‘Yes.’
‘So why did you do it?’
‘Because of Cas.’ Layla realizes she is crying and is furious with herself. ‘Because of what they did to her.’
‘Okay, beanie. You have to calm down. You have to tell me exactly what happened.’
‘At the art party. Travis and his friends. There’s a video of Cas. On the Internet—’ She doesn’t know how to explain, but Gabi gives a small, tight nod.
The rest comes out in a rush of tears. ‘Travis grabbed her boobs, just like in the video. And he put it up on Facebook. Like it was funny.’
‘Can you show it to me later? Do Cas’s parents know?’
‘Yes.’ Layla wipes her nose. ‘About the video – that’s why they moved here. I don’t think they know about Travis.’
‘All right. I need to talk to them, later. Right now, I have to go back to work. Will you be okay to come hang out with me for a couple of hours in the office?’
‘Like the old days.’
‘Exactly. And tomorrow I’m going to get you some counseling, and then I’m sending you to stay with your father for a few weeks.’
‘No!’
‘You’ll be there for Thanksgiving, Lay, it’ll be nice. I should have sent you to Atlanta anyway. The crazy hours I’m working. It’s not fair on you.’
‘Wait, like this is somehow your fault? Because you’re not there enough for me?’ She is incredulous.
‘Maybe. The divorce and then this insane case. You finding that body. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry, I’ve been so wrapped up in everything.’ The PD lines around Gabi’s mouth tug down her whole face.
She suddenly looks older. Older than the image Layla carries in her head, of her mom back when she still wore a uniform, her dark hair in a high ballerina bun, gun at her waist, like the cops on TV. If safe was a person, her mom was it. But nothing is safe any more, and that makes her hate them even worse. The boys who did this.
‘Whatever, Mom.’ It’s their fault.
Get Your Hat
‘New recruit?’ Croff says, indicating the heap of abject unhappiness that is her daughter, slumped in Gabi’s chair with her sneakers on the desk, tapping and swiping at her phone. ‘This isn’t daycare, you know.’
‘Lay off, Mike. I know you have the perfect family, but I don’t have a wife to stay home and take care of things. It’s for a couple of hours, all right?’
‘Touchy, touchy!’ He throws up his hands.
‘Where’s Marcus?’
‘Haven’t seen him yet today.’
‘And Bob?’
‘In the briefing room with Washington. Going through the footage on your citizen journalist friend’s phone.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘About to go relieve Stricker, who’s cleaning up your mess. You know it’s going to take them five days to process that scene?’
‘I’m sorry it’s such an inconvenience for you. Or were you angling for overtime?’
‘Your kid shouldn’t be here,’ he snipes, stalking away.
She finds Boyd with Ovella Washington, scrolling through the videos, marking the ones that are potentially interesting, getting screengrabs, printing them out and pasting them up.
‘How’d the interviews go?’
Boyd groans. ‘We got nothing. Crazy artists. You get more sense out of junkies. It’s all in the file for you. Only the first round, though. Those were the most obvious ones. I’m going through the list again. We’ve got the curator guy coming in first thing tomorrow to look at the names again.’
‘I thought we were holding him?’
‘He got a lawyer, who got him a doctor, who wrote him a note. Shock and alcohol poisoning. He’s home with some happy pills and assures us he will be here tomorrow to facilitate us with our enquiries.’
Gabi sighs in disgust. ‘Thanks anyway, Bob. Ovella, you’re cross-referencing the artists’ names against the ceramics place?’
‘Yup. So far I’ve got over thirty people whose names have come up as participating artists and people who have used the pottery at one time or another. Slow going. I haven’t even got to your slaughterhouses yet.’
‘Can’t Sparkles do that?’
‘I think he’s helping out on scene. Stricker’s down there.’
‘I know, I ran into Mikey, who is being a gigantic a-hole.’
Boyd shrugs. ‘Earth goes round the sun, bears shit in the woods.’
‘Well, get someone else to make the calls until Sparkles shows up. What do you have on that graffiti?’
‘Your blogger friend, Jonno Haim, did a video report on it. See for yourself. Problem is that he’s made it a thing – whatchoocallit?’
‘A meme,’ Washington supplies.
‘Exactly. You got copycat artists in other cities doing their own doors. Plenty here in Detroit, too. They’ve posted pictures to the comments.’
‘So how do we tell our man’s from the others?’
‘Our killer uses chalk. Some of these others are spray-painted. Some people are doing really elaborate ones, sticking actual wooden doors up, or painting them all realistic.’
