I became obsessed with the idea of going back to Kramer and Walker.
Every day, I thought of a new reason to go back. And every time I went back I would encounter the woman in white. I would go into my room and sit for a while, and then I would pick up my Rosary and pray. Afterwards I would go out to the main office and go into Richard Walker’s room to say a little short prayer. I had begun to memorize the Mysteries very well.
But the woman in white still eluded me. Each time she appeared at different locations, like the Pokémon you see in video games. She looked so real yet when I went near her I saw her only in two-dimensions. She must have been Yvonne Walker. No one else would want to look for me.
My predictions were true. Three days later I received a note again under my front door. This time it was not with the newspapers. It was just a plain invitation to an interview from the police. I thought nothing of it since I was not responsible for Richard’s death. But nonetheless I decided to give it a try. I might get a chance to disclose my relationship with Richard. Frankly speaking I wanted everyone to know that I have had a relationship with Richard.
At the police interview the officer asked me, “Why did you kill Richard Walker?”
“No, I didn’t kill Richard Walker,”
“So your killed Yvonne Walker instead,”
“No, I mean, I didn’t kill anyone,”
“Then why were you back at the office?” So the CCTV wasn’t off.
The officer produced the dreaded note. I saw it and I said, almost immediately,
“this is not my handwriting,” and then to prove what I said, I took the pen in front of me, the officer’s pen, and wrote,
– see ya at 11:00 p.m. – “this is my handwriting,” I produced a new note in my handwriting.
Officer Liam said nothing and merely took the piece of paper away and kept it in his file.
I knew instantly that I had been played out. Now they have evidence of my invitation to meet with Richard Walker. This was exactly what they wanted from me. But why would the police want to frame me? I was too small for anyone to want to do that. I was just one of the secretaries to a legal assistant in a law firm, a sheep in a large farm.
Logic told me that I must find an alibi. One who would swear that I was with him on the night of the murder.
Daisy or Joan could play that role. But none of them answered my calls when I rang. Of course there were more than just the mere two in the office, there was also Chapman the driver. But these two were the ones I was usually acquainted with. In desperation I rang Chapman.
“Hi, this is Sharon speaking, may I speak to Chapman please?”
“Yes, I am he. Is that you Sharon?” the voice was unmistakably Chapman.
“I would like to meet with you urgently, tonight if possible,” I said, still sounding quite calm.
“No problem,” thank God the man was willing.
We met at the nearby McDonald’s. Chapman was in his usual suit, which was a polo shirt and beige pants. I let him buy two coffees and then I began almost as soon as he sat down in front of me.
“Could you remember what you did on the night of Richard’s murder?” I opened the topic.
“Am afraid not,” Chapman replied.
“Then could you tell the police that you were having dinner with me that night?” I put the request squarely to him.
“Why, of course,” there was no doubt that this man could help me.
“The police seemed to think that I was involved with Richard’s death,” there was no harm in giving some explanation.
“No worries,” the man sipped his coffee without another word to me, then as I was about to say anything else, he quickly said,
“I could produce a receipt for dinner, together with the credit card bill that manifest the time of checking out of the restaurant.”
It all seemed so easy. I told myself I had to trust this man. I had no one else to turn to. Mr. Jenkins was definitely not available as he was married so using him could be more complicated than it should be.
Chapman said nothing more to me. I watched him sip his coffee and hoped that he won’t ask me for some consideration that I couldn’t afford. I couldn’t ask him how much this alibi would cost as I didn’t know how much work it would involve until after the investigations.
I was mistaken on Chapman’s offer. For a week later the police called me up and showed me the same receipt that Chapman had. It now seemed that they have decided that I was having dinner with Richard Walker rather than with Chapman on the very night that Richard died. I didn’t know how to defend myself now.
So Chapman was having dinner with Richard on the night of 24 August 2015, and the police conveniently deduced that it was me. I was as guilty as sin. My motive was clear: Richard was my ex-lover and when he terminated the affair with me, I killed him.
Before my next interview with officer Liam at the Davidson Police Station, I dropped by the toilet and searched for the Rosary in my handbag to pray again. There was no other way to exonerate myself now except to seek divine intervention.
A woman appeared right in front of me.
I looked up. It was she! The woman in white!
Flabbergasted, I said, “Who are you?”
“You know who I am,” she said.
“Are you Yvonne?” I asked her.
“Yes, you guessed correctly,” woman replied.
“I did not kill your husband,” that was all that I could say.
“You could tell the police that he killed himself,” the woman suggested.
I was shocked beyond belief. “I need some identification papers, some proof that you are Yvonne,” I exclaimed, I was still quite alert.
She handed me a note, on it was Richard’s handwriting. I could recognize it.
I snatched the note from her, read it and immediately surrendered it to officer Liam at his office.
Now there is no other way to disprove my guilt save as to tell the police that I left the dead man immediately after dinner on that fateful night, and that he went home and took some poison himself. But for suicide I needed to find a good enough reason. I quickly twisted the plot.