by J. R. Adler
“Wyatt already looked like he was going to collapse in on himself like a dying star,” Kimberley said.
“Then let’s start with Ryan. I like a challenge. And the longer wait will only fatigue Wyatt more,” Sam said.
Kimberley nodded. “I had Bearfield pull them from the holding cell. Wyatt’s in the interrogation room, and Ryan’s in that empty office next door to it.”
“Good.”
“Here you both are,” Barb said, holding out two mugs of coffee.
Kimberley thanked Barbara.
“Could you bring a cup of coffee to Wyatt? He’s in the interrogation room.”
“Of course. But he’s not getting any baked goods. I don’t bake for murder suspects.” Barb twisted up her face and scurried off.
Sam and Kimberley entered the empty office. Ryan sat in a chair in the dimly lit room with his head in his hands.
“Did you call my dad?” he asked without raising his head.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sit up, Ryan.”
Ryan sat up with a sigh, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, while he slid forward in his chair.
“Your dad is taking care of The Trophy Room. So, your worry should be about why you’re here.” Sam sat on a chair on the other side of the small room.
Kimberley sat next to him. She pulled a folder from underneath her arm and placed it on her lap.
“Why am I here?” Ryan asked.
“Because your alibi the night Hannah was murdered is a load of bullshit.” Sam leaned forward in his chair.
Ryan let out a chuckle and shook his head. “I didn’t have anything to do with Hannah’s murder.”
“Your story doesn’t add up. You said you closed up the bar at two a.m. and went to sleep, but we have a witness saying Wyatt Miller was at The Trophy Room until three a.m. So, was Wyatt with you?” Kimberley said, leaning back in her chair.
“Listen, I told ya, I was closing up the bar and then I went to bed. I don’t know the exact time. Could have been three a.m. Sometimes, Wyatt stays late and we just shoot the shit.”
“So, you’re saying you were with Wyatt?” Kimberley raised an eyebrow.
Ryan shook his head. “Yeah, but we didn’t have anything to do with Hannah’s murder. I hardly knew her.”
“Did Wyatt know her?” Sam leaned a little forward in his chair.
“Sure. I don’t know how well. We all went to high school together, but that was more than a decade ago.” Ryan scratched the back of his neck.
“Do you recall Wyatt receiving a call around three a.m.?” Kimberley stared at Ryan, looking for any tells of a lie.
“I don’t know. Maybe. If he did, he didn’t answer it.” Ryan shrugged his shoulders.
“Says here in this file of yours, you’ve had a couple of disorderly conduct charges as well as a DUI.” Kimberley scanned the file and looked up at Ryan.
“Yeah, so?”
“It seems like you are quick to anger, like you don’t make the most sound decisions, especially under the influence. Would you say that’s an accurate assumption?” Kimberley raised her chin.
“I know what you’re getting at.” He twisted up his lips. “Like I said, I didn’t have anything to do with Hannah’s murder.”
“You mentioned previously, you don’t sleep alone most nights.” Kimberley made quotes with her fingers. “Ever sleep with Hannah Brown?”
Ryan let out a groan. “No.”
“Ever pay Hannah Brown for any sexual favors?”
“What? No! You think I need to pay for sex?” Ryan let out a sarcastic laugh. “I think you two have nothing to go on and you’re reaching, barking up the wrong goddamn tree.”
“You know what I think?” Kimberley closed up her folder. “I think you’re spitting a load of bullshit, Ryan. First, you tell us you closed up the bar and went to bed at two a.m., now you’re saying you closed up but hung out with Wyatt until three a.m. Which is it?”
Ryan resituated himself in his chair, bringing his foot up to rest on his knee. He folded his arms in front of his chest and let out a deep breath, as if he were annoyed, refusing to answer the question.
“You know, whichever one of you talks first gets the better deal.” Sam looked directly at Ryan.
“I don’t need a deal. Didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Think Wyatt will say the same?” Kimberley asked.
