Steal My Breath (Elixir #1) (22 page)

Totally not what I was expecting.

I jot my notes down fast.

“Did you ever see her with her mother?”

He nods. “Her mother visited her every couple of weeks, sometimes more. I know this because my favourite spot in my house was my sunroom and I sat there every day observing the comings and goings of my neighbourhood. You see some interesting stuff when you watch people.”

“What did you see happen between Jolene and her mother?”

“A lot of arguing. Her mother was mean to her. And hounded her for money a lot. I asked Jolene about that one day and she said she hated to say no to her mother, even though she knew most of the money would be going towards drink and gambling. Problem was Jolene didn’t work, so she had to sneak the money from her husband without him knowing.”

“Do you know why she didn’t work? Was it so she could look after their son?” I’m not even sure this question is relevant, but I’m desperate to know everything about her.

He scoffs. “No, that woman didn’t have much of a maternal bone in her body. She loved her son as much as she knew how to. I never saw her treat him wrong, but she didn’t know much about mothering. Figures, with a mother like hers. Reason she didn’t have a job, as best I can work out, is she didn’t have the confidence to get one. Jolene didn’t have an ounce of self-belief.”

Everything he’s saying is matching up to what Marion told me about Jolene.

I cock my head. “How did you two meet? From what you’re saying, Jolene didn’t know how to care for people, but by the sound of it, she cared for you.”

“She fell over in her driveway one day. I saw the whole thing. When she didn’t get up, I went to help her. Called an ambulance for her and checked in on her a few times after. Seems she appreciated that because that was when she started looking in on me.” He leans forward. “That’s how I know for sure it was Jolene I saw getting in her car that night of the murder.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“When she fell, she hurt her leg real bad. Had a slight limp afterwards. Didn’t affect her all the time, but when she was in pain, she limped. The night of the murder, the woman getting in the car parked in her driveway had the same limp. The streetlight was bright and I know it was Jolene I saw. And I know what time it was by what was on the TV.”

“That wasn’t in my notes.”

He shrugs. “The damn lawyers only wanted to talk about my eyesight at the trial. The prosecution paraded experts who tried to prove me wrong, focusing on my eye condition. I’m not so sure Jolene had the best lawyer out there. She didn’t seem able to bring the limp to the forefront of anyone’s mind. The prosecution was like a dog with a bone, all over the problems with my eyesight—all she seemed to do was spend her time arguing over that rather than changing the direction of the testimony.”

He might be old, but his mental faculties are all still there. And I’m inclined to give his information more weight than the prosecution did. He doesn’t beat around the bush, and he calls it as he sees it. Most importantly, he didn’t wear rose-coloured glasses where Jolene was concerned. Mr Beacon had no reason to lie or to be inclined to give false evidence. He truly believes in Jolene’s innocence.

M
y knee bounces
while I wait at the cold, metal table for Luke’s wife. The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach grows more acute with each passing minute.

She should be here by now.

The other prisoners are already sitting with their visitors. I can’t work out why Jolene hasn’t entered the courtyard yet. Unless she’s refusing to see me.

As my head throbs with a headache, I wish I had my handbag with me, but they forbid any personal belongings here. I had to lock them away in a locker. I have no notebook or pen either; everything she says—if she comes out—will need to be filed in my brain for later note taking.

The allowed visiting time is one hour only. At this point, I think we’re down to fifty minutes if she comes soon.

More time passes and my hope begins to fade. It appears I’ve taken the morning off work for nothing. And without speaking to Jolene, I’m not sure I’ll have much to continue this investigation with.

Another few minutes slide by. Just as I’m about to concede defeat today, a woman walks my way.

Jolene.

I’ve seen photos of her online and in Marion’s file. This woman is a ghost of her former self, but I can make out that it’s her. The long dark hair is gone, replaced by short hair that looks like she hacked at it herself. Dull skin sits in place of the glowing, tanned skin she once had. Her weight has dropped considerably. Jolene had curves in the photos I saw; she’s now stick thin, almost skin and bones.

Luke’s wife was once beautiful.

She’s not anymore.

I stand as she approaches. I smile, unsure if that’s the right thing to do. She doesn’t return it, so I let it go.

“Hi. Jolene?” My voice gives away my uncertainty.

“Yes. Who are you?” Her voice is suspicious.

I sit and wait for her to follow, but she doesn’t. Looking up at her, I give her the information she’s looking for, only fudging it a little. “I’m Callie St James, a reporter. Marion Kowaski showed me the file she had on your case and I’m following up on some leads.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re investigating the murder again?” The ice surrounding her slices through me and I see why people describe her the way they do.

“Please sit and I’ll explain everything.”

She holds back.

