by Michael Omer
Somewhere, above them in one of the trees, a bird started chirping.
Noel had indeed checked the house to make sure the woman and the baby were fine. They were. The woman was also pretty adamant that the officers couldn’t enter her home without a warrant. Hannah and Bernard argued with each other, trying to establish if they had reasonable cause to enter the house without a warrant. Hannah thought they did; Chad Grimes had shot at them, and been arrested. This meant they could search the immediate surroundings of the arrested individual to make sure they were safe.
Bernard pointed out that their immediate surroundings was the street, and asked if Hannah really wanted to search the nearby tree for dangerous birds that might be collaborating with Grimes. Hannah said any competent prosecutor could make the case that the immediate surroundings in this case was the house. Bernard said any competent defense attorney could claim the opposite. They argued about this for some time, as Grimes’s girlfriend watched them, bemused. Their final conclusion was that it was maybe okay to search the house without a warrant.
Maybe okay was not good enough for a murder suspect. No way were they letting any evidence from the house be disqualified in court.
Hannah drove off to get a warrant while Bernard engaged in a staring contest with the girlfriend. He made it clear to her that the second she moved to destroy any evidence, he had legal grounds to enter the house without a warrant. Kate and Noel drove off to take Grimes to the station.
Ultimately, the search warrant was acquired incredibly fast. Hannah could never figure out why certain warrants appeared as if a magic legal genie was pulling the justice system strings, while others seemed to get lost in the labyrinth of lost paperwork, only to appear weeks later when the issue was no longer relevant. She returned to Grimes’s ramshackle house, brandishing the warrant as if it were a sword.
The woman let them pass, her eyes weary and sad. Hannah and Bernard started searching the tiny home; the woman followed them, watching with big, empty eyes as they invaded her privacy. The baby began to cry, and the woman asked Hannah if she could prepare her a bottle of milk.
Hannah nodded, uncomfortable at being asked. She would have much preferred it if the woman had demanded to pass through, instead of this meek request. It was as if the woman’s entire resolve and backbone had disintegrated once the detectives were let through.
“What’s your name?” Hannah asked her.
“Melissa,” the woman replied, retrieving a bottle from one of the cupboards.
“Melissa, is this your house?”
“Not really. Chad just lets me stay here. This isn’t even his baby.”
“Are you Chad’s girlfriend?”
Melissa shrugged. “Jennifer needs some peace and quiet to drink her bottle,” she said. “I’ll be out in the front yard, feeding her, if you need me.”
“Okay.”
Melissa walked out, and Hannah kept looking through the cupboards in the kitchen. Everything was surprisingly clean. Either Melissa was a very tidy woman, or Grimes was one of those people who cleaned obsessively while high. Hannah hoped it was the first. She was beginning to like Melissa.
Opening the fridge, she felt her heart crack a bit to see that it mostly contained beer bottles and baby food. Grimes took care of himself. Melissa took care of the baby. No one took care of Melissa.
“Hannah!” Bernard called her from the bedroom, and she joined him. He was staring into a gym bag. The bag was full of several large nylon packets of pills—some green, some yellow, some white. There were two Glock G43s, as well, and six magazines.
“Found it under the bed,” Bernard said.
Hannah knelt and peered under the bed.
“What do you think?” Bernard asked.
“I think that it’s really clean under the bed,” Hannah said softly. “No dust at all.”
Hannah and Bernard drove back to the station, and began hosting their esteemed guest, Chad Grimes, in the interrogation room. The conversation did not flow very well. Bernard gave Grimes the Miranda rights speech, and Grimes responded unkindly by suggesting Bernard go fuck himself. Bernard tried to get Grimes to sign a form stating he understood his Miranda rights, and Grimes spat on the form and suggested self-procreation again.
Hannah was getting annoyed.