Ryan looked down at his lap and then back at Kimberley. “Yeah, I think so.”
Kimberley stood from her chair, sliding the folder back under her arm again. “I think you’re wrong,” she said over her shoulder as she left the room, letting the door close behind her.
Sam caught up to Kimberley outside. “What was that about? We were just getting started.”
“I’m tired of that asshole wasting our time. I want to interview Wyatt now.”
Without waiting for Sam’s approval, she turned away from him and walked into the interrogation room. Wyatt was seated in a chair and an empty mug of coffee sat on the table in front of him. He had his head propped up with his hand.
Kimberley took a seat across from him.
“Let’s cut the shit, Wyatt. Where were you the night of Hannah’s murder?”
Sam entered the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned up against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded across his chest. Kimberley turned back and looked at him. He nodded approvingly. She gave a tight smile and redirected her attention back to Wyatt.
He picked his head up, his dead eyes locking with Kimberley’s.
“What is it that you want, Kimberley?” he asked.
“Tell me about you and Emily.” Kimberley leaned back in her chair, settling in for story time. She was going to drag this out until Wyatt was blue in the face.
“What do you want to know?”
“How’s your marriage?”
“Like any other. It’s fine.” Wyatt scratched at his chin.
“Is that why you’ve been coming home later and later? Because it’s fine?” Kimberley tilted her head.
“Is that why you’ve dragged me in here? Because I’m breaking curfew.” His voice was laced with sarcasm and annoyance.
“Sure, Wyatt. Your wife says you didn’t come home until after three a.m. the night of Hannah’s murder.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement for Wyatt to chew on.
He rubbed at his forehead.
“Emily doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.” His skin flushed, like all the blood in his body had settled to his face and neck. Kimberley wasn’t sure if it was because he was angry, or because he’d been caught in a lie. Either way, his body was telling a different story than his mouth was.
“Were you sleeping with Hannah Brown?” Kimberley asked.
“Hell, no! Is that what Emily said? Is that what she thinks? I would never,” Wyatt said in a panic. His eyes became glossy. Kimberley had found his weak spot.
“Did you ever pay Hannah for sexual favors?”
Wyatt’s shoulders shook slightly. He rubbed his hands down his head, letting out a deep breath. “No.”
“Were you close with Hannah Brown?” Kimberley leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“No.” He shook his head vehemently.
“Then why did she call you on the night of her murder?”
Wyatt’s eyes went wide. Kimberley couldn’t tell if it was due to shock or because he had been caught.
“She didn’t call me,” he protested.
Kimberley opened the folder in front of her, flicking through several pages. She pulled out a sheet full of Hannah Brown’s phone records. Halfway down, one line was highlighted. She pushed the piece of paper in front of Wyatt.
“Does that highlighted phone number belong to you?”
Wyatt looked at the sheet of paper, squinting his eyes as he brought it up to his line of sight. His mouth dropped open and he nodded.
“Tell me, Wyatt, why did Hannah Brown call you just before she was murdered? For som
eone you claim you didn’t know all that well, isn’t it strange she’d call you? That you’d be the last person she reached out to before someone put a bullet in her head? We know she was murdered now between three and four in the morning. That gave you an hour to get to her after that call was made. And you can get anywhere in this goddamn county in twenty minutes. I want you to tell me what happened the night of Hannah’s murder. I want you to tell me what you and Ryan did to her. Or did you do it alone, after you left The Trophy Room? I want you to tell me why you did it, how you could do it.” Kimberley’s voice had an edge to it, sharp like the blade of a butcher’s knife.
“Alright. Fuck. Goddamnit…” Wyatt slammed his fist against the table.
Kimberley watched him, waiting for the confession. He was cracking right before her. His confidence had faded away throughout the interview. Now, he was a puddle of a man sitting in front of her.
“You think I killed Hannah Brown? You think I’m capable of something like that?” He shook his head. “You’re way off.”