I meet her gaze and wait. When she continues standing, I decide my time is running out too fast to delay any longer. “Marion told me she believes in your innocence. I’ve gone over all her notes numerous times and I’ve spoken with Mr Beacon. Now I’d like to talk with you and hear what you have to say.”

“Are you writing another piece on this?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m trying to help you, that’s all.”

She begins picking at the blue shirt she’s wearing. “No… No, I don’t want your help.”

I stand, growing impatient for this to move forward. “Jolene, from where I’m standing I’d say you need all the help you can get. You’re facing decades behind these bars if you don’t accept what I’m offering. Every article I read declares your guilt. No one believes you except Marion and your old neighbour. But more importantly, no one believes
them
. You’re all out of options. Except for me.”

She steps closer to the table. Her eyes bore into me. “Do
you
believe me?”

My heart speeds up. “I honestly don’t know. But I have serious doubts and that’s enough for me to pursue this.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” Her gaze drops to the cement floor for a long moment. Finally, she sits and looks at me. “If you’re not doing a piece for the paper, why are you bothering? What do you get out of this?”

I stare at her. Negative energy seeps out of her. She’s beaten and bruised so deeply I can see her wounds if I dig past the hostile veneer. “I can’t, in good conscience, sit back and let an innocent woman pay for a crime she didn’t commit. I get nothing out of this except knowing I tried to help a human being who is alone in this world and who desperately needs someone in her corner. If you really don’t want my help, just say so now and we can go our separate ways. But if you want me to help prove your innocence, you need to lose the attitude and start talking.”

She shows no response; gives no indication that she is ready to do what I’ve requested. That is until she starts talking. “My first memory of my mother is a night when I was about four or five. We were living in this run-down sorry excuse for a home—a one bedroom flat in one of the worst areas in the city that was always littered with garbage and never cleaned. We had one bed between my mother, my sister and me. I was the youngest, so I often got booted to the floor.” She stops for a moment and glances down at the nail she’s picking.

Her eyes are still downcast when she begins again.

“This particular night, she left Glenda and me home alone. When she returned in the middle of the night, she had a man with her and they woke us up and told us to get out of the bed.” She gives me her eyes again. The hard glint I see there takes my breath away. “So they could have sex. I didn’t want to leave the bed. It was winter and cold, and we didn’t have another blanket, just a thin sheet. The guy got angry with me. He picked me up and threw me out of the bedroom.” Her voice doesn’t crack. She doesn’t break down. Instead, she remains steady while she tells her ugly story. The only indication of her emotions is the hard, cold look in her eyes. “My mother laughed. She fucking let that animal throw her child out of the only bed they had and she laughed before she fucked him.” She leans closer to me. “To say I hated my mother doesn’t even cover it. She ruined my life at school. I was bullied because I was one of the ‘Spiers Sisters’. We were often sent to school in dirty clothes, with filthy hair and no food. The assholes there beat us up physically and emotionally. I left school with no friends and tried to build a life in spite of what my mother did. But she ruined my adult years too. Always hounding me for money and shit. Causing problems between my husband and me.” Her nostrils flare and her jaw clenches. “But I didn’t murder her. I was too busy running around trying to make her love me; I didn’t have time to be plotting her death. Because you see, I didn’t know how much I hated my mother until after her death. Before that, I didn’t know what I felt about anyone. I simply existed and tried to get through each day.”

I’m almost stunned into silence. Her recollection is horrific, and I can imagine she would have hundreds of other stories similar in their horror. I take a deep breath before I say, “Will you take me back to the night of the murder and tell me what happened?” I’m not sure I’m ready to hear her tell me a story that will include the man I love. I brace myself for whatever she might say.

“Luke and I had been arguing a lot in the weeks before the murder. I was so tired… all the time. I just needed some time to myself, without Sean. So Luke took the weekend off work and took him away to give me a weekend off. They left on the Friday night after Luke finished work. I went to the movies by myself that night. Saturday I went to the art gallery in town and then that night, I stayed home. I’d just had a long bath when Mum rang. She didn’t sound right; it almost didn’t sound like her, but I knew it was because of caller ID. She begged me to come to the motel…” Her voice drifts off as she gazes past my shoulder.

She frowns before looking back at me. “I remember thinking it was strange she was at a motel, but then I figured she’d probably gone back there with a man. That was the only thing that made sense. Anyway, I got dressed and drove straight there. It was cold that night and I remember having trouble seeing through the windscreen because it kept fogging up. And my damn leg was so sore from the cold; it hurt every time I had to use the clutch. When I arrived, there was so much blood. So much… she was covered in it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to see if she was still breathing. It was all I could think to do. My mind… well, it kind of just stopped working. I didn’t even think to call the ambulance or the police. All I could think was that I wasn’t ready to lose my mum yet and I had to see if she was breathing.” Her chest pumps as her breaths come hard.

