Barter: The Blind Date

Date: October 14, 2019. 3:15 a.m.

Detective Carl Pennington entered the Silver City Police Department’s interrogation room number three, a clipboard in his hands. Sitting in the room, shackled by the ankles and hands to a chair, was Rupert Carver, a pudgy man with pudgy fingers and thin brown hair and eyes; to Carl, he resembled a mouse.

“Good evening, Rupert,” said Carl, taking a seat across from Rupert, a metal table positioned between them. “How are you this evening? Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

“No, I don’t mind,” said Rupert, in a somewhat squeaky voice. “But to be honest, I’m confused.”

“What are you confused about?”

“The reason I’m here,” said Rupert. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t?” said Carl. “You’ve no idea why you’re here?”

“Not in the slightest, Officer,” said Rupert, and he seemed to be trying to shrink himself in his chair, trying to make himself disappear. “I was sitting at home, watching Chopped, when a squad of, I’d say, ten of your fellow officers came bursting into my home, shouting and trashing the place. They tackled and cuffed me, and here we are now.”

“They had a warrant for your arrest,” said Carl, handing him the warrant. Rupert’s eyes roamed over it, taking it all in. When he finished, he set it down on the table in front of him, didn’t say a word.

“I still don’t understand,” he finally said. “I didn’t do these things, I could never!”

Carl took an 8x10 picture from his clipboard and placed it on top of the warrant. It was a woman lying on her stomach in what looked to be a forest. Her blonde hair was torn out in chunks, and the body was covered in multiple bruises. She was also naked.

“My God,” said Rupert, a look of horror on his pudgy face. “My God, what happened to this poor woman?”

“Do you recognize her?” asked Carl.

“No, I don’t,” said Rupert. “My God, what kind of monster did this?”

“Her name is Samantha Turnstone,” said Carl, “and she’s dead. You did this to her.”

“How could I have done this if I’ve never met her before?” asked Rupert, panic starting to creep into his voice. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Her body was found Saturday night,” said Carl, “in Kankakee River State Park. Our forensics team searched it for fingerprints. We found a set, ran them against our database, and your name was the one that popped up as the match.”

“It wasn’t me, I swear!” said Rupert, and he began to cry. “I swear, I swear, it wasn’t me!”

“Then why were your prints on the body?”

“He made me move it,” said Rupert. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t help.”

Carl felt his mouth open in shock. The possibility that Rupert was only a helper hadn’t crossed their minds.

“Who are you talking about?”

“I can’t say,” said Rupert. “He has my family under his watch. He said he’d kill them too if I rat him out.”

“If you give me a name,” said Carl, “I can help you. We can get this son of a bitch tonight.”

“You don’t know him,” said Carl, his voice trembling. “He has people everywhere, and they will do what he says, when he says to do it.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to get an answer tonight, Carl got to his feet and collected the photo and warrant, returning them to his clipboard. From the breast pocket of his suit, he pulled a business card and set it in front of Rupert.

“If you won’t help me tonight,” he said, “perhaps you will later. That’s my card, give me a call if you change your mind. You’re free to go.”

***

Date: August 15, 2019. 7:00 p.m.

“The body of twenty-nine-year-old Samantha Turnstone was discovered this past Saturday night at Kankakee River State Park last Saturday,” said reporter Gretchen Feldt. “A jogger reported the body to police Sunday morning, and they arrived at the scene moments later. They have revealed the cause of death was internal bleeding after being struck nearly seven times with what police have identified to be the New Business Leader Award, which Turnstone received last year in recognition of her new hair salon; the award was found next to Turnstone’s body. Chunks of Turnstone’s hair were torn out as well. Authorities have also confirmed that she was raped after she was murdered.  They have also revealed they have a lead but have refused to disclose who. We’ll bring you more of this tragic story as it develops. This is Gretchen Feldt, Channel 13 News, reporting. Back to you, Bill.”

The attention is mine. I love it. Must get more.

***

Date: October 17, 2019. 1:30 p.m.

Three days after Carl and Rupert’s discussion, Rupert found himself walking through the main doors of the Silver City Police Department and approached the desk sergeant.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Rupert Carver. I have a 1:30 meeting with Detective Carl Pennington. He’s expecting me.”

“Yes, I am,” said a familiar voice. Rupert turned and saw Carl walking towards him.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind.”

Carl led him through another door and back into interrogation room number three.

“May I sit?” asked Rupert, and Carl indicated the chairs.

“If it will make you more comfortable,” he said, and Rupert took the original chair he had in their first conversation. “Do you mind if I record this?”

Rupert shook his head, and Carl pulled a small tape recorder from an inner pocket. He hits the record button.

“This is Detective Carl Pennington,” he said. “Today is October 17, 2019. I am speaking with Rupert Carver, who has information regarding the Samantha Turnstone homicide case. Please state your name and purpose.”

“I wanted to let you know who killed Ms. Turnstone,” he said. “I’m no longer afraid, and something needs to be done.”

