Murder For Hire Read online

  Did she know something I didn't? Probably. She is a detective, after all, I thought with a tad of sarcasm. I knew I was in a hospital, yet this was slow thinking even for me. Nevertheless, the wheels inside my head started to spin from all the possibilities.

  Luckily, she didn't make me wait for her reply. "Yes. It's a good thing you are being honest with me."

  I really didn't know what to say to that. You're welcome? As it turned out, I didn't have to since she continued.

  "I want you to tell me everything you remember prior to your episode or after."

  Detective Michaels looked genuinely prepared to listen to me, which confused me to no end. I was caught in my father's room, covered in his blood. Wasn't that what they called a slam-dunk, a case closed? I said as much, not that I was complaining.

  "Why do you bother? I was in the room, after all." All alone. Nevertheless, if there were a sliver of hope that I didn't do it, I would do everything in my power to help this fine detective in her quest for the truth.

  "Are you saying you killed your father?" Detective Michaels challenged.

  "No. I don't know that, but I am curious why you would go to so much trouble to speak with me about everything when all this looks pretty obvious to me," I insisted.

  I couldn't explain why I was acting in such a way all of a sudden. Did I want to be the killer? Locked in some cell for the rest of my life? I didn't have time to ponder that.

  "What do you mean by that?" she asked in return.

  "I was the only one there, so it makes sense that I did it, right?" Even though I couldn't remember doing it.

  "Just because things appear to be in a certain manner doesn't make them true. Besides, you were not the only one inside the house. I have to follow the evidence," she replied sternly. The detective raised her chin ever so slightly before continuing. "And I'm bothering because it's my job to discover the truth."

  When she put it that way, it did make sense. "Fair enough. You will have my full cooperation, no matter the outcome," I promised.

  I realized as I spoke with her that not knowing was far worse than anything else. I was surprised how I conversed with her as though my whole life weren’t on the line. Shouldn't I be more scared since this woman literally holds my life in her hands? I thought melodramatically. That was a bit over the top for my taste, yet the sentiment behind it was still true, and I would let everything else slide.

  "I expect nothing less. And in the spirit of honesty, I have to inform you that there are some discrepancies in the forensic report."

  That was something I really didn't expect to hear. "What does that mean? What kind of discrepancies?"

  "Do you know how your father died?"

  I shook my head. No one had bothered to tell me.

  "He was stabbed to death multiple times. We found the murder weapon next to his body."

  "And?"

  "Your fingerprints were found on the weapon used in your father's murder."

  I knew it.

  "But there was a smeared second set of fingerprints on the knife handle that we couldn't identify."

  "Doesn't that mean someone else simply used the knife before me?" I asked, playing the devil's advocate.

  "That might be the case."

  "Or I'm being framed," I continued to think aloud. It would be easy to hand me the knife while I was out of it.

  "That is also a viable theory," the detective allowed.

  "So, you think I didn't kill my father," I blurted out before I could stop myself. She didn't say that, stupid.

  "That isn't what I said, Mr. Andros."

  Her meaning was clear. She was simply following the evidence while taking everything into account as a true detective should. As she said, her goal was learning the truth, and since I wanted that as well, although a large part of me already believed to know it, I was prepared to help.

  "So, what do you want to know?" I asked, sitting up a bit. The movement hurt more than it should. All the same, I didn't like the feeling of being interrogated while lying down.

  "First of all, would you care to explain how you got those bruises on your face?"

  "My face?" I raised my hand to feel it and winced when I touched a particularly tender place under my left eye. She was right. My face appeared to be seriously messed up.

  It wouldn't be the first time, and sadly, it wouldn't be the last.

  "Unfortunately, my memory is still a bit foggy from the seizure, but I guess it's safe to assume that I was involved in some kind of an altercation," I replied all officially like I was on a stand or something.

  She wrote something down before continuing, "Tell me about Mrs. Andros."

  "My mother?" I asked in confusion. Why would she want to know about her? She had been dead for a long time.

  "No. Your father's wife, Melissa Andros."

  That made more sense and didn't at the same time. I was surprised she wanted to know about my stepmother. I was sure she would berate me some more about my injuries or the relationship I had with my father.

  As it turned out, what was logical to me wasn't necessarily logical to the detective, so I tried to think about what she wanted to hear about my stepmother. It felt wrong to call Melissa my stepmother though that was what she was. We definitely didn't have that kind of relationship. She was only fifteen years older than me. In theory, she could have birthed me, but in reality, something like that would be disturbing on so many levels and I stopped thinking about it.

  "I don't know much about her," I replied eventually. "I only recently met her and learned about their marriage when I moved back to my father's house." It was hard not to make a face at the end of that sentence.

  It said a great deal about my relationship with my father that I didn't know he’d married again until I moved back into the house and he was forced to tell me.

  Of course, Detective Michaels noticed my reaction. "Was your relationship with Mrs. Andros strained in any way?"

  "You could say that." I smiled humorlessly.