“Am I?” Kimberley tilted her head. “Because I don’t think I am. Was she calling you for sex? Did she have something on you? Was she going to tell Emily about the affair?”
“No. I have no fucking clue why she called me. I don’t even have her number saved in my phone. You can check it. So, if Hannah called, I didn’t even know she did.” Wyatt let out a huff, looking off into the corner, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe he had gotten wrapped up in this situation.
“How would she get your number then? Did she just guess it?” Kimberley was being full-on sarcastic.
“I don’t know. My number is plastered everywhere down at the farmers’ market. It’s on the farm’s business cards. Most of the town has my number, I’m sure,” he said, looking back at Kimberley.
The explanation was reasonable. Kimberley herself had seen the farm business signs plastered on community boards throughout town. She hadn’t been to the farmers’ market yet, but it made sense. The Turner Farm sold vegetables, wheat and chicken eggs. She knew Wyatt was still lying about something though. His and Ryan’s initial alibis weren’t aligned.
“You didn’t get home until after three a.m. the night Hannah was murdered. Ryan initially said he closed up The Trophy Room at two, so you tell me, what were you and Ryan doing between two and four in the morning? Ryan claims he was in bed. Were you in bed with him?” Kimberley raised her chin. “Is that your alibi?”
Wyatt blew out his cheeks, rubbing his face with his hands. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Sam piped in.
“Lie.”
“Lie about what?” Sam took a couple of steps forward, standing right behind Kimberley.
Wyatt let out the deepest breath he could conjure up. “Ryan and I didn’t kill Hannah Brown.”
“Then what were you doing? Where were you?” Kimberley sat up a little straighter.
She knew Wyatt was cracking, caving under the pressure just as she thought he would. Lack of sleep and a guilty conscience will do that to a person.
“We were… making moonshine.” He lowered his head.
Kimberley looked up at Sam. She drew her brows together, then refocused her attention back on Wyatt.
“What? Where?” she asked.
“We make it out on the farm in one the outbuildings. Use the wheat from the farm and sell the moonshine at The Trophy Room.” He kept his head down and his eyes on the table as if he were ashamed.
Kimberley suddenly remembered the noises she heard out on the farm. The breaking glass. It must have been Wyatt and Ryan.
Wyatt looked up at Kimberley. “I needed the money. The farm’s going under. We’ve mortgaged the house twice. There ain’t no money in wheat.”
Kimberley stared back at him. She believed him. She could see it in his broken face, his bloodshot, glazed over eyes, his dull, tired skin.
“I’m not a murderer, Kimberley. I swear to you I’m not. I’m just a desperate man trying to provide for his family. Wouldn’t you do the same for your daughter?”
“Illegally make and sell moonshine?” Kimberley asked, cocking her head.
“No… anything you could.”
“You know I would.”
“Then that’s all you need to know.” Wyatt shrugged his shoulders again.
“Did Emily know anything about this?”
“Absolutely not. She wasn’t involved at all.” Wyatt sharpened his eyes and stared directly at Kimberley.
She kept her lips pressed firmly together, folding her arms in front of her chest.
“Appreciate your honesty and cooperation, Wyatt,” Sam said. “I’ll be sure Judge Withers knows it too. A deputy will be in shortly to read you your rights and book you as you’ll be charged with illegally manufacturing and selling alcoholic beverages, pursuant to code 37-505, pending an investigation. Do you understand?”
Wyatt nodded.
“Sorry, but I need it to be verbal.”
“Yes… I understand.”
Sam nodded and walked out of the room.
Kimberly stood from her seat, following Sam. She looked back once more at Wyatt, who was practically folded over in his chair. She felt sorry for him even though he had broken the law. But then again, was right and wrong that black and white when it came to providing and caring for your own flesh and blood? Kimberley couldn’t be so sure anymore.
“Bearfield and Burns,” Sam called out. Both deputies rose from their desks immediately. “I need you to process Ryan and Wyatt, and then I need you to go out to the Turner Farm and search the outbuildings on the property for evidence pertaining to the illegal manufacturing of moonshine. Confiscate any alcohol at The Trophy Room that doesn’t have proof of purchase as well.”
