Midnight Rambler: A Novel of Suspense

tape of his talk show.

“I have a special guest on the line with me today,” Bash said. “Her name is Melinda Peters, and along with being one of Fort Lauderdale's premier adult entertainers, she was a key witness in the murder trial of Simon Skell, aka the Midnight Rambler. How are you doing today, Melinda?”

There was a short pause.

“I'm okay,” Melinda said.

“May I call you Melinda?”

“Sure.”

“I appreciate your coming on the show. There's been a lot of buzz in the last few days about Simon Skell being railroaded by a Broward County detective named Jack Carpenter. So far, the sheriff 's office hasn't responded. Since you were a witness at the trial, I was hoping you'd share your thoughts with our audience.”

Another pause.

“It was all Jack's idea,” Melinda said.

“What was Jack's idea?” Bash asked.

“My testifying.”

“Well, that's his job. He's a detective and he gets people to testify. Nothing new there.”

“He told me what to say,” Melinda said.

My fist slammed the table, knocking several empty coffee cups to the floor.

“It gets worse,” Russo said.

I leaned forward in my chair and stared at the tape player.

“Are you saying that Jack Carpenter coached you?” Bash asked.

“He made everything up,” Melinda blurted out.

“Everything?”

“Yeah.”

“But he is, or should I say was, a police officer. Why would he do that?”

Another pause. “Jack and I were going out together . . .”

“You mean you were having an affair,” Bash jumped in.

“That's right. Then I met Simon Skell while I was dancing at a club, and he asked me out. He was nice, so I started seeing him on the side.”

“So you were dating Simon Skell and Jack Carpenter.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Jack found out and didn't like it.”

“Now, wait a minute, Melinda,” Bash said. “If I remember correctly, you testified at trial that Simon Skell abducted you and kept you locked in a dog cage in his house and tortured you while playing Rolling Stones songs, specifically ‘Midnight Rambler.’ Are you telling us now this wasn't true?”

“It didn't happen,” Melinda said.

I closed my eyes and imagined I was still submerged in thirty feet of water and the lemon sharks were swarming around me, only this time they were tearing me apart, one limb at a time. The water clouded with blood, and I silently screamed.

“So everything you said was a lie, Melinda,” Bash said.

Another pause.

“That's right,” she replied.

“And you helped send an innocent man to jail,” Bash said.

“Uh-huh,” she said.

I opened my eyes. Now it all made sense. Big Al's questions about me leaving town, the crazy scene outside.

“Are you still there, Melinda?” Bash asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Tell me why you did it.”

Again, she didn't answer.

“Did you love him? I'm talking about Jack Carpenter.”

“No,” she said.

“But you had an affair with him.”

“I found out he was cheating on me.”

“He was seeing another woman?”

“Yes. Her name is Joy Chambers.”

“Is she a dancer?”

“She's a prostitute,” Melinda said.

“If you don't love Jack Carpenter, then why did you do it?”

Another pause.

“He threatened me. Said he'd make my life living hell if I didn't play along. He had all these cases of missing girls that he couldn't solve, and he saw Simon as the perfect suspect, if I'd just play ball.”

“So you went along with him.”

“That's right.”

“Can I ask you one more question, Melinda?”

“Okay.”

“Do you feel ashamed by what you did?”

There was a short silence, followed by a dial tone. Bash took a commercial break, and Russo turned off the cassette player while looking at me as if I were some piece of trash in a holding cell. I wanted to defend myself but didn't know where to start. I thought back to last night's conversation with Melinda. What had I said to cause her to turn on me this way?

Russo cleared his throat. He had lifted his arm and was pointing at the door. I pulled three hundred dollars out of my wallet and tossed it on the table.

“Fix your car,” I said.

I left the War Room as fast as my legs would carry me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I decided to get drunk. Whatever was left of my reputation had gone up in flames, and Big Al's suggestion that I move out of the state suddenly seemed a good idea.

But before I got drunk. I wanted to look Melinda in the eye and ask her why she'd done this to me. It seemed cruel that she'd accuse me of sleeping with her when I'd spent so much energy fighting off her advances. It was also an accusation that I'd never live down. When a woman says you slept with her, there's no denying it.

I pointed the Legend toward her apartment complex. Buster had picked up on my sorry state and tried to crawl into my lap.

He wanted to comfort me, but I wasn't in the mood and made him stay on the passenger seat.

I parked a few units down from her place. At her door I knocked loudly. When she didn't answer, I pounded. Then I started to kick.

“Open up. It's Jack Carpenter.”

Sticking my face to the front window, I peered inside. Through a slit in the drapes I saw a floor plan like a cheap motel room. Everything looked in its place. A black kitty jumped at the glass, scratching at my face.

I knocked on her neighbors' doors. Melinda spent her days watching soap operas and reading romance novels. That doesn't sound like much of a life, but it was a far cry from living on the street and not knowing where her next meal was coming from.

An elderly neighbor wearing fuzzy bedroom slippers and a muumuu agreed to talk to me.

“I saw Melinda this morning,” the neighbor said, her face shrouded by a cigarette's fog. “Lent her some