by S I Taylor
“Now, I’m intrigued to meet Shopping Zo,” Coolidge said. She raised a brow looking between McKinley and Deputy Harry.
“Where is he?” McKinley asked.
“He’s standing next to my patrol cruiser at the next warehouse. We wanted to keep him away from the media and the onlookers. He also didn’t want to leave his things unattended. He said there were people out there looking for his belongings.” Deputy Harry chuckled more to himself than to the agents.
Coolidge looked at the deputy. “Okay, lead us to him.”
They walked through a path that lead to a gate with a large opening to the next warehouse. Deputy Harry’s cruiser was the only vehicle parked there. There was a man standing in front of a shopping cart leaning against the cruiser. McKinley presumed that it was probably Shopping Zo.
He was a tall, brown skin man. He wore a faded green shirt. His dark brown pants were held together around his small bony waist by a rope. His presence was no doubt unnoticed. And it wasn’t because of his clothing or the messy tangled white hair on his head, but rather the pungent body odor that was smelled from the distance.
They got closer and Shopping Zo was gripping the cart with both hands when they got near to him.
Coolidge pursed her lips to speak. “Eh, don’t even think about saying what I know you were about to say,” McKinley interrupted. He knew she was going to comment on the stench that was coming from Shopping Zo.
Coolidge shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” She smirked.
“Good.”
Coolidge seemed as if she were to say something else but they were already standing in front of Shopping Zo when Deputy Harry began to speak to him.
“Shopping Zo, these are agents Coolidge and McKinley from the FCCA and they are here to help with the investigation. Remember, I told you to wait here because they were going to ask you a few questions.” Deputy Harry crossed his arms on his chest as he looked at Shopping Zo.
“I don’t want to cause no trouble. I don’t want to be in trouble. Am I in trouble?” Shopping Zo said. His red eyes scanned the street and everything in front of him. He scratched his arms and then vigorously rubbed his nose as he sniffed.
“No, we just want to ask a few questions pertaining to what you saw inside. Then you can leave,” Coolidge said. She looked at McKinley and gestured to Shopping Zo’s shoes. He noticed that although, he looked disheveled and rather dirty. His shoes were fairly new.
Shopping Zo stared at them. “What if I don’t want to say nothin’?”
“No problem. You don’t have to speak, but, Deputy Harry will arrest you for trespassing on private property.” McKinley said. “Then all your valuable treasure will be taken since you won’t be able to take them with you.”
“And anyway, you called us here and we need your help,” Coolidge said. “It’s just a few simple questions,” she added.
He began to scratch his arm vigorously and looked at them. McKinley was surprise that his arms weren’t bloody from how hard he was scratching at his arm. But Shopping Zo gripped his cart tighter and looked at his things inside the cart. “Okay, what y’all want to know?”
“Good.” Coolidge said as she took her tape recorder from her suit pocket and started recording. “State your name please.” She held the recorder between them. Shopping Zo leaned in and a swift of his lingering scent made Coolidge step back. She held up her free hand halting him from moving any closer. “You don’t have to lean into the recorder the mic will pick up your voice from where you’re standing.”
His glassy eyes stared at her hands and then at her. “Okay.” He shrugged and took a step back closer to his cart.
He looked at them once more and stuttered his first words. “My—my—my name is—is, oh crap I’m nervous,” he paused and started again, “Okay my name is Stanley Robinson but ‘erbody calls me Shopping Zo.” He finally said.
“How, did you come across the bodies inside the warehouse?” McKinley asked.
Rubbing his nose, he continued. “I was walkin’ looking for things. I saw some beer cans and I thought they had somethin’ inside, so I took them. I collect cans and take them to the recyclin’ center for some cash. They were nobody’s. I can keep them, right?”
Deputy Harry looked at McKinley and then at Coolidge. They both nodded. “Yeah, you can keep them, Shopping Zo.” Deputy Harry said.
He grinned revealing three rotted teeth in his mouth and dark gums. McKinley wondered how old he was and how he came to live in the streets. The man reminded him of his childhood, his parents, and his poverty.
“What happened next?” Coolidge asked.
“When I reached for the cans the lights up there scared me.” He pointed towards the warehouse which had a sensor light on the ceiling. “They were bright. I dropped the cans in my cart, saw the door open, and dragged my things inside.”
“So instead of leaving you went inside?” McKinley asked frowning. “So, if we were to take finger prints of the door knob we wouldn’t find yours on there?” McKinley asked probing for the truth.
“Um…”
Coolidge interrupted. “Before you answer, think about it. If you lie you will be in trouble. We don’t want to arrest you Shopping Zo.”
He sighed. “Yeah I tried the door knob. But the lights did scare me though. The door wasn’t locked. I walked around here many times and today had to be the day I got the courage to open it, damn my luck.” It seemed that he was saying it more to himself than to anyone. He scratched his head and looked at McKinley and continued. “I called out and no one said anythin’ so I kept walkin’ inside. If there was cans outside there would be more inside. I walked deeper inside then I saw the three dead bodies. I got spooked. I took my cart and ran back outside. I took my prepaid phone and called 9-1-1.” He fished for his phone in his pocket and displayed it to them. Like a child proving he wasn’t lying to his parents.
McKinley figured that Shopping Zo must be a participant of the nationwide program called Life Line. The program provides a free phone with five hundred minutes to its participants. In order to receive the phone, Shopping Zo had to be homeless and sign up for the program through the nearest homeless shelter. The program was established to help homeless people in emergency situations, since they tend to be targets of crime and manage to stumble upon crime scenes, since they lurk in the shadows being unnoticed, blending in with their surroundings.
“Did you touch anything inside?” McKinley asked.
“No,” he said not making eye contact.