The deputies nodded.
“I want to see my husband,” a voice yelled, echoing through the sheriff’s station.
Moments later, Emily emerged through a set of doors from the front with Barbara in tow, trying to stop her. She looked different from earlier, stronger, and she wasn’t in her typical old-fashioned looking dresses. Emily was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was a little messy, not perfectly in place as Kimberley had always seen it. Her face was red and blotchy like she had been crying, but it was clear now that her sadness had turned to anger. Her eyes were narrowed, her jaw clenched, and her lips tight. She marched right up to Sam and Kimberley, staring them both down. Barbara only half followed her, stopping in the middle of the room.
“I demand to see my husband,” Emily said, raising her chin.
“You can’t. He hasn’t been processed yet,” Kimberley said, trying to reason with her.
“Oh, piss off! Processed for what?”
“Illegal manufacturing and distribution of spirits. He confessed of his own volition.”
Emily looked daggers at Kimberley. “How dare you come into my house, eat my food, drink my wine, and then you do this to us. You have ruined my family.”
“Your husband…” Kimberley stopped herself. There was no point in arguing with Emily. Her world now had a patina of filth over it and until it was cleaned up, she’d only see the ugly in everyone and everything.
“You’ve got five minutes, Emily,” Sam said softly. “He’s in there. Go on. But don’t do anything stupid or make a scene and make me regret this.” He motioned to the interrogation room where Wyatt was.
Emily nodded, and walked right in, not saying another word to anyone else.
As soon as the door to the interrogation room closed, Sam and Kimberley walked to the viewing room.
“Hi, Em,” Wyatt said, lifting his head.
“Don’t ‘Hi, Em,’ me.” She slammed her tote bag on the table. “I can’t believe you did this to us.” Emily shook her head.
“I did this for us.”
“Bullshit. Right when things got tough, you turned to crime to solve your problems. You have ruined us.”
“I’ll fix this, Emily. I swear, I’ll fix everything,” Wyatt p
leaded.
“No. You are done ‘fixing’ things. You’ve had your shot. You clearly don’t know what you’re doing, so from now on, I’ll be making the decisions. Handling the finances and cleaning up the mess you’ve made is my new job.” Emily threw her hands on her hips.
Wyatt didn’t argue. He wasn’t in the position to disagree with her.
“What am I supposed to tell the boys? Did you even think about them when you were out there breaking the goddamn law?” Emily slammed her dainty fist against the table, startling Wyatt.
“Of course I thought about them. It’s why I did it, so I could provide for my family.”
“There are other ways, legal ones.”
Wyatt lowered his head, dropping eye contact with his wife.
“After you’re processed and the judge sets bail, I’ll figure out a way to come up with the money. But know this, Wyatt. You’re not coming back to your house. You’re coming back to mine.” Emily picked up her tote and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Sam gave a slight nod and left the viewing room, walking through the station back to his office. Kimberley followed behind, unsure of what was next. They’d hit a dead end in the case again. She sat down across from him while he leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. He crossed one foot over the other, looking up at the ceiling. Kimberley knew that look. It was the “maybe if I stare off at nothing for long enough, I’ll catch a fucking break in this case” look. She had had it many times.
Sam’s phone rang, and he quickly pulled it from his belt.
“Sheriff Walker.”
“It’s Megan Grey. Results are in for the forensic exam.”
“And?”
“We’ve got nothing. Body was clean. Not a shred of DNA. Rape kit came back clean as well. There’s literally nothing to go on.”
“Fuck.”
Kimberley stiffened.
“Sorry I didn’t have better news for you. I went over everything with a microscope. I can’t find something that’s not there.”
Sam briefly closed his eyes. “I know you did. Thanks for your help.” He ended the call, tossing his phone on his desk.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Sam rubbed his face. “Forensics came back. Everything was clean. Not a shred of evidence.”
