Free Murder Is Private by Diane Weiner Page A

said Susan. “Manolito, you live in the boys’ dorm, right?”
    “Yes, since freshman year. Why?”
    “So you were in the dorm the night Mrs. Watkins was killed, right?”
    “I was.” Manolito looked at the floor.
    “Did you hear or see anything unusual that night?”
    “No.” He wrung his hands together.
    “Manolito, I feel like you’re hiding something. If you have information that can help the police solve the case, you need to speak up. In fact, an anonymous caller from your dorm says he saw a man outside that night in the arboretum.”
    “I don’t want to get involved, Mrs. Wiles,” said Manolito. “The killer is still out there. If he knows I talked to the police, I might be in danger. What if he comes after me next?”
    “How about you tell me, and I’ll say I overheard some boys talking about it. I’ll keep your name out of it.”
    “I don’t know…”
    “It’s both your civic and moral duty.” Manolito motioned for her to follow him into the choral office.
    “I heard a huge argument in the arboretum. It was a man and a woman fighting. The woman sounded like Mrs. Watkins.”
    “And the man’s voice?”
    “I didn’t recognize it; sorry.”
    “Did you see anything?”
    “No, my window faces the other direction. Anyway, it stopped. My roommate came in and I forgot all about it until I heard about the murder. If you say anything to the police, please, please, don’t use my name.”
    “I won’t,” Susan assured the boy. Another student rushed into the office, her hand bleeding.
    “Do you have a Band-Aid, Mrs. Wiles? I cut my hand.” Blood dripped down her wrist as she held her hand up to show Susan.
    “There must be one here somewhere.” Susan checked the desk drawers, then opened the drawers of the filing cabinet. The top drawer was used for storage. “Here’s one!”
    After handing the girl the Band-Aid, she searched the drawer more thoroughly. Way in the back she found a framed picture. It was of Celia and Derrick Watkins on their wedding day, with a wedding invitation mounted next to the photo. What was she going to do with it? Derrick wouldn’t care about it. She’d just throw it away. She tossed it into the trash can. Her stomach knotted. No, that was wrong. As much as she disliked Derrick, it belonged to him. She’d drop by his house after school. She could leave it in his mailbox. The thought of talking to Derrick Watkins made her shudder.
    After school, she put the photo into a manila envelope and walked to Derrick’s house, which was just a block from the arboretum. Audrey had pointed it out to her earlier. She was relieved not to see a car in the driveway. She went to the front door, put down the photo, and looked around for some rocks or a planter to hide it from street view. She crouched down in front of the front door. It flung open. There stood Derrick Watkins, red faced, wearing a sleeveless undershirt. She gasped.
    “What do you think you’re doing sneaking around my house like that? I’m calling the police!” said Derrick.
    Susan stood up with the envelope. “I just wanted to return this to you. I found it in Celia’s office.”
    Susan’s toes shook inside her sandals. Derrick yanked the photo out of the envelope.
    “This! What makes you think I’d care about a wedding photo with that shrew?” He flung the photo to the ground, shattering the glass.
    “I knew it!” cried Susan. “I knew you killed her, you cold blooded creep.” Derrick grabbed her arm so hard she felt his nails digging into her skin. She yelled, hoping the neighbors would hear.
    “Let go of me, you wife beater, murderer! The police are coming for you! How long do you think they’re going to believe your bar story alibi? No one saw you at the bar. You’ll be thrown in jail for life. Or does Florida have the death penalty?”
    Derrick stepped in closer and raised his fist to her face.
    Susan gathered her courage and continued: “You fought with Celia in the arboretum the night of