“We found twenty-two pounds of ecstasy, and two unlicensed Glocks in your home,” she said. “You shot at a police officer. If we manage to implicate you with a murder charge—”
“What fucking murder?” Grimes sneered. “I ain’t killed no one.”
“I’m talking about Frank Gulliepe, who you stabbed multiple times after following him to his home.”
“Who the fuck is Frank Gulliepe?”
“Frank is the guy you were paid to kill.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“If you wanna talk about it,” Hannah said, “You need to sign this form.” She pushed the waiver of rights form along the table over to Grimes. His spit had soaked the words remain silent, but they were still legible. Grimes scanned the form with wide, frantic eyes. Hannah wondered if anything he told them in this state could even be used in court.
“I need a fucking pen or something,” Grimes said.
Hannah gave him a pen, and he signed the form. “Now,” he said. “Who is Frank Gulliepe?”
Hannah retrieved the pen from him. “You should know,” she said. “You saw him last night.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I have a witness who saw you selling drugs to Mr. Gulliepe at Leroy’s.”
Grimes snorted. “Bullshit,” he said.
“You entered the men’s restroom at Leroy’s with Mr. Gulliepe, and you sold him some Ecstasy. Then you later followed him to his home and killed him. Why did you kill him, Chad? Did he refuse to pay? Or hadn’t he paid enough?”
“I followed no one,” Grimes said. “I sold drugs to no one. I was at Leroy’s, and I went to the restroom to piss. That’s it.”
“We have the pills from your home,” Bernard said. “They match pills found in Frank Gulliepe’s possession, and we have a witness who saw you enter the public toilets together. The same witness reported that you followed Frank when he left—”
“Who the fuck told you that? Was it Crystal? I’ll fucking kill that bitch—”
“You’ll kill no one,” Hannah said, wondering who Crystal was. “Cool it.”
“Look, yeah, sure, there was an asshole who bought some X from me at Leroy’s. But I never followed the fucker. I don’t go killin’ customers. That’s bad business.”
“What if they don’t pay?” Bernard asked.
“I make them pay,” Grimes explained.
That was indeed a good business strategy, Hannah thought. “What time did you leave Leroy’s?” she asked.
“How the fuck should I know that?”
“Where did you go after that?”
“Look, bitch—”
Bernard thumped on the table. “Watch it!” he barked angrily.
“I ain’t followed nobody!” Grimes said, his voice getting louder. “I went over to my friend’s, and we popped some pills. Then we had a nice party, and that’s fucking it.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Fuck you.”
“If he’s your alibi, you should give us his name.”
“I want my motherfucking lawyer.”
And that was that. Hannah escorted Grimes down to the holding cell. There were a couple of men inside. “Hey!” one of them called to her. She peered at him through the bars.
“Mikey?” she said. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in jail?”
He shrugged. “Maybe they don’t want me there. Are you going to let me out?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said, and turned to the officer behind the counter, an overweight man named Will.
“Why is Mikey still here?” she asked. “He was supposed to be taken to jail.”
“Hang on,” Will said, and ch
ecked the log book. “Says here that the sheriff’s guys didn’t have his name in their list. They were looking for a man named Devin Derkins, though. Couldn’t find that one.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Hannah restrained her desire to grab Will by his collar. “There is no Devin Derkins. This is the guy we arrested.”
“Then why were they looking for Devin Derkins?”
Hannah blinked. She recalled talking to the deputy in the morning. She’d told him the guy’s name was Mikey, she was sure of it! Pretty certain, anyway. She had been very tired, and the murder had been occupying her mind—
“Hey!” Mikey called from the holding cell. “Let me out! You got the wrong guy! I’m not Devin Derkins.”
“You think this fat motherfucker is Devin?” Grimes asked, and burst out laughing. “He ain’t Devin! Devin looks like a man. This guy looks like someone’s bitch.”
Mikey looked upset. “I’m not… look, did you hear him? I’m not Devin! Let me out!”
