Page 91 of The Alibi Club

He heard the lockstep sound of officers coming his way. He stood and girded himself for his next phase. Going back to prison might break him permanently. He took a deep breath and watched the cops approach silently. He put his hands through the bars so they could cuff him. Then heard the magnetic lock release, and the cell door creaked and swung open. He was led down the hall. Cliff knew the drill. He would be handed off to the county jail guards, like chattel in chains. He’d be in a prison van within a day, headed north.

When he entered the processing room, he did not see guards but rather the long, shimmering legs of Dez Wheeler, his parole officer, clad in a perfectly tailored black suit, sitting on a desk in the center of the room. She nodded to the guards who handed her the paperwork, then she waved them away. The guards retreated and left them alone. Dez walked over to Cliff with a small key. She unlocked his handcuffs and motioned for him to sit.

“What did I tell you about fucking with me?”

“Not to do it,” Cliff answered dutifully. He was confused.

Hands on hips, she said, “Now, it’s none of my business who you cavort with as long as you don’t break parole. But I didn’t figure you for a group blind date, Weston.”

“Not my best idea, I’ll admit,” Cliff said. “But not a parole violation, to my knowledge.”

“True.” She stood straight and started to move around the tiny room. “I didn’t think I needed to explain that sleeping with moderately disturbed women on your first night out of the joint, while not illegal, is also ill-advised. But apparently, I should add that to my Best Practices email for new parolees. My bad.”

Cliff frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“Amber. You had a blind spot for her kind, didn’t you?” Dez shook her head in a knowing way. “Men. Or maybe it’s human nature, or habits, call it what you want, but your choices are all you can really own, Cliff. It’s time for you to stop being so extravagant with your chances.”

Cliff nodded solemnly, knowing she was right. He had always known that his baser instincts tended to derail his higher aspirations. He had fallen victim to those interior calls for mischief and mayhem once again, and in the ultimate act of self-sabotage, he had squandered his last, best chance on a mentally unbalanced waitress who did him dirty at the absolute worst time. He almost smiled at the absurdity of it.

He crossed his arms. He didn’t want a lesson. Not right now. He just wanted to get this over with. Head to transport, settle back into life with all the other caged animals once called humans. Go ahead and complete the full transition to lost soul. It didn’t matter that he was innocent. What mattered was he never got a real chance with Jamie. All the fight had gone out of him.

“Can we just get this over with?” Cliff said.

Dez was pacing slowly and then she came to a stop. Not to be deterred, she kept talking. Cliff hung his head.

“It seems that the crux of the case against you surrounds your whereabouts for roughly twenty minutes during that evening, the exact time the crime took place. You could not be accounted for. By anyone. One can draw conclusions.”

“I told the police the truth—that Amber locked me in the freezer.” Cliff tried to tamp down the desperation and frustration in his voice.

“Yes, Amber,” Dez said as she tapped her finger on the table. “I met with Amber, who at first denied ever knowing you.”

Cliff grasped his head with both hands, deflated. Why was she rubbing it in? Why did no one believe him?

Dez put both hands on her hips and said, “Until I threatened her with obstruction of justice charges and lying under oath.”

Cliff lifted his head. “What did she do?”

“She folded like a lawn chair, that’s what she did,” Dez said victoriously. “She told police that in a momentary lapse of good judgment as your jilted ex-lover, she did indeed spitefully lock you in the freezer but promised never to do it again. She signed an affidavit to that effect. Knowing you have an air-tight alibi, the cops can’t hold you on anything. Plus, you know, there was one broken air vent in that freezer, which Pascal was having repaired when we came in to verify your story. We’re pretty sure the dead man they stored in there on your date night made no escape attempts, either.” Dez laughed at her joke. “And the lead detective, Roverson, is working on another theory. One I think you helped with? A three-fer, if you will.”

Hope, which had been sucked as dry as an Egyptian mummy, began to reanimate in his chest. Cliff smiled inwardly. Roverson believed him. Amber had told the truth. And there was physical evidence to back his story. Could this possibly be? He was not going back to prison. He was …

“You’re free,” Dez said softly. “My warning still stands. Don’t fuck up.”

Free.

“And I’ll also note, you didn’t fuck up my record,” Dez added, motioning impatiently for him to get up. “Come on, let’s get your things. I’ve got a pickleball game to get to.”

Cliff stood immediately and moved toward the door, as if avoiding quicksand. “You don’t strike me as the pickleball type,” Cliff said, joy beginning to flood his nervous system.

Dez raised a disapproving eyebrow. “I’ll have you know pickleball is the fastest-growing sport in the nation, and it engages upper-body muscles including shoulders, arms, and your core. I’m going to Tahiti in a week. I want my arms looking tight.”

Cliff laughed inwardly, and then touched her elbow. Never had anyone stepped up for him like this before. With a mixture of deep gratitude and relief, Cliff simply said, “Dez, thank you.”

“One more thing.” Dez stopped and stared at the floor before they walked out. “Did you know that Amber has an uncle named Frank Dodson? Works at the very correctional facility you were released from. Seems a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

Cliff thought back to the moment Frank gave him the card to OB’s Pub the day he was released. Was he set up? He and Dez shared a look.

She nodded as if approving his thought process and said, “Stay out of trouble.”