  I completely misread Melissa. She wasn't how she appeared to be. At first, I pegged her for yet another victim of my father, but as it turned out, she wasn't that innocent either.

  "Mrs. Andros insists that you killed her husband."

  "I'm not surprised." I said the first thing that popped inside my head and regretted it instantly. I had to have better control of myself since I didn't want to say the wrong thing to the officer. One misunderstanding could cost me greatly.

  "Why do you said that?" the detective inquired like I knew she would.

  "Let's just say I'm not her favorite stepson." Especially after I refused to play her game.

  I wasn't intentionally cagey with Detective Michaels. I was embarrassed by this part of my life and the role Melissa played in it.

  Detective Michaels nodded, going over her notes. "She claims there is security footage of you committing the crime."

  I sat up completely straight. The movement made me dizzy, not that I cared. In my state, I completely forgot about one vital thing. The house was completely monitored. My control freak of a father installed a bunch of cameras inside and out of the house when I was a boy.

  He was convinced my mother was cheating on him and had her under surveillance twenty-four hours a day. That was probably one of many reasons she’d committed suicide, to escape such a cruel, unnatural existence. I banished that thought immediately.

  "And?" I forced myself to ask, not really wanting to hear an answer.

  I was sure she was about to tell me I did it. If you really killed him, would you be having this type of conversation with a detective right now? A part of me challenged. Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. Perhaps she thinks Melissa is an accomplice.

  My crazy ideas were stopped when she started speaking again. "The file is unfortunately corrupted," she replied, confirming some of my theories, how we wouldn't be sharing this conversation if I had been proven as the guilty party.

  "We are still looking for the backup files.
Do you know if your father had a cloud to store such files?"

  I shook my head. "Unfortunately, I can't help you with that. My father never liked me going into his office, and as you've probably seen, the security room was built into it."

  Like I mentioned before, my father was a complete control freak, consumed with jealousy where my mother was concerned. He was also abusive, an alcoholic, a sadist, and a psychopath. Understandably, there was no love lost with his death.

  I really hope you rot in hell, Dad, I thought snidely like a petulant child.

  I was so wrapped up inside my head that I almost missed the detective's next question.

  "Mrs. Andros also mentioned that you were lovers and that you killed your father out of jealousy."

  I couldn't believe my ears. She said what?

  "According to her, you hated having your father standing in the way of your happiness."

  To that, I started to laugh. That woman was full of lies.

  The detective looked at me oddly, so I rushed to explain. "It's true we were having an affair, but it was nothing like she described. The relationship" —I air quoted— "was short, awkward, and twisted," I said somewhat self-consciously. I was really ashamed that I'd succumbed to her charms.

  "Why do you say that?"

  I shrugged. "It was wrong. I knew that from the start."

  It didn't stop you from fucking her. What could I say? I was on the path of self-destruction. It was simply one more thing I could do to hit rock bottom. Although I would be lying if I said it didn't give me a certain satisfaction that I was doing something like that, doing her, right under my father's controlling nose.

  My affair with my father's wife did have consequences. In that regard, my father was right. A lot of my misfortunes could have been avoided if I'd simply kept my dick firmly zipped inside my pants.

  In some way, it completely made sense that I'd ended up like this, in this situation, disgraced and arrested, since my actions, all the bad decisions I’d made had paved the path.

  "Could you tell me a little bit more about it?" she pressed.

  I really didn't want to, and I exhaled loudly. Suddenly, I didn't feel like talking anymore, especially not about Melissa, her wish to be choked during sex, or my life in general. I lived through all of that once. I didn't need a reprisal.

  "It's a long story."

  "Perfect. The more I know, the more likely I will get to the bottom of things," Detective Michaels insisted.

  A large part of me really admired her tenacious nature. She must be really good at her job with that kind of mindset. That would make her a great psychologist as well.

  You're stalling, I reminded myself.

  Seeing no other way, I made myself more comfortable so I could tell my tale. "Well, to understand how all that with Melissa happened, you have to know why I was living at my father's house in the first place . . ."

  Chapter Five

  Ten months earlier . . .

  I pulled at my tie for the tenth time in the last two minutes. The thing was determined to strangle me for some reason. Stop fidgeting, you are acting like an idiot. That didn't help. I still felt like I needed to take the damn thing off, possibly run away from this place. I couldn't do either.

  Of course, I knew that the tie was not the real problem. I had difficulties breathing and was sweating like a pig for an entirely different reason. This office I was currently sitting in, listening to my idol crushing my heart, was.

  Naturally, it was easier to pretend the piece of silk was the root of my discomfort. Perhaps that was a bit delusional of me, yet at the moment I didn't care. I hated being there, hated every second of it with great passion.

  You fucked up, so suck it up, I informed myself as though I could ever forget this was all on me. My father's voice insulted my mind as well, telling me how he always knew how worthless I was, and I banished that through refocusing on the man who sat across from me.

  I felt like I had been summoned to the principal's office after doing something bad. Unfortunately, I'd had a meeting with the chancellor yesterday. This was more personal.

  "Dean, I have no words," Professor Edwin Carmody said with a stern shake of his head as he continued with his lecture.

