Blood Week

by J. D. Martin

  “It’s a definite possibility,” I said as I tapped the message on my phone. Simmons found that there was another Davidson living in the city as well. Brett had a brother and we had his address.

  “And I think I’ve got someone that could help answer that question.” I keyed the address into GPS and pulled away from the curb to follow the route to visit the other Mr. Davidson.

  It was about twenty minutes later when I steered up to our destination. After parking the car, Delgado and I walked up the driveway to a ranch-style home with a garage on the left. The house was a hunter green that made me think of army camouflage. After a few knocks at the maroon door, a dark-haired woman with pale skin answered. The sight of two strangers at her door had her visibly tense.

  “Hello ma’am,” I said. “I’m Detective Saint and this is my partner Detective Delgado. Is Peter Davidson home? We’d like to ask him some questions about his brother.”

  Appearing relieved, “You here to take him back to prison? I want that murderer out of my house. Peter’s at work, but feel free to haul Brett back to jail.”

  “Is Brett here?”

  “No. I don’t want that criminal in my home.”

  “And you are?” asked Marcus.

  “Martha. I’m Peter’s wife.”

  Could you tell us where your husband works?” I asked.

  “As long as you’re getting that killer back to where he belongs, I’ll give you anything you want.” She wrote down where we could find Peter and gave us the slip of paper. Thanking her, we went back to the vehicle to continue following the breadcrumbs, but Marcus paused near the front corner of the SUV and stared at me with a puzzled look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Are you bleeding?”

  I looked down at the sleeve of my left arm and saw a line of red seeping into the fabric. “Fuck, my bandage needs changed again. That asshole stabbing me is really starting to screw with my day.”

  “Sorry your chi is out of whack, but did you ever get it looked at?”

  “Yeah, I had it cleaned and everything,” I said.

  “Not by the EMT, did you ever go to the hospital like Hawthorne told you to?”

  “No, I haven’t got around to it yet. I’ll get it taken care of, but there are more important matters to attend to. For now, the bandage will have to do.”

  “Alex, you need stitches.” He insisted that I get it taken care of immediately and pressed the issue when he took my keys and drove me to the hospital to get stitched up. He said he would speak with the brother alone and pick me up afterwards. I tried fighting him on it, but I knew he was right. And I didn’t need to keep hearing about it from so many people. Besides, it hurt like hell too. Maybe I could get some painkillers while I was there.

  Marcus left me at an urgent care clinic to get patched up while he went to speak with Peter Davidson. When I got inside, I informed the nurse at the front desk that I was there to get stitches in my arm. Once she realized I was a cop, she said I’d be pushed to the front of the line.

  “I can’t jump in front of the people that have been waiting already. Just put my name on the list and I’ll get in there when it gets to me. What is the wait time?”

  Informed that it would be twenty minutes if I waited, I thanked her and took a seat in the lounge. Looking for something to pass the time, I picked up one of the magazines and flipped through the pages. Periodically looking at my watch, I found the wait ended up being a little longer than expected. I started to wonder if I should’ve jumped the line after all so I could get back to work. I tossed the magazine down to get a status update and, as I stood, a nurse stepped in and called my name.

  She put me in a room and told me that the doctor would be in shortly, but the fifteen minutes that passed while I sat in the room didn’t feel that short. The predicted waiting times didn’t seem that accurate to me, but the doctor did eventually join me. In the time it took the doctor to look at my arm and stitch it up, I’d been at the urgent-care facility for over an hour. By the time I got outside, Marcus had already returned to pick me up. “Get it all stitched up?”

  “Yeah, what’d you find out?”

  “You’re going to love this. I spoke with Peter at the factory he works at and noticed a pretty nasty bruise on his face. He said he was hit by some steel piping that came loose from a fork lift. The important part though is that he gave me a location on his brother. He’s staying at a hotel downtown, and I figured I’d pick you up before we went to see him.

