By John Leatherman
From my third-row seat in the press room at the county sheriff’s office, I stretched my neck to see Detective Luz Margolis at the lectern.
Camera shutters clicked as she spoke. “Dental records leave no doubt: The body recently recovered from Lake Herring is missing tech entrepreneur Rachel Framer. The medical examiner estimates she’s been dead approximately three weeks.”
I raised my hand. “Valerie Darling, Eastville Examiner. Do you have the exact time of death?”
“No, but her cell phone last communicated with GPS from the bottom of Herring River Gorge at 1:15 a.m. Sunday, November 4, after several pings from the top of the ravine. This is consistent with a fall.”
A man in the next row rose. “Bob Dwiffle, News To Me. Are there any indications of suicide?”
“Unknown. Our last confirmed sighting of Rachel alive is 9:32 p.m. Saturday, November third. She was with her husband, Jackson, at a friend’s wedding reception in nearby Herringville…”
A series of blips and chimes interrupted her. I, along with my journalist colleagues, checked our phones to see a mass invite to another press conference in one hour, hosted by Jackson Framer.
***
In the front row this time, I joined the press pool in the lobby of Ad-Vent-Edge Digital Marketing.
CEO Jackson Framer spoke at a microphone stand with a somber tone. “For nearly three weeks, I had hoped Rachel was merely estranged. Today I must sadly accept that she is gone.” He inhaled deeply. “It’s all so ironic. At the moment of Rachel’s untimely demise, I was pleading for her to come back.”
With a tap at his tablet, the monitors behind him filled with an InstaFix video livestream of a tipsy, disheveled Jackson. While recording himself, he crooned a slurred, off-key rendition of “Return to Me” under the banner, “Otherlands Bar Saturday Night Karaoke Fight.” The recording’s timestamp ran from 1:14 to 1:16 a.m. Sunday, November 4. Present-day Jackson buried his face in his hands.
Some of the reporters snickered; others cringed—but I just stared, understanding the import. If legitimate, this proved Jackson couldn’t have killed Rachel.
At the end of the recording, Jackson sighed and shook his head. “Sorry you had to see that. I was trashed as a landfill at the time. Should’ve deleted it when I sobered up, but I kept hoping Rachel would see it and realize I missed her. Now I know that can never be.”
He straightened up. “Before I take your questions, I’ll ask for your prayers during this difficult time. In return, I promise never to sing again.”
***
InstaFix verified Jackson’s posting, finding no evidence that the tech expert had faked its timestamp. Thanksgiving passed with no new leads, and the Rachel Framer case threatened to go as cold as leftover turkey unless I could heat it up.
Jackson looked up from his desk as I entered his spacious, mahogany-paneled office. “Mr. Framer, thanks for agreeing to this interview.” I gestured to my companion. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing Detective Margolis along. We recently learned of a suspicious character at that wedding in Herringville, and we want to know your thoughts.”
He smiled. “I’ll help if I can.”
“But first I want to check on you. How are you doing? Thanksgiving must’ve been awful without Rachel.”
“Yes, but at least I have closure. Now I can focus on our baby.”
“You don’t have any children.”
He chuckled and patted his desktop. “Oh, I mean this company. We founded Ad-Vent-Edge together, and I plan to take it global. That’s what Rachel would’ve wanted.”
“Really.” I hesitated. “I heard she would’ve wanted half.”
Jackson scowled. “I’m sorry?”
“Witnesses at the wedding reception said you were fighting, and she’d screamed about a divorce.”
Jackson sighed. “Oh, I regret that argument terribly. I wasn’t stern enough.” His tone darkened. “I could’ve convinced her to stay… I could’ve made her—” Eyebrows arched, fists clenching, he inhaled deeply, then stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Uh, weren’t you about to tell me about a suspicious character?”
“Oh, thanks for reminding me. Not only did this person threaten Rachel, but he also later performed a horrendous act near the site of her fall.” I tapped at my tablet and displayed several shots of Jackson’s karaoke number from varying angles. “In fact, multiple witnesses posted about him.”
Jackson frowned. “Is this a joke?”
Shaking my head, I swiped to a GeoStreets map with a route marked. “Absolutely not. Otherlands is only an eighteen-minute drive from the gorge.”
“So? I couldn’t have killed Rachel. Those witnesses prove it!”
“Do they? Not one saw you at Otherlands before the karaoke. If you’d just arrived at the bar, how did you get so drunk?”
Eyes widening, Jackson balked. “Uh…”
Margolis shrugged. “Relax, Framer. In this state, a DUI conviction requires a breathalyzer test.”
Sliding forward, Jackson spoke with caution. “Okay… maybe I’d had a few drinks already before I got to Otherlands. It’s just so hard to remember.”
I swiped back to the karaoke photos. “Then how are you so sure about the time?”
“Excuse me?”
“Take a look.” I expanded the background of one photo, showing an analog clock amid the neon beer logos on the wall. “According to this, you sang at 2:15!”
Jackson growled. “You trust that over the Internet? The Otherlands clock was wrong! They need to change it.”
“They did. Everyone did.” I swiped to a timeline. “Rachel fell at 1:15 a.m. Daylight Time. Your karaoke stunt was at 1:15 a.m. Standard Time, one hour later.”
Jackson froze, unable to speak.
Detective Margolis pulled out her notepad. “Mind if I ask questions now?”
I winked. “Sure, I’ll fall back.” I smirked at Jackson. “Because a new suspect just sprang forward.”
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excellent twist!!
Great story John! Nice gotcha at the end!
Thanks, I’m glad you liked it!
Oh, and everyone, remember to set your clocks back. A week ago! :)
Mysteries are tough to pull off in flash fiction. Nice job.