“Listen,” Hannah told Will impatiently. “This is the guy we arrested, okay? I’ll talk to the sheriff’s office, get it straightened out. You make sure to tell the officer that replaces you that Mikey should be delivered to jail, okay?”
“I’ll write that in the log.”
“Yeah, do that, and tell him face-to-face, okay?”
“Sure,” Will said, looking offended.
“You won’t forget?”
“You don’t have to tell me how to do my job, Detective.”
“Okay, sorry.” Hannah took a deep breath. “It’s been a crazy day.”
Chapter Twelve
The beach was almost completely empty, its main visitors the numerous seagulls that flew above the detectives’ heads. It was a rocky beach, the sand gravelly and rough, its color more brown than yellow. Despite the strong wind, the water was calm, the bay blocking the unbridled waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
Mitchell recalled going with his father and brother to fish at a beach nearby, their sister begging to join them. Their father had always refused, though he had never given an explanation, and Mitchell suspected he’d mostly wanted to avoid her endless chattering. When the three of them had gone fishing, it was a silent affair. Most conversation was short and to the point, like “Pass me the bait box” or “Watch it son, you wanna throw the line away from those rocks over there.”
He had loved those fishing expeditions, the hours spent with their father, who had otherwise mostly been away from home. He’d been a sought-after criminal defense attorney, and had spent long hours in the office, always working on an important case. Why hadn’t Mitchell gone fishing since then? He resolved to call his father, suggest they go fishing together.
As they progressed along the sandy terrain, they saw a lone man on the edge of a small, dark reef. He stood calmly, a fishing rod in his hands, a bucket and small tackle box near his feet. As they came closer, a bunch of seagulls who were in their way took off, screeching angrily. The man turned around, and Mitchell saw the similarities to the picture in the mugshot. This was Blayze Terry, their only suspect in the murder of Dona Aliysa.
He had a mane of dirty-blond hair, which had been left to grow long, touching the nape of his neck. He was thin and tall, and with the fishing rod in his hand he almost looked like a twisted branch, split into two. He looked at them for a second, then turned back to the water. Jacob and Mitchell got to the reef and walked along it, the slippery rocks almost making Mitchell lose his footing and fall once. A small crab, intent on its sideway business, crossed their way and crawled under a rock.
“Blayze Terry?” Jacob said.
“That’s right,” the man said, his stare fixed forward, not looking at the two detectives.
“I’m Detective Cooper. This is Detective Lonnie,” Jacob said, flipping out his badge.
The man refused to even glance at it.
“We have a few questions for you.”
“Richard told me you were on your way,” Blayze said. “He suggested I take off.”
“Why did he suggest that?” Mitchell asked.
“Because, like you, he assumed I’ve stolen something, and was on my way back to jail.”
“We don’t think you’ve stolen anything,” Jacob said.
“Then why are you here, Detectives?” Blayze asked, and for the first time turned his head to face them.
“Do you know Dona Aliysa?”
Blayze frowned. “Yes,” he said. “She’s my girlfriend. Is she all right?”
“Why do you ask?” Mitchell asked.
“Don’t play games with me, Detective. What’s the matter with Dona?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Two days ago. Did her mother report her missing? Because she sometimes doesn’t answer the phone, you know. She gets those moods. She told me that when that happens, her mother starts to worry. Did you check her house?”
“We—”
Blayze suddenly grunted and turned toward the water. His fishing rod bent a bit, the line suddenly taut.
“Looks like something bit,” Mitchell said, squinting his eyes, looking at the eddies in the water surrounding the fishing line.
“Could be a rock,” Jacob said.
“Naw, I feel it. It’s definitely something,” Blayze said, intent on the rod. “He’s a strong one, that’s for sure.”
“What bait are you using?” Jacob asked.
“I got some live shrimp on right now,” Blayze said, smiling at the water. “They always go for the shrimp. Tried crabs, earthworms, small fish. Nothing works here better than live shrimp. Ha, he’s fighting hard.” He turned the reel handle slowly, twisting the line around the reel. The monotonous ticking sound made Mitchell think of his father again, reeling in a catch.