  “Thanks. Let’s go nail this bastard.”

  Chapter 24

  The ride across town put us right in the middle of the lunch rush. It seemed like everyone in the city was trying to make it somewhere to eat and back to work during that hour. We carved out our path through idling vehicles and hurried pedestrians to a budget hotel where our suspect was staying. Marcus had called ahead and learned that Brett’s room was currently unoccupied because he’d stepped out about an hour prior to our call. With this in mind, we decided to stakeout the hotel and wait for him to return.

  It didn’t take long until stomachs started growling, so I left Delgado to watch for our man while I picked up some sandwiches from a deli across the street. I scanned the menu above the counter before settling on the tuna salad sandwich my partner requested and a roasted turkey on wheat for myself. Adding a couple bags of potato chips and two soft drinks to the mix, I started to pay for the food when I noticed the basket of cookies near the register. Tossing a chocolate chip into the bag, I handed the man a twenty and rejoined the waiting game already taking place in the Tahoe.

  Stakeouts were a boring, yet required, part of the job. They made you long for something fast-paced and exciting, but every cop knew that it was grunt work like this that brought everything home. You had to put in the time with all the monotonous aspects before you could get the sweet satisfaction of hearing the perp being fit for bracelets.

  “I got you a little something extra,” I said as I slid back into the passenger seat. I dug into the bag and pulled out the cookie to present to Marcus.

  “Fuck, man. I love chocolate chip.”

  “I figured as much, I’ve seen your sweet tooth. I’ll just be sure not to tell the wife.” Delgado touched his nose to indicate it was our little secret before pulling back the wrapper and taking a large bite. “I guess dessert comes first?”

  “I haven’t had a decent cookie in days,” he said while chewing. “Rita is on this health kick and throwing away all my sweets. It’s hell, man. I’ve had to resort to keeping little stashes around so I don’t have to drive to the gas station every time I want a cupcake.”

  “Just call me your new supplier, but only the first taste is free.” I smiled as I unwrapped my sandwich. As I prepared it, I noticed a raised eyebrow from Marcus as I applied a layer of chips that I then smashed down with the top of the bun. It made a satisfying crunch as the salted chips prepared to complement the turkey sandwich.

  “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” I said just before taking my first bite. I sat back and enjoyed the crunchiness as we multi-tasked our meal while keeping watch for Mr. Davidson.

  Swallowing the massive mound of sandwich in my mouth, I asked my partner, “So when are you going to bring in the family for us to meet? I figured Rita and Victoria would want to see where you work eventually.”

  Laughing slightly, “Yeah, sorry about that. Most of my free time has been spent unpacking. You never realize how much stuff you own until you have to deal with all the boxes. The stacks of them are like a mini cardboard city.”

  “I can imagine. Well, we should have a barbeque or something with your family, as well as Edward’s and Richard’s.”

  “And you could bring Amy.”

  “Or some other date,” I responded with a side glance at Marcus’ implication.”

  “Fine, Kathryn it is. Oh, come on,” he said after I raised an eyebrow at him. “It isn’t any secret that you’re fooling around with both of them.”

  �
��Maybe not, but no need to let them know that,” I joked.

  “I’m pretty sure they already know.”

  Before I could ask what brought him to that conclusion, we saw our target cross the street and pass right in front of our vehicle. Packing away our food, we hopped out of the car and followed him into the hotel where we loitered a few minutes in the lobby as we waited for him to turn down a hallway.

  We wanted to make the arrest as quietly as possible to avoid causing a scene, so the idea was to catch him somewhere in the hotel that wasn’t as busy as the main lobby. Normally it wouldn’t have been an issue, but a few months ago there had been a small uproar after an officer used what witnesses called ‘obsessive force’ to apprehend a suspect. Just in case Brett put up a fight, it was better to do it away from so many spectators.