“Who was it?” asked Carl. “Who was it that killed her?”

Rupert didn’t speak for a moment. He simply looked up at the ceiling, absentmindedly twiddling his thumbs. It was then that Carl noticed something; Rupert’s posture. When they had first spoke, he had been a terrified man, crying. Now, he seemed far more relaxed, like he had slipped into a daydream.

“Who was it?” Carl asked again, and the question seemed to snap Rupert back to reality.

“It was me,” said Rupert, and his voice was calm, no sense of fear. “There was no one else, only me.”

Carl didn’t respond, only sat in his chair in shock.

“I met Samantha about a month ago,” said Rupert. “It was a blind date, set up by a mutual friend of ours. We went out, and I thought we had had a nice time. We went to a dinner at that pizza place over on Roosevelt Boulevard, and then went to a movie, that new Tom Hanks one. Anyway, I took her home after, bid her good night, and went home. Couple days later, I tried calling her, but it went to voicemail. Tried again few hours later, still voicemail. I didn’t understand, I thought we’d had fun.”

“Last week, Friday evening, I tried calling her again, probably the hundredth time,” he continued, “but it still went to voicemail. I went over to her house and knocked, trying to get a straight answer. She answered, and I could see some douche bag behind her. I didn’t say anything, just turned and left. I fumed about it all day Saturday but she called me just after lunch. We talked and I agreed to come over that night so she could explain everything.

“I arrived at the agreed time, just after eight o’clock, and knocked. She answered and led me into the kitchen, where she had a couple glasses of water sitting on the table. She started talking about how she’d had a great time on our date, but she’d met that other guy the next day, blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t listening; it all became just…just mindless noise. Out of nowhere, I stood, teacup in my hand, and threw it against the wall. She screamed, of course, and I lunged at her.

“I tackled her out of her chair and onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen, punching her as hard as I could. I grabbed chunks of her hair and pulled it out, whatever I could do to hurt her. After hitting her about four times, I stood back up. I was breathing so heavily, but the adrenaline had never rushed through me so hard. I was covered in blood, and of course there was blood on the floor.

“The adrenaline, though, quickly began to wear off, and I finally saw the true horror of what I’d done. I began to panic. ‘What if someone came over and found me?’ ‘What was I going to do with these blood-stained clothes?’ That sort of shit, just running a marathon through my head. I was interrupted though by her breathing. She was still alive, and I couldn’t have that. I rushed through the house and spotted the New Business Leader Award sitting on her fireplace mantle. I grabbed it, weighed it in my hand. It would work.

“I returned to the kitchen to discover that she was trying to crawl towards phone. I couldn’t have that happen. I crossed over to her bent down next to her, the award raised above my head. One hard strike to the back of her head, that’s what did it. Twice more for good measure. After all, I had to be sure. I checked her pulse, both her wrist and neck…nothing. It was done.

“I hurried back through her house, and found a tent tarp in the garage. I grabbed it and used it to cover her up. Once she was covered, I slung her over my shoulder, grabbed award, and raced back to my car. I threw both her and the award in the trunk, drove to Kankakee, and dropped them off. As I looked down at her body, I felt the urge to fuck her. After all, she had led me on so I figured she owed me. I stripped her down, fucked her so goddamn hard, and left. I hurried home, stripped, and hopped in the shower. After, I burnt my bloodied clothes. Fuckin blood ruined my favorite AC/DC shirt.”

The entire time Rupert had been talking, his voice was calm, collected, nonchalant even. Carl found himself unable to speak, shocked at what he had just heard. At last, he picked up the recorder, shut it off, and returned it to his breast pocket.

“Rupert,” he said, calmly. “I’m going to handcuff you to this chair. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Samantha Turnstone.”

“Alright,” said Rupert, his voice still calm. He placed his hands on the table, and Carl set the handcuffs on his wrists and cuffed the other end to the chair itself. Ten minutes later, he returned and released the handcuffs from the chair, leaving Rupert’s wrists cuffed behind his back.

***

Date: October 18, 2019. 7:30 p.m.

“Regarding the murder of Samantha Turnstone,” said reporter Gretchen Feldt, “Rupert Carver has been taken into police custody following his confession to the crime. He turned himself into Detective Carl Pennington, to whom he delivered the taped confession. According to Pennington, Carver initially denied having committed the crime; rather, he explained to have only moved the body and the murder weapon, saying there was someone else who had forced him to do so under the threat of murdering his family. Three days later, however, Carver returned and revised his story, confessing to the murder.”

Cut to Carl Pennington at a press conference

“Mr. Carver has been placed under arrest for the murder of Samantha Pennington,” said Carl. “The nature of the crime described to me by Carver was, by far, one of the most heinous and horrifying crimes I have encountered in my twenty-five years here at the Silver City Police Department. After speaking with psychology expert Dr. Thaddeus Hill, it has been agreed that Carver will be transferred to Barter Psychiatric Hospital, headed by Dr. Hill.”