managed to keep himself upright, but the drunken man was knocked out. He carefully laid him on the grass, checked his pulse, then ran to his car to radio for help. 

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