  Once he had gone up a short flight of stairs and disappeared down the hallway, we quickly followed. On the next floor, we entered the hallway and proceeded along the multi-colored carpet, in dire need of replacement, until we caught up to him standing in front of room 108. Brett fished around in his pocket for a room card as we approached. With him preoccupied, he didn’t notice us coming up to him until he inserted his card key into the magnetic-strip reader.

  “Brett Davidson?” asked Marcus.

  “Yeah…?”

  “I’m Detective Delgado and this is my partner Detective Saint. We’d like you to come with us; we have some questions to ask you.”

  “What? Why? I haven’t done anything.”

  “Sir, unless you want to make this an arrest, I suggest you come with us.”

  “ARREST!?” Brett appeared shocked at the idea, but his hand on the door handle kept me ready for a chance that he would try to run. “What would I be under arrest for?”

  “The murder of Joseph Matthews and Trent Williams. I’m sure you recognize those names since they were both related to your conviction for murder.”

  “Wait, they’re dead? How? And why would I be a suspect. I’ve been here since I got out of prison. You can check with my parole officer.”

  “Both of these men were living in Kansas City too,” I said. “And they were found dead two days ago along with a hair that led us to you.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. I haven’t seen them since my conviction. How could my hair be on them?”

  “We’ll explain everything at the precinct,” I said. Pulling out a pair of handcuffs, I held them up to him. “So, how do you want to play this?”

  Looking at the silver bracelets dangling from my finger, Brett calmly agreed to come peacefully and avoid an official arrest. We walked him out through the lobby and to the waiting SUV like a trio of friends going out for lunch.

  Standing in the viewing room, I watched Brett through the glass as he sat in interrogation, fidgeting with his fingers and looking around nervously. Delgado gathered the files containing all the case information thus far, while I measured our man. The vibe I was getting wasn’t that of a hardened criminal. He acted like a first-timer that legitimately had no idea what was happening, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was innocent. Many suspects have made an art out of this routine, and I was still trying to decide if Brett was an artist. Either way, I was certain of one thing. This wasn’t the man that attacked me in my apartment.

  Brett didn’t have any facial hair, which could have easily been shaved, but he also didn’t have a bullet wound on his arm. This wasn’t the man I shot, but that didn’t rule him out of the deaths of Joseph Matthews or Trent Williams.

  A knuckle rapped the door and I turned to see Marcus waving the file at me through the window. Following him out and around the corner, we entered the interrogation room to join our suspect who snapped to attention when the door opened. Closing the door behind us, my partner slapped the file onto the table, startling Brett.

  “So, Mr. Davidson,” Marcus began, “you’ve been in town for roughly three weeks now…visiting family, correct?” Brett nodded his head. “Can you give us your whereabouts last night? Let’s say from eight to midnight?”

  Although I knew Brett wasn’t my guy, I didn’t interrupt as there may be something useful that springs free from the questioning. Nervously looking back and forth at the two of us, he slowly answered Delgado’s question.

  “Umm, well I got some barbeque at the place around the corner from the hotel around 8:30. After that I stopped at a bar for a few beers and then went for a walk. You don’t get to have alcohol in prison so I’ve been there a couple nights this week.” I wrote down the names of the restaurant and bar while Delgado continued.

  “Any reason you decided to take your walk last night?”

  “Same reason as the beers; after all that time in lock up, you forget the simple joy of being able to do something as mundane as take a stroll.”

  “What time did you go for this walk?”

  “I don’t know, around 10:30? Can we get to why I’m connected to all this? I told you I haven’t seen the judge or Tara’s brother since I was in Arizona. It’s been almost twenty years.”

  “You say that,” I said, “but it seems rather suspicious that you come into town and the people who put you away show up dead.”

  “I agree, but it has to be some kind of coincidence because I didn’t kill them. I had no reason to even hurt either of them because I’m not like that.”

