Nick Farley stands in the back of the church, shifting his weight from one side to the other. He is restless, stirred even. He gets like this before each of his arrest. The vivacious feeling of a job well done. He jangles and twirls at the handcuffs in his side pockets. He needs to make sure they are there. Everything has to be perfect. With cases like these it is important to pay attention to the details, yours, the victims and the suspect. Or in this case the suspects.

Nick peers at the wooden oak pew, carved on its sides with baby doves. On it is seated a Mrs. Elly Mcdougal, Sinclair Rossmen and Nicole Waters.

There they are, Nick thought. Front in center for everyone to see, just how they like it.

His heart tugs inside his chest and he has to remind himself that it isn’t time.

Breathtakingly attractive and successful in their own right, these women seemed to have it all. Money, power and discernible beauty that even a blind man couldn’t not see them. Every man in this large-gritty city had thrown themselves at them and in their typical haughty manner had resulted in envy when turned down. Envy etched so deep in the impure desires and allure for the women that lust spread in the city like a virus.

Look at them.

They had each been born with silver spoons in their mouths and have had their share of expensive vacations and private schools, the best that money could buy. Their seemed to be no end to their debtless education and care free charisma. But were they really capable of it? Murder? Could one of them be responsible for it all?

This is what Nick had wondered for weeks.

Peering out from the dark halls, he could see Elly, the youngest of the three as she swiveled around in her seat. She glances directly at him, as if she knew he were there, watching them, watching her. Their eyes meet. Elly squints suspiciously yet the corners of her mouth curl into a faint smile. Maybe she’s being coy to avoid suspicion with the familiar detective or  maybe she didn’t care about his being there. Maybe she liked it. Being suspected of committing a crime as heinous as murder. The thrill of riding back seat of a police cruiser, her picture headlining on every news and gossip channel for two weeks; maybe she liked all of it. She turns back around and quickly whispers to Sinclair who does the same to Nicole. One by one, they turn like the blades of a fan to see the detective for themselves.

Nick steps back into the shaded hallway to avoid their glances. He doesn’t want to make a scene, not here. Not like this and not now. Not that he’s a religious man or anything, but he thought it would be rather tasteless, making an arrest on church grounds, at the funeral of ‘Cathy Griffendell’. In the eyes of all things notable, people like Cathy were untouchable. She was of the class of wealthly individuals whose wealth mattered more than their soul. Money gave them their roles in society and as long as they should have it, they would stay there.

For the sake of his own career, Nick had to tread lightly. Anything to the contrary was career and social suicide. He could see the tabloids now. “Uncivil detective storms through crowds of  grieving loved ones to make arrest”.  That’s what they would say about him. They would make him out to be some cold, ill-mannered monster who would do just about anything in the name of the law. When in fact the real monster was here. In this church, pretending. Someone here had killed Cathy Griffendell in her lavish three-story home just a few blocks from this very church.

Her body had been found cold just days after arriving back in town from her second honeymoon. When the autopsy report had come back it was revealed that Cathy Griffendell had been drugged, sexually assaulted and shot, twice, all in the same night. Once in the abdomen and the other to the chest. The gunshot to the chest is what had done it. Tearing through her left breast, piercing a lung, killing her. Who could do such a thing? And why to Cathy?

When the case had arrived on Nick’s desk early Monday morning just hours after the body had been discovered. He knew what he was up against. He knew that this case could either make or break his career and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

* * * * * * * *

Tuesday

Nicole is summoned for questioning on Tuesday, after it has been discovered that she had drinks with Cathy the night before her death. She is the first of the trio asked to come in for questioning and arrives rather anxious, as if she hadn’t slept in days and breathed caffeine for the past 24 hours. Her long, dark hair is a bit tousled and her clothing is casual, clearly not her usual upkeep. She comes to the station alone. Although Nick had informed her of all legal rights, still, she waived her right to counsel and came alone. Perhaps, she figured it would help her look less guilty.

The interview lasted one hour to be exact. One in which Nicole was very forthcoming about her last encounter with the now dead socialite.

“I didn’t do it.” Nicole began.

“I invited Cathy for drinks late Saturday out of concern. She and Sinclair had had quite the quarrel you see… about Tom, Cathy’s husband.” Nicole spoke slowly, choosing her words precisely, careful to not incriminate herself or anyone else in the particular matter.

Nick drew lines through previous questions before moving on to the next, careful to not miss a thing.

“Why do you think the argument was about Tom?” he asked, noticing the way Nicole straightened her posture before answering.

“Tom and Sinclair had dated awhile back in high school. Everyone knew this. We thought that she’d be the one who Tom would marry, not Cathy.” She licks her lips. “Cathy and Tom began dating a few months ago. Clair told me she didn’t care and for awhile I believed her. But after Tom proposed, something went off in Clair. She began to change.”

“How so,” Nick urged her to continue.

“Well, we began to see her less. She always complained of late meetings, work piling on but I knew. We all knew. That’s the thing about being best friends, you can’t hide anything… not for long anyway. It’s all bound to come out, one way or another.”

