Free Full Release by marshall thornton

hoping to deny time. She wore a tight blouse that showed her freckled midriff and pedal-pushers. On her feet were fluffy slippers, and in her hand was a vodka and soda.
    She made it to the middle of the street, as close as she dared. “It’s not Jeremy, is it?”
    I shook my head, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to encourage her, didn’t want to explain. Not yet. She looked relieved that it wasn’t Jeremy. He always did a good job of charming old ladies. She tried to smile encouragement at me, though I could tell from the hesitant way she did it she wasn’t sure if she should. She waddled back to her side of the street.
    The coroners wheeled Eddie down the driveway. Briefly, they left him sitting a few feet from me while opening the doors of the van. He’d been wrapped in a white sheet and then placed into a body bag. They hadn’t been able to close the bag completely. They’d cut a chunk of metal off the garage opener. A belt was tied to the chunk. The other end of the belt, the buckle end, was around Eddie’s neck. The belt was no longer taut, and I could see a deep, wide rut where it had dug into his neck. It was purple and red. I couldn’t help but think about the violence involved. Had it surprised Eddie? Had he just expected a simple squeezing? Had he thought it would be like holding his breath?
    I tried not to look at his face, but failed. His eyes were partly open; the blue of his irises seemed even more striking with the discoloration of his skin. I’d never seen a dead body before. Not in person. Eddie looked like something on display at a wax museum. He didn’t look real. They pushed him into the back of the van.
    “Was he on FaceSpace or any place like that?” I jumped. Detective Tripp was back. I hadn’t noticed him walking up to me.
    It seemed a weird question. It didn’t make much sense to buddy up with a dead guy. “I don’t know. Why?”
    “It’s the new place to leave your suicide note.”
    “Oh my God.” I thought about it for a moment and asked, “He didn’t leave a note inside?”
    “We didn’t find one.” After a pause, he said, “We did find your friend’s wallet. His name was Javier Hernandez.”
    I was shocked, though I shouldn’t have been. The little sex game we’d played should have clued me in. “He told me his name was Eddie.”
    Tripp looked at me. I could tell he thought I was holding something back. His eyes were kind. I wanted to tell him everything I’d left out. But it seemed harmless enough. Eddie being a masseur didn’t have anything to do with him killing himself -- people with nicer jobs kill themselves all the time. I kept quiet.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Hanson coming out of my house and into the garage. She had a cell phone glued to her ear.
    “We noticed some bruising around his neck. Looks to be a few days old. You know anything about that?”
    “He said he tripped. I didn’t believe him.”
    “He might have tried a few days ago. Sometimes it takes people a few times to get it right.”
    “There’s an overnight bag in the bedroom. Is that Javier’s?”
    “Yes.”
    He nodded. “What else did he have with him?”
    “That was pretty much it,” I said, not mentioning the massage table. It would bring up too many embarrassing questions.
    He took a cell phone out of his pocket, one of the older flip phones that didn’t do a whole lot. “Is this Javier’s phone?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. He never used it in front of me.”
    Detective Tripp flipped it open and scrolled around. After a minute or so, he looked up at me. “You said he called you. I’m not seeing a call.”
    “I--I don’t understand. He called me.” I stood there dumb, then pulled my own phone out of my pocket. I turned it on and hit icons until I got to Recent Calls. I found the calls I got from Eddie. I showed the phone to the detective. He was staring at it when Hanson came over.
    “We almost done?” she asked.
    “You got a big date?”