‘Dammit. We’re going to have to check each one.’
‘Guess I’ll get my hat,’ Boyd says.
‘Want to grab coffee first?’
‘Nah, I just had one,’ he says, but then he catches on. ‘Oh, right. Okay, caffeinate me.’
In the kitchenette, Gabriella speaks softly. ‘Layla’s got herself into a sewage plant’s worth of the brown stuff. I need to sort it out. Two sets of parents and a hospital, can you believe. Do you think you can handle this for a few hours?’
‘Now?!’ He is incredulous.
‘Your daughter sure has timing.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s all good. We’re chasing what we got. We don’t need you right this minute. I can do the door sites on my own.’
‘Thanks, Bob,’ Gabi says, ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
‘No problem. But don’t forget your homework,’ he says, and dumps a pile of files on her.
Anti-social
You have been tagged in a video: Detroit School Fight – Dis Shit CRZY
Uploaded by Tellyban
4174 views
This video was uploaded from an Android phone.
Description: Bitch goes crzy whomping on his ass. Those r his teeth spititng out!
All Comments:
Bazzguy2012: take the camera away from this fuckin idiot forever.
Niesha Grange: omg i want to kill the camera man, why do you have the camera sideways ? Zoom in. Cant see shit.
Mikal_: Dammm girl! U can whale on me anytym 8==D- – -
Froofoot: niggas always fighting I love my city but damn
I cant live in detroit just so ignorant no wonder were the laughing stock of america
CeeCeeCee777: This happened @ my school!!!!!! She went postal!!!!! Nobody even knows why!!!! Travis, your in my prayers, baby boi. Hope you get out of hospital soon. Mwah xxx
Jacks0nN@sh: Tooth fairy: ‘Jackpot!’
GawdamBatman: this is why prisons exist, zoo’s for animals.
Tybabi: LMAO
Anna_Sussman: wowwww, this girl has no class or respect for herself or the kids aroudn her.
90000560000: shut the fuck up ya stupid homo ass that’s why we kill people like you stop hating on us black people you know damn well white people can’t fight if it saved there live y’all be some dead cracker fuckers.
GawdamBatman: Maybe if you got an education you could string a sentence together. Oh, I’m sorry. You’re too busy being ratchet to go to class.
90000560000: dont it jus kill u? Ya feelings must be real hurt.
HufnaMcKnighty: Hmm. Phys eds changed some since I was in high school O_O
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You have 153 new comments on your timeline.
Woah! Insane. What did he DO to you? I’m sure he had it coming.
Did he hit you first? What’s going on? This video is so unclear.
Male abuse!
That’s so dumb. Like domestic violence isn’t perpetrated by MEN against WOMEN every day. There’s no such thing as male abuse. Men are in power.
Tell that to the guy who got his teeth knocked out.
Travis’s an angel. He didn’t do anything to deserve this! He’s in hospital! How can you even say that?
You’re sick, Layla Stirling-Versado. I hope you get expelled and I hope you go to jail for what you did to our boy.
And I hope you get raped in there by some hardcore dyke with a strap-on made from a toothbrush shank.
Come on, that’s seriously fucked up.
Jk! Why can’t anyone take a joke!?
Both sides of the story will come out. Everyone just chill out until we know.
We know she did it, there’s video evidence! We just don’t know why she went whaling on his ass. Why did you, Layla Stirling-Versado?
Inbox: You have 23 unanswered messages.
Jade Cox: There’s mad shit being said about you. Is it true?!!! Really worried! Call me, babe.
Dorian Lloyd: Hey Big L. Heard what happened. Hope you’re ok? Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Me and TimTam are sending you good thoughts.
Amanda Feldman: You don’t know me, but I know what you’re going through and your experience has really touched me. I had a boyfriend who abused me for years in ways no-one ever saw. He isolated me from my friends, and he broke me down bit by bit, until I felt so worthless, until it still hurts when someone compliments me. I eventually found the strength to walk away, but I understand why you would snap like that. That might have been me. You might have been me. If you ever want to talk, please message me.
Shawnia Durrell: Everyone at the Masque’s thinking about you. Hope you’re okay. xxx
Jonno Haim: Dear Layla, I hope you don’t mind me messaging you. I see your profile is set to private, so I hope I got the right person! We met after the Dream House party. That must have been a terrible experience for you. I’m trying to put together an honest portrayal of what all this means for the people of Detroit. If you’d be willing to share your story, let me know. I have a generous budget to compensate people for their valuable time, especially if they’re willing to be filmed, or if they’re able to provide additional images or exclusive footage. Hope to hear from you. All best.