Wednesday

“That is complete bullshit.” Sinclair scoffs, trying to act as if her best friend marrying her ex-boyfriend didn’t bother her at all. She does it so well that she almost even fools herself.

Detective Nicks eyes follow her around the tiny room, where it is only them inside. She thinks she’s got him fooled. She thinks she’s in control. That’s what she likes- control, being in control.

Sinclair Rossman is the sole proprietor of her family’s prestigious hotel chain. She is the boss and for all twenty-seven years of her life, control has been all she’s known. But today was different. She was a suspect in her own best friends murder. What a nightmare it had been for her, receiving the call to come down, having to cancel her morning meetings and afternoon waxing appointment. That and sex. She wonders which one would help her out of this particular predicament.

“Settle down, Mrs. Rossmen. No one’s been arrested. I’m only giving you a chance to tell your side of things. There’s no need to get upset.” Yet, Nick thinks to himself.

“Ms. Rossmen, I’m not married,” she says with a hint of jealously. She sits down across from Nick with her arms folded across her lap. Nick knows that Sinclair isn’t married he only says this to see how she would react to it.

“Your best friend married your high school lover and your not at all upset about that?” Nick ponders. I’m no love-bound romantic but even I’d be a little ticked off.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t upset. I was deeply-upset, hurt. I felt betrayed… but not enough to commit murder. I could never do such a thing. Cathy was my best friend. She knew all my secrets, everything there is to know about a person. I could never hurt her, never. Not for anything.” Everything Sinclair said was true. Cathy did know everything about her. All of her secrets, her insecurities, her indiscretions and flaws. She knew Sinclair all too well. She had known all of them too well. But someone had done it. Otherwise, how do you explain her being drugged? How do you explain her torn undergarments and fingernails etched into her sheets. Cathy was fighting for her life. No one could explain the gunshot wounds. Cathy surely couldn’t have shot herself in the locations described twice. Someone was a killer.

Elly

Elly is the last of the three to come in for questions. Detective Nick doesn’t really suspect her but decides to bring her in as a formality. She is the other best friend of the late Cathy Griffendell. She may add something to the case that he doesn’t already know.

“Please state your name and today’s date for the record.” Detective Nick says to her, “Elly Mcdougal. Today is January 3, 2019.” She smiles into the camera as if she’s auditioning for a movie. Nick doesn’t fear much but something about Elly is off. He can’t read her like the others. Her body language is subtle yet seductive. He can’t tell whether she’s acting, nervous or simply being herself. Maybe all three.

“What is your relationship to the late Cathy Griffendell?”

Elly moistens her lips. “I was Cathy’s best friend… and lover.”

Nick could feel his eyes leave their sockets. If this is true, how could he have missed it and why would she reveal something so trivial to a case like this, right now? What kind of friendship pact was this and how close were they really?

“Define lover.”

“We had sex occasionally. Sometimes her place, mostly mine.”

“How long were you two intimate?”

“For a while. It started when we were all in private school.” Elly takes a few sips of her coffee.

“Were you in love with her?”

“Oh sure,” she smiles childly. “We all loved Cathy. Might not have been sex but we all had our own ways of dealing with her.”

“How so?”

“Nicole admired Cathy, I often thought that she wanted to be her. Always watching what she ate, how she dressed. She practically emulated her. Sinclair on the other hand, had a rather intense-jealousy for the kind of person Cathy was. They were always in competition with one another, always trying to out do the other. And me, I thought Cathy was beautiful. I wanted her, we all did in some way. Cathy gave us what we all needed.”

Nick listens in perplexity. He is amazed at her honesty. If what she is saying is true, he has not a clue as to who killed Cathy. In fact, maybe they were all guilty. Maybe they conspired together to kill Cathy for all that she knew about them. He thinks about Nicole. How nervous she was , the look on her face when he asked her questions. Not that he felt any particular sympathy for her but she was the only one who seemed afraid. As far as he was concerned, Nicole had the weakest motive, besides Elly has said it herself. Nicole admired Cathy. What kind of person would kill the one person they admired for all these years. Nick scoffed at the woman Cathy had called her friends.

And then there was Sinclair. The betrayed friend, whose old lover married her best friend whom she endlessly strove to be better than. Maybe the marriage had really ticked her off. Maybe Sinclair snapped and committed a crime of passion out of revenge. Though the same could be said about Elly. She could have been angry that the woman she has loved for so many years was moving on with someone else. Did Cathy try to end the charade and Elly killed her in a fit of rage and jealousy.

Nick struggled with the uncertainty of Cathy’s case. He just couldn’t put the pieces together. Couldn’t find the right direction. It isn’t easy to point a finger within a close-knitted circle of friends. Anyone could be implicated, anyone of them could have done it, but which one? Was there really only one person to blame?

As plain as Elly had put it, they all had had their ways of dealing with Cathy. Could murder be one? Something was missing. Something to bring it all together into a fine puzzle.

Nick decides that he must watch them awhile longer.