Classmate Murders

The clock now ran up to 8:00 P.M. and I opened the first of the six beers that I had to cut back to now that I was out of work and money. A thirty pack of beer now lasted five days and kept my expenses down. My Mom gave me a bit of money each week for gas to run for her, so I divided the allowance between the gas for the car and the fuel for me. I have a cardinal rule, I never drink beer before 8:00 at night and I never drive even after one can. I've seen the hell a person can go through after a cop pullover and a few beers.

Tonight my email contained the usual crap, along with Buck's stuff, but one letter caught my eye. The sender was "DWittenfield@gomail.com" and the subject said in big letters: "JAMES, PLEASE HELP!" I knew a Dee Wittenfield in elementary school and she always called me James. Actually, I had a huge crush on Dee and we even went steady for about a month before the school district broke into smaller divisions and she was sent to a different school. I went to the download on my mail program and recovered the letter. It read:

"James, I know it’s been years since we've seen each other, but I talked to Joyce Harper and she said she heard you were working for a detective company. I got your email address off the alumni website and I don't know who to turn to but I'm afraid for my life, I can't call the police and I thought you might help me. if you could call me, I'm at 555-3682. I can't even go out of my apartment. Please call, Dee."

I printed out the letter and read it again.

I pulled my trusty Palm Treo cell phone out of my pocket and dialed the number. It rang about four times then a male voice answered.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with Dee, please?"

"Who's calling?"

"I'm a friend of hers from high school; can I talk to her please?"

"I'm afraid she can't come to the phone," he paused. "She was murdered earlier today."

Hearing those words sent a shuddering chill through my body.

The voice on the phone asked, "Who are you again?"

I didn't know what to say. "I'm a friend from high school," I blurted out.

"You said that already, but who are you?" he demanded.

"Well, who's asking?" I demanded back.

"Detective Sergeant Will Trapper, Clinton Township Police. Now, you wanna answer my question."

"Oh." My mind was blank. "Uh, my name is Jim Richards, I knew Dee from high school."

"Yeah, I got that much already. When was the last time you saw Miss Wittenfield?"

"I guess it's been over 40 years." My brain tried to do the math but I just rounded it off.

"You call now after 40 years, why?"

"She sent me an email today to call her."

There was a silence for a beat then he asked, "What did the email say?"

I read it to him from the print out, he was silent again.

"That's all she said?"

I assured him that was it. "What happened to her, may I ask?"

"We're investigating, that's all I can say right now. Wittenfield said in her email that you were with a detective company, who do you work for?"

"Oh, it's actually a security company, I was a guard. They had a contract with Dooley Cadillac on Eight Mile and I worked there 4 nights a week watching the cars. I'm not working for them at the moment. I quit."