Judge, Jury, & Executioner

Chapter 11

Natalie Fetzer's hands shook as she sat in her bedroom. The texts had stopped coming, finally. A part of her wanted to ignore it. Act like she had never received them. But then she saw the photos of her mother, talking on the phone with Natalie. That was when She knew she had no other choice.

The person who texted it to her told her all of her debts would be paid and that none of her family would be hurt. Maybe it's for the best. She thought as she continued to build up the courage.

She had called her mother for the last time only moments ago. It's amazing how much you want to live when you know your time is up. Natalie had never been this scared in her life. And now, now she was going to leave this world.

Natalie got up and walked to her closet. She had already picked out the way she was going to go. The texts hadn't been specific. Her hands, violently shaking now, gripped what would take her life away. She laid it onto the bed and then stepped back.

How many things she wished she could take back, or change. Her turning down Charlie's proposal two years ago. It had been a spur of the moment thing and she knew he loved her. She just hadn't loved him back. Or had she? Then there was the trip she had always wanted to take to Europe. See Big Ben from the Ferris wheel. Spend a few days in Paris. Wander around Rome. All things she would never get to do.

All things she wanted desperately to do. And always told herself she would. Yet, now she was gathering a piece of paper and pencil to write a goodbye note for the rest of her friends and family. They'd all wonder what happened to her and why she did it. And the truth was, she didn't want to at all. But she didn't have a choice.

Natalie began writing about her life and how much she had enjoyed living it the way she wanted. It was almost depressing as she wrote about what she had done. Knowing she'd get to do none of it again. Then her mind drifted to her last meal. A burrito from Taco Bell. Yeah, that's one way to go out. Natalie laughed at the thought.

She finished the note telling everyone how much she loved them. Then she sat it on her bed. Her hands, no longer shaky, reached for the scarf and then she slowly walked to where she had decided to end it.

Her phone buzzed and it said it was time. Natalie looked at the scarf and realized she didn't want to do this. But she had no other choice. Then it came to her. She didn't have to end it without ensuring the cops could find the person responsible.

Grabbing the suicide note, she then wrote everything that had happened and told them about the bank transfer and the photos of her mother. Placing the phone onto the note, she paused.

A reflective pause, and then said goodbye to her life.

***

Drake opened the car door and watched as Cooke climbed out. Buckley Drake had never found himself completely absorbed in a woman before. He'd had many girlfriends between high school and College. But there was something about Emma Cooke that was different. She was . . . human. Every other girl had been fake in some aspect of their personality.

Pretending to care what his job was. Acting as if they loved his favorite food. Not to mention the girl who had stole his heart in College had been pretending she even liked him to begin with. But Cooke seemed perfect.

There was a loud crash and then he saw Cooke trying to pick up a bunch of computer accessories off the ground. They had fallen out of her bag. Drake walked over and began handing her pieces.

"I need to get a new bag. This one's got two holes in two of the compartments and I always forget which is which," Cooke said directing his attention to the holes.

"I have an old coat like that. Never seem to remember the gaping holes in it," Drake joked, and then ended it with an embarrassed look.

He heard someone come out the apartment building and he stood up. Wiping his hands together, he then looked around and waited for Cooke to follow. It was a renovated building. Drake recognized the building from his childhood. He went to school not far from it. Granted, Drake had gone to just about every school there was. In his youth he had been quite the ornery kid.

"The apartment is four B. Stairs or elevator?" Cooke asked.

Drake entered the building and looked around. No elevator.

"Looks like the stairs," He said, before walking towards the stair case.

You'd think if they renovated the building they'd add an elevator. Apparently not. Drake  headed up, using the four years he had played football to his advantage. He had stuck to the same exercise routine since he was in high school. Minus a few things anyway.

After the second flight of stairs, Cooke seemed a little tired. Drake, fearing that he might cause another embarrassing situation, kept from saying anything.

As they came to the floor apartment four B would be on, Drake opened the door and let Cooke through. She was trying not to look like the four flights of stairs was rough. Drake  suppressed his smile and followed her to the apartment.

"Four B," She said, before pounding on the door.

Drake heard footsteps approach. There were several clicks as Miss Whitty unlocked the door. It opened and Drake held up his badge. Her eyes were red and she still held a tissue in her hand.

"I'm Detective Drake," He said before turning to Cooke. "This is Detective Emma Cooke. You spoke with my partner Detective Ryan Maddox earlier."

"Yes, come in, please," She said leaving them at the door.

Drake followed first and Cooke closed the door behind them. As he entered the living room, he saw her close the door to a kids room.

"I don't want them to hear anything right now. They know he died, I just can't tell them how just yet," She explained,before taking a seat on her couch.

"Mrs. Whitty-"

"Martha," She interrupted.

"Oh, Martha, we had some questions to ask about a phone number and if you recognized it," Drake explained, gesturing to Cooke to show her the number.

"No, I've never seen that number before. But your welcome to see if it matches any of the numbers who have called or texted me," Martha said.

Cooke took her phone and plugged something into and then began typing on her computer.

"It'll take a few seconds but I'm going to check the partial number against the phone numbers in her phone as well," Cooke explained.

"Was anyone pressuring your husband?" Drake asked Martha.

She shook her head as she rested her hand on her forehead. "Teddy was loved by everyone. Or so I thought I guess. I can't imagine anyone wanting him dead."

She choked on the word and began crying again. Drake watched Cooke awkwardly glance at the poor lady and then return her gaze to the computer.

"The partial number doesn't match any of the numbers on your phone. And neither does the other number," Cooke said before handing her the phone back.

Martha nodded, still crying, and then she began sobbing. Cooke leaned away and began packing her stuff as Drake stood up and handed Martha a tissue. Cooke seemed more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

Drake sat quietly waiting for Mrs. Whitty to finish. He had seen too many people have to suffer alone. No one deserved that.

"Please, you don't have to stay on my account," She managed to say,

"Our job is to catch your husbands killer. But our duty is to help," Drake answered, before handing her another tissue.