“By the time the police got there, I was covered in blood because I’d been on my hands and knees while I tried to check for her pulse.” She stares at me as she remembers. “Of course, there was no pulse. My mother was dead before I even got there.”

I need to keep her moving. We’re running out of time.

“Did your mother have any enemies you knew of?”

She laughs sarcastically. “That woman made enemies everywhere she went. You couldn’t count on two hands the number of people who hated her.”

Well, that narrows it.

“Do you know how the rope ended up in your car?”

“No.”

“Did anyone have access to your car in the week prior? How often did you look in the boot?”

“The only time I used the boot was when I did my grocery shopping. That was every Monday. So, the last time I looked in the boot was five days before the murder. I didn’t lend my car to anyone that week. The only people who had access to it were me and Luke.” She leans forward. “And he was away with Sean on the night of the murder, so it definitely wasn’t him who did it.”

God, the thought had never entered my mind that it was Luke.

“Okay, so let’s move onto the box of evidence that was found at your house. Any ideas about that?” This box wasn’t even in evidence for the trial, but it’s pretty damning. To prove her innocence, we’re going to have to get to the bottom of it.

She blows out a harsh breath. “Callie, I never saw that box or had anything to do with any of the stuff that was supposedly in it. The first I heard of it was the day Luke arrived here angrier than I’ve ever seen him, demanding I admit to killing my mother.” Her voice wobbles for the first time today and I wonder at that. The marriage Luke has described involves a woman who doesn’t love her husband. And yet, besides the hatred she’s shown towards her mother, the only other emotion I’ve seen is this crack in her tough façade when she talks about her husband.

“Alanis found the box, right?”

An expression crosses her face for a fleeting moment. It was so fast I almost miss it, but I’m certain it was sadness. “Yes. She was looking after Sean one day when she found it.”

“Did anyone establish why the police didn’t find it? I’m presuming they searched your house after the murder.”

“They did. And, no, that was never established.” There’s pain in her voice when she adds, “I never had a chance to talk to Alanis again after that. She refused to visit me.”

“You two were close?” I can’t imagine Jolene close with anyone, but I’ve only met the current Jolene, not the one from before the murder.

“Yeah, we’ve known each other for years. When my marriage became unbearable, Alanis was the one who always got me through.”

“What about your sister? Was she there for you?”

“No. We’ve always had a hard relationship. She never came to see me in prison. Luke said she supported him and Sean through it all, but she never supported me. Strange, because she hated Mum as much as I did.”

“Okay, back to the box. Where did Alanis find it?”

“Luke told me she found it buried in the greenhouse. Apparently she and Sean were out there gardening when he and Artemis began digging in the dirt. Art dug so deep that they found a wooden box.”

“Who is Artemis?”

“Our dog. He died just after that. Luke told me he escaped and ran in front of a car.”

She doesn’t mention seeing Sean or talking to him. “How long since you’ve seen your son, Jolene?” The question blurts out before I even realise. It certainly wasn’t on my list to ask.

Her gaze dips and she begins picking at her nails again. “Three months. And before that, it was almost another three months.” She looks back up. “After Luke decided I was guilty, he stopped letting me see Sean.” She swallows hard. “He came back recently and told me he had an investigator again. Apparently he had some leads and needed information from me. I gave him what he needed and I thought he’d bring Sean the next time he came. I didn’t push him or nag him. I didn’t want to give him any reason to not want to visit. But he never came back. Instead, a lawyer came and told me he’s proceeding with our divorce.” A tear slides down her face.

My soul is twisted with confusion, hurt, anger, sadness and so many more emotions I don’t think I can even pinpoint. If Jolene really is innocent, my heart will crack completely. I want to reach across the table and hold her hand. I want to console her. And yet, that thought conflicts me in so many ways. The man I love has sworn to me that this woman is a calculating and manipulative murderer and I would never doubt anything he told me. But I can’t help it. I’m beginning to seriously doubt Jolene’s guilt.

Visiting time is almost up. “I’m going to come back soon, okay?”

Jolene is still watching me warily. I don’t blame her. She doesn’t know me. She can only judge my agenda by what I’ve told her, and that’s a hard thing to do when you don’t know someone. Possibly even harder to do if you’re innocent and alone. But she nods. “Okay.”

“One last thing—where would I begin if I wanted to work out who your mother’s enemies were?”

“That’s easy. Go and visit Joe at the Old Northern in The Valley. Tell him I sent you and what you need to know. I told my lawyer to do it, but she didn’t seem to find out much.” She gets up and gives me one last appraisal. “Can you get in touch with my husband? Tell him what you’re doing so he knows. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” With that, she turns and leaves.

I stare at her, watching her limp out of the courtyard.

Fuck.

I’m in a pickle now.