“Watch out,” Jacob said. “If you pull too fast the line might break.”
“Yeah, I got this, don’t worry. Hardly lost a fish in fifteen years. I once took a fifteen-pound blue out of these waters with a pretty thin leader. It never broke.”
“I once caught an eighteen-pound shad not far from here,” Jacob said. “Could hardly get the thing out of the water, it was struggling so hard.”
Mitchell had never caught anything larger than a four-pound fish on his fishing trips. He frankly doubted anyone caught any fish larger than ten pounds in this bay.
The fishing rod suddenly jumped sideways, and the three men all shouted at once.
“Look at him go!” Blayze said. “I think this is the biggest one I’ve caught this trip! Caught two three pound mackerel yesterday. Cooked them over a small fire for dinner.”
Jacob and Mitchell exchanged glances. So this was Blayze’s alibi. Fishing. Only the fish could tell if he was lying or telling the truth, and the defense attorney would have a hard time finding a fish that would testify to it. Then again, the prosecutor wouldn’t be able to find any fish to deny the alibi either.
Mitchell looked back at the beach. Sure enough, he saw a sleeping bag next to the remains of a small campfire, but that proved nothing.
“I think we’ll be able to see it soon,” Blayze said. The rod shifted left and right frantically. They all stared hard at the the point where the fishing line met the water.
As it hopped around, Mitchell found himself straining his eyes, trying to spot the fish first. “There!” he suddenly called victoriously.
A silvery shape appeared at the surface for a moment and disappeared.
“It’s a big one!” Jacob said. “Six pounds at least!”
“More like seven,” Blayze said, grinning, slowly rolling back the line.
The fish broke out of the water, truly a beautiful catch. Mitchell doubted the seven pounds assessment, but he guessed about five. It flipped its tail and struggled to get free as the line swung toward them. Blayze deftly caught the line just above the fish, and almost effortlessly slid the hook out of its gaping mouth. The fish stared at them with bulging eyes, opening and closing its mouth, its gills moving, trying to get some water run
ning through them.
For a moment Mitchell was struck by the image of Dona Aliysa’s face after she, too, had lost the ability to breathe.
Jacob handed the bucket to Blayze, who dumped the fish inside with a splash. The bucket was full of seawater, and except for this catch it was empty.
“Well,” Blayze said, his grin disappearing as reality sunk back in. “What about Dona?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that she was found dead in her home this morning,” Jacob said.
Blayze’s face crumpled. “What? How? Oh God, did she… did she kill herself?”
“Why would you think that she killed herself?” Jacob asked.
“She got into these moods… How did she die?”
“She was strangled.”
Blayze stared at them for a second. “Someone killed her?” he finally asked. “Why? Who would… How did this happen?”
“Mr. Terry, did anyone see you here last night?”
“You think I did this? I would never kill Dona! I love her!”
“We have to follow all possible leads,” Jacob said. “I’m sure you understand. But perhaps it would be best to continue this interview at the station. I’m sure you need some time to calm down. Would you like to ride with us to the station? We could collect your car later.”
Blayze’s eyes seemed unfocused. “No,” he said slowly. “I can answer your questions right here.”
“You were here last night, right? Did anyone see you?”
“No,” Blayze said numbly. “I was alone on the shore.”
“How would you define your relationship with Dona?”
“How would I define it? She was the love of my life, that’s how I would define it.”
“Did she feel the same way?”
“Of course she did! What are you implying?”
“I just want to get the facts straight,” Jacob said softly.
“Look, Detective, I get it. You see the boyfriend, you see my criminal record, you think I’m your guy. But you’re wrong. I would never do anything to harm Dona. Hell, I would never do anything to harm anyone. I got arrested for burglary. I served my time, but I never hurt anybody.”
