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“What? You think someone knows I killed Ian?” she interjects in a panic.
“I don’t know,” I say quickly, “but it’s certainly a possibility. And if they do, they may have taken the body to try to out you—in which case it’s still better for the car to be at Ian’s because Frank and Kenny both know Ian drove you home. The less connection his car has to his murder, the better.”
“That makes sense,” Nora agrees softly, still looking understandably disturbed at the thought of someone knowing she killed Ian.
“I still want to clean up the blood and take prints before we go, though,” I continue, hoping to distract her. “There’s a chance whoever did this was an amateur and didn’t wear gloves.” Regretfully I release my hold on her and head over to the passenger door. “Of course your prints will likely be mixed in there too, but it’s worth a try. Let me get some supplies.”
We spend the next thirty minutes cleaning the car and working together to lift prints off the garage door, the car’s door handle and a few spots on the passenger seat where it seems likely someone removing a body might have had to grip or touch. Luckily–or not, depending on how you look at it–most of Ian’s blood ended up on Nora’s clothing, and we’re able to get the rest off the car with a sponge and some hydrogen peroxide. Once we’re done I place the evidence gathered on a table in my basement then we head back out to drive to Ian’s house, Nora leading the way in my car.
I thought that being in two cars would provide some much needed separation and space to clear my head; but instead, driving in Ian’s car has my mind on the things that took place in it just a few short hours ago. Rage brews in my chest coupled with a feeling of helplessness that I wasn’t there to stop it from happening.
Ironically the urge to stab something is overwhelming.
Not to be depressing, but one thing I’ve learned over the years is that most of us have the capability to murder somewhere inside of us. It’s just a question of whether or not we ever get pushed to our breaking point.
Sure jealousy, money, and passion may not be enough of a motive for most of us, but put us in a scenario where either we or our loved ones are in danger and I think many of us would find ourselves in the same situation as Nora.
But you wouldn’t be going to these extremes to help anyone besides Nora, a small voice whispers from inside me. Wouldn’t be thinking about legal loopholes to get yourself out of testifying against her…
My phone starts ringing, and I see Nora’s name on the screen.
“Almost there?” I ask when I pick up.
“Uh, yeah,” she replies, sounding worried. “But I just remembered that Ian lives in a gated community. We’ll have to be buzzed in.”
I bite back a curse. That’s not good news. The fewer people who see us with Ian’s car, the better.
“I’m sorry,” she goes on. “I should’ve thought of it sooner. Such a stupid mistake.”
“No, it’s fine,” I lie. “Glad you remembered before we got there.” I think fast, trying to come up with a way out of this. “Hopefully, the guard will recognize Ian’s car and buzz us in without question.”
“And if not?” The question hangs between us.
“If not,” I say, “we’ll have to tell him an edited version of the truth.”
“The truth,” she repeats in disbelief. “We’re going to tell a security guard I killed one of the residents in his community, then ask him to kindly let us in so we can return the dead guy’s car?”
“I said an edited version of the truth,” I reply. “We’ll tell him Ian loaned you his car because yours got a flat tire and now you’re returning it.”
Nora is silent for a beat, processing. “He’ll probably ask for our names,” she finally says. “We had to provide them for the party. He had a list of approved guests. He may not let us in without us being on Ian’s list.”
“Okay. That’s not great.”
“We could pretend to be Uber eats,” she suggests, “here with a food order. Nobody ever questions people bringing in food.”
It’s my turn to process what she’s said.
“Okay,” I agree. “But we’ll need to grab some food then. And maybe I should go in alone. It doesn’t make sense to bring my car in too if we’re going with the delivery man story.”
“What? No,” she immediately protests. “You’re already doing too much to help me. I’ll get in the car and go in with you.”
“One of us needs to stay with my SUV to pick the other one up. Otherwise we’ll be hoofing it on foot for miles to the nearest parking lot.”
“Well, then maybe you should be the getaway driver,” she replies, her voice anxious. “At least I have a semi-plausible reason to be driving Ian’s car if the guard does recognize it.”
“If the guard recognizes Ian’s car, I'll tell him I’m your boyfriend, returning the car as a favor to you.”
“My b-boyfriend?” she stammers over the word.