  Despite stating how he had no words to describe his feelings toward my behavior, he had a lot to say, and rightfully so. As I mentioned before, I’d fucked up, and badly.

  It was really painful for me to hear him scold me as though I were a child because Professor Edwin Carmody was not simply my faculty supervisor. He was my mentor, and dare I say, a dear friend for many years while I worked here. Former mentor, I corrected myself, considering my predicament. Thanks to my actions, I'd lost the only father figure I had in my life.

  Nice work, asshole.

  "I know, Professor. I made a terrible mistake," I said meekly.

  He waved his hand in return. "Oh, no, Dean, a mistake would be to say the wrong year of establishing Wilhelm Wundt's laboratory at the University of Leipzig. This was a huge indiscretion, one you were not allowed to make while a member of this faculty," Professor Carmody continued with vigor. "As a professor at this college, you were obliged to set and uphold certain moral standards, and sleeping with your student has tarnished not only your reputation but the reputation of this establishment."

  I know. I was such a walking cliché, messing around with one of my students. "I know it's no excuse, but Professor, I fell in love."

  He repeated the gesture with his hand while scowling at me. "You should have known better than to get involved with the chancellor's only daughter."

  There was nothing I could say to that since he was right. I tried, nevertheless. "I learned my lesson, Professor, believe me."

  It only cost me my job. And my girlfriend.

  "I really hope so considering it cost you your place at this college and your reputation."

  This whole mess started with Bella Rothberg, a luscious twenty-two-year-old who became my graduate student assistant. She was just my type, athletic, blonde, with bright blue eyes. Truth be told, she was everybody's type, and she doted on me. The fact that she was chancellor Rothberg's daughter only added to the appeal. I’d always had a thing for inappropriate women.

  It was love and lust at first sight, and I knew I simply had to be with her although it was forbidden. Us working together, with my constantly finding imaginary jobs for her, led to a steamy affair like I wanted it to. As it turned out, Bella was pretty wild, slightly exhibitionistic, so every second with her was a thrill ride, something worth remembering.

  It was no wonder I fell for her, and hard. I’d never had something like that in my entire life. The best part? She didn't mind my seizures. At some point, I really thought I'd met the love of my life. I was an idiot.

  It all came crashing down a couple of days ago. Unfortunately, we became too reckless, making love all over the campus. None other than Professor Carmody himself had caught us in the act in my office. I felt only slightly betrayed that he’d immediately reported us.

  Bella was sure it would all blow over quickly. It didn't. Since I violated the morality clause that was part of my employment contract, I was fired. The way Chancellor Rothberg looked at me while informing me that I was no longer a member of this faculty, I realized I got off easy. If a look could kill, I would be not only dead but chopped and buried in some unknown location never to be found.

  It broke my heart that Professor Carmody didn't try to defend me. More to the point, he felt the need to lay down an additional verbal beatdown. At the same time, that was to be expected. The man was extremely conservative and was a stickler for the rules.

  "I'm sorry, Professor Carmody. I brought shame to us all." It wasn't a lie. I really regretted some of my actions.

  "I have to say I'm outraged by your lack of control," the professor continued.

  The only thing I could do was sit there and take it like a man. To make matters even worse, Bella dumped me when she learned I got fired. That made me face
some ugly truths regarding my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, I corrected.

  "You can get another job," she said at first, after I shared my news with her.

  I made a face. "Maybe in some other state, not here," I replied, knowing I realistically had no chance of getting another job here considering what happened. Nobody would touch me after this scandal. Word like that traveled fast.

  "What?" Bella was not pleased to hear that. "In what state, like New Mexico?"

  I simply shrugged in return. She left me right then as though I were nothing with a disgusted look on her face.

  That hurt like hell.

  As it turned out, she was only with me because I was a professor at this prestigious college. Bella enjoyed the prospect of having someone powerful in her bed, and I was the perfect candidate because I was young and on the verge of gaining tenure. Without blowing my own horn, I had been somewhat of a rock-star in my department. That ship has sailed, though.

  Bella had some serious daddy issues, and I was too blinded by my own emotions to notice or care. So to sum it up, I blew up my entire life for a girl who didn't care about me one bit. She called me weak when I failed to ‘fight for my job’, according to her.

  The way I saw it, I did breach my contract and I should pay for it. Was I of the opinion that the punishment was too harsh? Absolutely. Sadly, since Bella's father was the head of the university, it was his right to dole out that punishment. It came as no surprise that he decided to fuck me up, and I accepted that without making a fuss.

  Bella didn't see it that way. She saw my resignation as a sign of weakness. To her, I was a man who didn't fight for what he wanted. Also, her vanity couldn't allow her to be with a former professor who had seizures. It came as no surprise that she'd lied about being okay with my illness.

  It suited her to be with me for a while, so she accepted the defect, as she called it. I didn't regret losing my job over her until she left me. That said a lot about me and the type of idiot I truly was. I let a twenty-two-year-old with slightly psychopathic traits ruin my life.