Where the Blame Lies

Too bad humans were far more complex than a one-elixir-fits-all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know this has been a quick briefing, but we’ll reconvene here tomorrow with any updates. We’re also in the process of looking at similar crimes in other states. Detectives Copeland and Keene are the main points of contact on this case. But they’ll need your assistance as, along with the Oxford Department, they’re also ensuring the safety of Josie Stratton, who may or may not be a target of this copycat. Like I said, this case is going to have a lot of eyes on it, and political ramifications. We cannot afford to bungle this investigation. Not only that, but our city deserves our very best effort here.” He looked pointedly around the table, his eyes landing on Zach.

“Let’s get this maniac off our streets.”

**********

The house in Indian Hill was large and luxurious. Zach pressed the doorbell and heard the chime echoing from within, looking off behind him at the immaculately manicured lawn. A man pulled the door open, his expression stoic.

“Councilman Bellanger.” He flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Copeland with the Cincinnati Police Department. We spoke on the phone.”

The man whom Zach recognized from seeing him on the news and around the courthouse nodded, pulling the door open so Zach could enter. “My wife is in the living room with family,” he said. “If you’d wait in here”—he pointed into a room that looked like an office but also featured a sitting area—“I’ll get her.”

Zach entered the room, taking a seat in one of the chairs facing the small sofa. He could hear the low whisper of conversation from another part of the house, and another moment later, footsteps moving toward the room where he waited. He stood, turning as Julian Bellanger entered, his hand on the elbow of a slim woman with blonde hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes were swollen and rimmed in red. Mr. Bellanger led his wife to the sofa where they both sat across from Zach.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.

Mrs. Bellanger winced slightly and dabbed at her nose with the crumpled tissue in her hand. “Thank you, Detective.”

“I won’t take much of your time. I just have a couple of questions I need to ask you so we can find the person who did this to your daughter.”

Mrs. Bellanger made a quiet mewling sound and brought her hand to her mouth, and Mr. Bellanger put his arm around her, pulling her close to him. Zach gave them a moment.

“Whatever we can do,” Mr. Bellanger said once his wife had composed herself, “to catch this monster, we will do.”

“I feel the same way, sir. The whole department does. We are going to find out who did this to Miriam. We will not stop until we do.”

Mr. Bellanger held eye contact, and though pain flashed in his eyes, he nodded, appearing strengthened by Zach’s words. He exhaled a deep breath. “Hattie, show Detective Copeland what you found this morning.”

Hattie Bellanger reached into the drawer of a table next to the couch and extracted a red journal. Her hand shook as she held it toward Zach. Confused, Zach took it. “It’s my daughter’s diary,” she said. “I didn’t even know she kept one.” She sniffled, blotted her nose. “As I’m sure you know, she lived in the dorms at UC, but she had spent the night here a couple of days before she disappeared. I . . .” Her face crumpled slightly but she took a deep breath, gaining control of her emotions once more. “I can still smell her on the pillowcase. I go in there sometimes just to . . . feel her presence.” Her voice faded away for a moment and Zach waited. She pulled her shoulders straighter. “Anyway, this morning I lay down on the bed and caught a glimpse of something red behind the bed, through the wrought iron slats. When I pulled the bed from the wall, I found that”—she nodded to the journal—“on the floor against the wall as though it’d fallen there the last time she’d slept in that bed. She probably hadn’t even realized.”

Zach’s heart was beating more swiftly. “Have you looked through this, ma’am?”

Mrs. Bellanger nodded, her face taking on a strange expression. Guilt? Almost as though, even in death, she feared she’d invaded her daughter’s privacy. Or maybe she was disturbed by what she’d read. “It sounded like she was sleeping with someone,” she said, her eyes downcast. “But she hadn’t said anything about a boyfriend, and she was usually open about that stuff . . . dating and whatnot.”

“Did she give a name?”

Mrs. Bellanger shook her head. “No, but she apparently met him on Wednesday nights.”

Wednesday nights. “Any indication why that night in particular?”

“No, but she had to have met him after class. Wednesday night she took an English literature class from five to seven. It was the only time the class was available, even though she preferred to take morning classes and study in the evenings.” She looked down. “Miriam had a learning disability. School was always a bit of a struggle for her. But we were so happy when she got accepted to UC. It’s a good school, she’d worked hard, and it was right here in town.” Grief passed over her expression and her eyes welled with tears.

Zach tapped the notebook on his knee. “Thank you for this, Mrs. Bellanger. It could help.” He paused. They both looked incredibly tired, haunted. He would ask only the most important questions and then leave them to their family. “And it will help me understand Miriam’s state of mind prior to he

r disappearance.”

She glanced at her husband. “There are personal things in there, Detective, things that—”

“No one will look at this journal except the people investigating this crime, Mrs. Bellanger, you have my word.”

Mrs. Bellanger nodded. “I’d lain down on that bed before, Detective,” Mrs. Bellanger murmured, her eyes going distant, “and I’d never seen the journal. At some point, it must have shifted from where it’d fallen so I could see it.” She paused, dabbing at her reddened nose. “It almost felt like Miriam was reaching out from the grave. Giving us the clue we needed to find the person who took her from us.”

**********

Zach sat at his desk, reading through Miriam Bellanger’s personal account of her last months on earth. Most of the entries were short, listing the date, where she’d gone, the initials of the people who had been there, and a brief description of the event. Zach referenced her case file as he used a stickie pad below the entries to write out the whole name of each friend the police had interviewed when Miriam was reported missing. She had a regular crew, it seemed. Her roommate, two female friends who also lived in the UC dorms, and a couple guy friends who lived in a fraternity house off campus.

Included among the bar and club outings, parties, Zumba classes, hair appointments, and dinner dates, were indications that she was meeting someone at least once a week and that they were having sex. Zach tapped the page that read: Feb. 8, Sex on PMs desk, so hot. W. almost caught us. Oops.