You have 324 new texts.
>Keith: Is it true? You okay?
>Unknown number: You ratchet skank! wtf is wrong with you?
>Bigsie: Shit, you wanted to go all Chris Brown on boys, Layla, you coulda asked me. I’d take it from you anytime! Long as you take as good as you give, know what I’m saying?
>Unknown number: u so ghetto u were born in a bucket of KFC
>Cas: Call me xCas
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Call Me Maybe
‘Hey, this is Jonno,’ he says, the phone wedged between his chin and his shoulder. One of ‘10 Bad Workplace Habits That Cause Back Pain’, he knows, but he’s clicking through Instagram and Tumblr accounts tagged with #Detroit and #artparty and #dreamhouse.
His phone has been going nuts, so it’s infuriating to get that bubble of silence that indicates he’s about to be connected to a chipper telesales recording offering him better mobile rates.
‘He-llo? Anyone there?’ It’s the last tag that’s screwing up his search, he realizes, pulling up lots of ironic pictures of ruin porn. He refines it to #dreamhouseparty.
‘Hi,’ a girl says, her voice calm. ‘This is Layla. Layla Stirling-Versado. You messaged me.’ She sounds older on the phone.
His hand goes up to the phone automatically, as if to keep her from getting away. ‘Sure, Layla. I was so hoping you’d call.’ He’s trying for casual. ‘How are you?’
‘Not so good, actually.’ He can hear traffic in the background, like maybe she’s calling from a parking lot. The single whoop of a police siren in the background.
‘Yeah. I’m sorry. It must have been terrible. I mean, you found the body, right?’
There’s a long stretch of silence.
‘Layla? You there?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I did.’ Her voice is strangled. He’s got to take it easy, get her to save the tears for when there’s a camera pointed at her.
‘I was serious about the offer. I want to tell the story right, you know? So many people just parachute into Detroit, make all these proclamations of what it is or isn’t, and that’s not the place we live, am I right?’
‘Right.’ She doesn’t sound so sure, but that’s okay. As long as she’s agreeing with him.
‘This isn’t one of those exploitative pieces. I want to show how this affects people, what we have to live with, what this is doing to us.’
‘You said there was a budget.’
‘Yes, for sure. This is an important film.’
‘How much?’
‘I’m paying fifty dollars an interview, but because you’re an eyewitness, it’s a hundred dollars. That’s a hundred smackeroos for half an hour of your time.’ More like three hours, but who’s counting. Smackeroos? His troll shudders.
‘A hundred bucks?’ She’s incredulous, but not in the damn-that’s-a-good-deal way he was hoping for.
‘I’ll make it two hundred.’
‘This was such a mistake.’
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Hey, hey, Layla. Listen. Don’t hang up. You’re the detective’s daughter, right? Gabriella Versado?’
‘You worked that out from our last names, genius?’ Teen sarcasm. Gotta love it.
‘Which means you know how much pressure your mom is under. The mayor’s office is going mental about this case. You know that they’re putting Detroit’s reputation ahead of solving the crime? They’re so worried about bad PR they’re willing to compromise your mom’s investigation. They’re letting this murderer get away with it.’
‘What are you even talking about?’
‘Why haven’t
they released any photographs, Layla?’
‘Because they always keep some details back, so if a tip-off comes in, they know whether it’s real or some crank.’
‘You got it,’ he scrambles. ‘But there’s a point where holding back does more harm than good, because the rumor mill is going crazy. I mean dead kids and animal parts and clay ovens and art parties? Have you seen the speculation online? Reddit’s got more posts trying to solve the mystery of the Detroit Monster than they ever did on the Boston Bombers. There’s like a thousand conspiracy theories, and it’s getting in the way of your mom’s investigation. She needs to get some intel out there. But she’s not allowed to.’
‘Because of the mayor’s office.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But you do.’
‘And so does your mom. She would never say it. The mayor’s office has her practically handcuffed.’
Oh, nice one.
‘I can help. It won’t be exploitative, I promise. But if I can put some images out there, it might spark off something in someone’s head. Remind them they saw something suspicious. You would be helping your mom and the victims and maybe even saving someone’s life, Layla. This guy is still out there. Right now.’
Broken Monsters Page 27
