Tuesday, June 19th, 2018
Rosebud sat alone in the interrogation room, sipping his coffee and nibbling on the rest of his chocolate chip muffin, when Murphy finally walked in with their latest lead in tow after getting fingerprints and a DNA swab.
The brunette wore a neon pink sundress with a neckline that dove deep enough to expose the lacy border of her bra, all the while highlighting the crucifix that hung low between her—more than likely—pushed-up breasts. All in all, she didn’t look like a grieving best friend. More like a young adult in heat.
“Amanda, this is Detective Rosebud,” Murphy said. “Please take a seat. We’re recording this session. Please state your full name for the record.”
“Amanda McCutcheon. Am I a suspect?”
“Right now, you’re of interest to us,” Rosebud said flatly. “We’d like you to answer a few questions.”
Amanda sat, her expression as unreadable as that of a poker player.
Murphy took out her small notepad as she joined Rosebud on his side of the table. “Where were you between June 2nd and 6th?”
One of her eyebrows went up. “Uh… In Boston?”
“Can you be a bit more precise?” Rosebud asked.
“When was that? What days of the week?”
Rosebud took out his phone and turned on the calendar app. “Let’s start with Sunday, June 3rd. What did you do that day?”
The young woman glanced off to the side and her right hand went up to fidget with the crucifix that hung around her neck.
A tell or just a nervous habit? Rosebud wondered.
“Hmm. I went to mass in the morning, then… Is it bad that I can’t remember? Should I call a lawyer?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything,” Rosebud said. “You’re free to call a lawyer if you wish. But those people cost money, and if you’ve got nothing to hide, then you shouldn’t have to.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Then let’s proceed. Did you see Lori Davis at mass that Sunday?”
“Yes,” Amanda said.
“Was it the last time you saw her alive?”
Amanda bowed her head, looking at the table as she quietly voiced her affirmative reply.
“Did you talk to her?”
She looked sideways, swallowed hard, then shook her head. “No.”
“Why didn’t you talk to her?” Murphy asked. “I heard from other people we’ve interviewed that you were quite close.”
“We had a disagreement the previous night.”
“Disagreement?” Rosebud echoed, straightening his back.
“More like a small fight.”
“About what?” Rosebud probed.
“I…” She shook her head. “I really can’t recall.”
“Come on, Amanda,” Rosebud said. “Your best friend was found dead, and you don’t recall your last conversation? If I were you, I’d be replaying that stupid fight over and over in my head—”
“Rosebud!” Murphy interjected, lifting her hand up and splitting the tension between him and Amanda. She turned to the girl. “I get that it’s tough. Nobody wants to remember their last words with someone, especially when they were mean. But let’s face it. We don’t control when death hits. You can’t change the past. But if you tell us what your fight was about, it may help us find the person who killed her. Okay?”
Amanda nodded.
“So where and when did you last talk with her?” Murphy asked.
“In her house on Saturday night, over two weeks ago. We hung out there sometimes. Her parents have a good bar selection, so we often played around and made cocktails of our own.”
“Were her parents away?”
“Yeah. They were on a cruise.”
“Good, so that’s something. Do you recall what you talked about while making those cocktails?”
“Hmmm, I don’t really want to say.”
“Could you tell me if you talked about her boyfriend, David?”
She nodded. “We often talked about him.”
“Did she share with you something specific that happened between David and her?” Rosebud asked.
Amanda’s cheeks flushed as though someone had just turned on a bright light. Her fidgety fingers once again reached for her crucifix.
“Amanda,” Murphy said with a softer voice. “Between us girls. Ignore Detective Rosebud.”
“Want me to step out?” Rosebud asked, even though they’d made it plenty clear that the interview was being recorded.
“Would you mind?” Murphy asked with a smile.
Rosebud knew the false intimacy she could create if he stepped away. She’d done it before. “I’ll get myself another cup of coffee. You’ve got five minutes.”
“Great, thanks.”
Rosebud walked out of the interrogation room and headed straight into the monitoring room that looked into it. Taking a seat, he watched Murphy work her woman-to-woman magic, getting Amanda to confirm what David Dempsey had already stated: Lori did talk about losing her virginity to Amanda the day after it had happened. Their fight was about Amanda disagreeing with her and calling her a slut.
Just what one would expect out of a chastity club member.
Flipping through his notes, Rosebud noticed that the special night in question had been Friday, June 1st. That meant she’d seen the victim on June 2nd, after David Dempsey. She and all of the parishioners who’d attended mass on that Sunday. Had David also done so and forgotten to mention it? Had something happened after mass? Would there be video footage near the church?
Looking at his watch, Rosebud left those questions unattended for now and returned to the interview room just as Amanda was finishing up a sentence that had Murphy making notes on her pad.
“So, Amanda, what did you do after mass that day?” Rosebud asked, hoping for some sort of lead to either pinpoint the time of death or point to the actual killer.
“I went back home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do?”
Her eyes darted up and she frowned, then she finally replied. “I think I watched Netflix.”
“All day?”
“Yeah.”
“What was so interesting that you stayed glued to the TV?”
“I’ve been watching loads of Jane the Virgin lately.”
“And what about Sunday evening?”
“I probably watched more of it.”
“And Monday?”
“I don’t think it was a holiday, so I went to work.”
“And Monday evening?”
Her eyes grew round. “I don’t know! Why does it matter?”
“Perhaps you were jealous of Lori and angry at her for not having stuck with the chastity oath. Could you have gone back to her house and killed her?”
“What? No!—How do you know?” Her high-pitched question was aimed at Rosebud.
“Remember that this is all being recorded,” he said, pointing to the camera.
She exhaled loudly, her nostrils flaring. “Sure, I was upset at her—and I still maintain that what she did was wrong—but I would have never physically hurt her for it.”
“Can anyone confirm your whereabouts for Sunday and Monday?”
“Like I said, I was home alone. Watching Netflix. Can you look up my IP? I’ll give you the email associated with my account. Maybe Netflix can give you my viewing history or something.”
“I’m afraid what you’re suggesting wouldn’t prove anything. Only that your device was playing one episode after another. Your presence in front of the screen can’t be proven with what you’re suggesting.”
“Well, I didn’t do it.”
“Any thoughts on who might have done it, then?”
Amanda raised her shoulders before shaking her head. “No idea.”
“Okay. Just a few more questions. Do you remember what you were wearing when you had that fight with her on Saturday in her house?”
“Not really. Is it important?”
“I’m just curious to know if you remember the house being particularly cold or hot while you were there?”
“Now that you mention it, it was hot. I had to take off my sweater, then nearly forgot it when I stormed out.”
“Thank you for your time, Amanda.”