  “Well that’s your first lie,” said Marcus. “You’ve already killed before, so how can you say you aren’t the kind of guy that would hurt someone? You spent fifteen years in prison based on Trent’s testimony? Are you really going to tell me that you don’t have a motive here?”

  “You think I’m angry about any of that?” he said. Both of us looked at him without responding, “Look, I bear no ill will towards them over anything. How could I after what I did? I deserved what happened. Yes, I killed Tara, but I’m not a murderer. I never meant to hurt her. Her death was an accident.” Not breaking our stare, he took us back to the beginning of the night the Williams’ family lost one of their own.

  In the open desert of Arizona, loud music blared while local teens emptied kegs one cup at a time around the large bonfire. Attendees to the event showed up in cars, after nightfall, for what was meant to be the party of the year. It seemed like the entire town’s teen population drove up to the destination that was over twenty miles from the nearest city. A young Brett Davidson showed up with his brother, Peter, after hearing about it through the grapevine.

  As they walked up to get their first beer, they noticed that Tara Williams and her brother, Trent, were also in attendance. The brother and sister were acquainted with the Davidson boys since they attended the same school, but didn’t normally run in the same crowds. Trent gave the traditional teen greeting of ‘what’s up’ as the brothers grabbed cups to get their first drink of the night. The booze flowed freely and blood-alcohol levels rose as everyone enjoyed the party.

  At some point in the night, everything escalated when Peter thought it would be fun to shoot off his father’s gun. He’d snuck it out of the house without anyone’s knowledge—including Brett’s. A small group of around twelve ventured away from the main gathering area to fire off some rounds, and Brett, Peter and Tara were among them.

  With the smaller group, Brett and Tara got better acquainted after an abundance of flirtatious glances throughout the night. Now he was free to talk to her while the others took turns with his Dad’s pistol. They sat beside each other on a rock and Brett lost himself in her beauty. Her hair was red like the morning sun and he marveled at the cute freckles on either side of her nose. He wasn’t sure if it was the beer talking, but he really wanted to kiss her.

  As they talked, the time got away from them as dawn approached. Many of the cars had already left with only a handful of people still drinking and enjoying the waning fire. Brett, Peter and Tara were the only three still sitting near the shooting range after everyone left and Trent slept off the booze in his car. All the beer had gotten to Brett too because the last thin
g he remembered was sitting down with the gun to load a few rounds and suddenly feeling nauseous. He decided to lie down until his stomach stopped turning summersaults.

  He kept his eyes closed to help, but he must have passed out. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled off the ground by police officers who placed him in handcuffs and read him his rights. As the bright light of the morning sun stabbed at his eyes, he found his extremely hung-over vision difficult to get to cooperate. Shapes were abstract and blurred in color as he asked what was happening. He figured he was being arrested for underage drinking, but something was off. Even through his inebriation, he could see that nobody else was being cuffed.

  It was when one of the cops stepped between him and the sun and casted a shadow over him that he was able to focus on an image that was forever burned into his mind. Lying it what could only be described as a bloody jumble of limbs was Tara’s body as paramedics near her packed away their supplies. Trent sat beside her and pulled her limp form to his chest as he cried. There were two spots on her chest that had soaked her clothes and the dirt dark red. That’s when he was told that he was being arrested for her murder. He had no recollection of the two bullets he’d put into her during his drunken state. It was at the trial during Trent’s testimony that the gaps in his memory were filled in.

  Trent had come to check on his sister after his nap, and what he found was Tara on the ground struggling for breath with nobody around except Brett who still had the gun in his hand. When Trent screamed for help, Peter had come running and it was he who’d called 911.

  I could see the regret in Brett’s eyes as he told us how a party had ended up destroying all their lives. It was after hearing this tale that I’d made the decision that this man was no killer. As I thanked him for his time, I had the regrettable task of informing him that he would be staying with us overnight. “You are still our primary suspect due to the connections to Tara, but I’m sure that you’ll be free to go once we can confirm your whereabouts during the judge’s death.”