The Road Not Taken

“I didn’t kill your mother! You stupid bastard I wasn’t even there.” “You were going to interview her, your employer even said you left to do it.!” John Calson was bald and sweating. His head looked like a ball. Mike Smith the accused murderer and journalist for the West Crumpton Post felt sick looking at it. It looked like the inside of a melon, just less delicious.

“Yeah I did and I was going to but I didn’t.” Mike was nervous. He wasn’t a murderer but the Police outside made it look like he was.

“Oh you didn’t go? Where were you then?!” John grabbed Mike and pushed him against the wall. You could hear it outside. The Police in the office told him to calm down.

“You don’t wanna know why I didn’t go.” Mike didn’t wanna get punched in the face today. He didn’t want to get a black eye from a sweaty melon man. Yes his Mum was dead. But still he stunk and god why did he sweat so much.

“I DO!” Right, now the eyes were bulging. John the eldest child of Lady Marie Calson, local celebrity and widow of industrialist and Peer Lord Michael Calson was fat and his red, sweaty head did not complement the bulging eyes at all.

“I didn’t interview your Mum because I was balls deep in your sister.” Mike Smith, accused murderer, local journalist, bad father and closet alcoholic with a taste for fruity chewing gum and now asshole with a black eye.

Mike fell quickly. The police officer in the room didn’t help him and John Calson, he laughed and walked out the room.

His colleagues were outside and they laughed too. They were Richard Smith, no relation and while he liked to be called “Richie” Mike always called him Dick. Mike didn’t have many friends. He liked to think of Dick as a “lukewarm enemy”. Maybe he framed Mike?

The other colleague was called Sally Driscoll. Sally had worked at the paper since it started, rising from Secretary to Editor and was a brilliant Boss. She also had spare mints for Mike on the odd mornings when he forgot to brush his teeth and had let his daughter stay over with her more than once. She was the closet thing Mike had to a friend. That’s why he ignored her pointing and laughing.

“Aren’t you gonna do anything?” He shouted outside. The uniformed police officers looked sheepish and annoyed. They’d had dealing with Mike. He recognized one from a time he decided to have a violent altercation with the windscreen of his neighbours car. They sorted it out eventually. It was a misunderstanding involving urination and potted plants.

John had left the room. Mike heard the door slam and raised voices outside. He recognized all of them except one. A woman, possibly Scottish? Oh God what else could go wrong today.

He sat up. His back was against the wall. He reached to his face, touched the now black eye and winced like an idiot. He never understood the human impulse to touch something that caused you pain.

A woman walked in. Definitely a Police Officer, she had a trench coat and a determined expression. She had short hair and dark, probing eyes. Mike didn’t know why but she intimidated him.

“Do you want to press charges?” He was right she did have a Scottish accent?

Mike shook his head and winced at the ache. He stood up, still silent and just a little bit overwhelmed.

“Probably a good idea… Don’t think anybody likes you down here I’m DC Charlotte Kimble.”

“Should I be impressed?” Mike was in a mood where he was ready to argue. This lady was undoubtedly up for it as well. She was Scottish after all.

“Well not really but you should definitely be respectful… Afterall I’m the one who’s either gonna put you behind bars or make sure you’re acquitted of murder.” DC Charlotte Kimble definitely wasn’t ready to argue. Mike got the feeling he didn’t want to argue with her. He’d already had one black eye.

“So why are you here?”

“Mike Smith I am arresting you on suspicion of the Murder of Lady Marie Calson at approximately 9am this morning…” She carried on talking and as she said it without a smile, without sarcasm and with complete dedication Mike started to realise he wouldn’t be able to get out of this today.

Tilton is a small village but as Mike was lead out of the local newspaper (the Tilson Gazette) in handcuffs and into a police car it appeared to him to be the most populated place in the world. John Calson was talking to a uniformed Police Officer and stroking his wrist like it was painful. Mike had no doubt there would be an assault charge coming against him. It was one of those days, but assault is definitely less of a headache than murder.

Tilton doesn’t have it’s own local Police Station and all administration tends to be done from the seaside town and caravanning paradise Edtown. When Mike began his exile down here 3 years ago he thought it was the stupidest name he’d ever heard. He still did.

It took 20 minutes in quiet traffic to reach Edtown and maybe 5 minutes after that to reach the inside of the Police station. During that time Mike stayed quiet, nursed his black eye and tried to ignore the fact he was now desperate for the toilet.

Edtown wasn’t a big police station. It’s a small one designed for local issues, the most important are usually people not paying council tax or neighbourly issues with where you park your car.

An attempted murder was big news.

“You know you’re gonna have to speak eventually?” Charlotte tried to sound sympathetic as a uniformed officer helped him out of the car.

Mike smiled, looked at her and tried to hide how scared he was. “I’ve been accused of murder and now I’m arrested for it… It’s not a good day… Oh and I can’t even afford a solicitor.”

Charlotte smiled back. She closed and opened her eyes “well the Duty Solicitor is on their way… It is a murder case after all, you’re gonna be a local celebrity.”

“The Ted Bundy of the country bumpkins?” Sarcasm. It’s a defence mechanism. Charlotte ignored his response and he was led into the station.

He didn’t have to wait long for the Duty Solicitor but he wished he did. He wasn’t impressive. He was skinny, with greasy skin. Not a teenager but he looked like it and Mike had the distinct suspicion that with this man defending him he’d be in prison until he was an old man. His voice even squeaked.

He told Mike his name but Mike wasn’t paying attention. He was just surveying the seen. If he were a psychologist he’d think he were in the acceptance stage of grief now.

The interview room was uncomfortable. Mike knew it was designed to be. It was him and the Duty Solicitor on one side and Charlotte and an uncomfortable uniformed officer on the other side of the table. Mike was sweating, not from nervousness. He tapped his feet because of that, the room was cramped with no air-conditioning.

The interview had started. They all spoken, said their names and everybody knew the interview was official.

“Why did you kill her?” Straight to the point. Charlotte might have been trying to put him in prison on evidence he didn’t even know about yet but still he liked her.

“You don’t need to answer that.” The Duty Solicitor spoke. Mike couldn’t place the accent; it was definitely northern and friendly with soft vowels. The Solicitor had a high voice and nobody in the room took him seriously. Mike knew the Solicitor knew it, he felt bad about it and saw the rising pink on his neck through the suit.

“We know you were there… Your own appointment book confirms you were meeting for an interview and a few hours later Lady Marie Calson dies…” Charlotte sat back, crossed her fingers. She pulled down the crease on her suit, the officer next to her stayed silent like a statue.

“So he met the woman? My client is a journalist meeting a wealthy local celebrity for an interview, I’m sure you’d find his DNA there and he has no motive.” The Duty Solicitor spoke, sat up straight and looked over at Mike. Mike had to admit he was impressed, the solicitor sounded competent.

“He doesn’t have a motive?” Charlotte leant forward, a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. Mike had watched enough police crime shows to realise this is where things start to go bad.

“No I don’t have a motive at all. Why would I have a motive to kill a sweet old lady who was gonna give me money?” Mike was frustrated, scared and bored now. Next to him his solicitor was whispering about something with his pink neck turning ever pinker by the minute and Mike was not paying attention.

Charlotte leant back, smiled again and seemed to be very self-satisfied.

The officer next to her had not moved but now he pushed a filed copy of what looked like official documentation over to Charlotte. Her smile became larger. Mike had the distinct feeling the walls were closing in.

“If you didn’t have a motivation why does her recently changed Will show that she’s left everything to you and more to the point she also names you as her son?” Charlotte smiled and waited for a response.

Mike fainted.