“Hey, you know the drill, we got people in there checking for finger prints, if you’re lying we’ll know and it will be worse for you. I’m trying to help you just as you’re helping us.” Coolidge’s voice was soft but stern.
“Promise I won’t get into trouble.”
“I will promise that you will if you aren’t honest with us.” Coolidge continued.
Shopping Zo scratched his arms a little less vigorous this time as he spoke. “I took one of the dead guys shoe before I left.” He looked down at his newly acquired shoe.
“Jesus, Shopping Zo,” Deputy Harry said in disbelief.
He shrugged and looked at them nervously. “He wasn’t going to need it anymore,” Shopping Zo protested. “Can I keep it?” Sounding more like he already made up his mind than needing confirmation.
McKinley looked at Shopping Zo’s shoes again. “Yeah, you can keep it.” McKinley shook his head. He didn’t have the heart to take the shoes from him. Since he already tampered with evidence and the little evidence, if any, was gone.
“Did you see anything else or took anything else?” Coolidge asked stressing the last part of her question.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I saw the bodies, it spooked me a little, took the shoes, and left.” He looked at his soiled hands as he counted with his fingers as if making sure his sequence of events was in order.
“Anybody else you saw around the warehouse?” McKinley asked. He knew that killers usually returned t
o the crime scene lurking around to see how the police handled the scene and how reporters would paint them in the media.
“Nope. I was alone. Can I go now?” He said as he scratched his upper arms.
“Do you have any further questions Agent Coolidge?” McKinley asked.
She nodded looking at Shopping Zo. “Where can we find you if we need more information?”
“I be everywhere but I can give you my number if you need anything else.” McKinley slipped his notepad from his pocket and jotted down Shopping Zo’s number on it.
“Can I leave now?” He said more eagerly than before.
“We need to get your finger prints to rule you out as one of the suspects. Then you can leave,” Coolidge said.
“We have his finger prints in the National Crime Information Center—NCIC—as well as in the local sheriff’s electronic data file. He’s been arrested several times and is no stranger in our system.” Deputy Harry added.
NCIC is one of the many databases that all criminal justice agency nationwide can access. It serves as an electronic clearinghouse of criminal data in helping the criminal justice professionals to apprehend fugitives, locate missing persons, recover stolen property, and identify known terrorists. So, it’s without a doubt that this system has Shopping Zo’s digital fingerprints stored.
“So, can I leave then?” Shopping Zo stared at them individually as he further scratched his arms.
“Yes, we have everything. And next time you come across a crime scene don’t touch or take anything because next time, we won’t hesitate to arrest you. Okay.” Coolidge cautioned turning off her recorder.
His eyes widen. “Yes, Ma’am. I mean no ma’am. I won’t touch nothin’ again.” His double negative statement didn’t sit to well with McKinley but he was sure that Shopping Zo was unaware of any grammatical or syntax errors in his speech.
Shopping Zo gripped the rusted metal handles of his shopping cart and pushed it hurriedly away into the streets. The shopping cart wheels squealed until he turned the corner and the noise was muffled by barking dogs and a car horn that blew continuously in rage.
They all touched their service guns at their sides ready to make a run for another scene. “Yo,’ watch where you’re going old man,” a male voice said. Then the car sped off into the distance. They looked at each other as their thoughts have been the same and their adrenaline had subsided.
“How was Trivaldi notified?” Coolidge asked breaking the tension.
“When I arrived on scene, I recognized Trivaldi Junior and advised dispatch. I assume they notified chief who called Trivaldi Senior.”
Coolidge and McKinley nodded. “Interesting,” Coolidge said. They both looked at each other. Knowing that they were both thinking the same. The investigative procedures of the Huntersville Sheriff’s department were unique for a lack of better words.
“Okay, so now where’s the scene?” Coolidge said.
“Follow me.” They walked through the opening in the gate heading back to the warehouse. “You must wear the protective gear to keep the scene from contamination,” Deputy Harry said. “As you already saw, the ME left with the bodies to their office.”
“I’m sure we’ll have to take a trip to the ME’s office to see the bodies,” Coolidge said. She was directly behind the deputy and McKinley was behind her as they followed.
“Yeah, but the autopsy won’t be completed until three days from now to be sure on the cause of death, so going now would be pointless,” Deputy Harry said. They were stepping over discarded paper bags, empty red cups, and flattened boxes.
Deputy Harry led them around the small crowd of people that was forming along the sidewalk, dodging the reporters in front of the entrance, to a private passageway at the back of the warehouse. He guided them toward a bin filled with the same attire he had on previously. Once they were finished getting ready, they all entered the expansive warehouse that manufactured picture frames. They walked past huge machines, several pieces of equipment, discarded wood, and scattered rusted tools as they walked toward the crime scene.
“Take a look around. I placed those crime scene tapes you see around there.” Deputy Harry pointed to the mustard-yellow police tape with the words “POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS” repeatedly written in bold black letters.
“Good job, Deputy. You’re on your way to becoming an agent in no time,” Coolidge mocked.
He looked at her coyly and proceeded.
The CSI team was also dressed in the same attire, taking pictures, marking the scene, and tagging the evidence as they labeled the series of events—not necessarily in any particular order, because that was where Coolidge and McKinley came in, to piece the puzzle together.
“Are there any surveillance cameras?” McKinley asked. His voice was muffled through the face mask.
“We’re not sure. We’ve searched, but the warehouse doesn’t seem to have any display or a warning to advise people that they are being monitored,” Deputy Harry said. He looked around once more as if to make sure of his statement.
“This warehouse looks abandoned. The few pieces of equipment and material are rusted, beaten down, banged up, and filled with dust and spiderwebs,” McKinley noted as he scanned the area.
“Yeah, it’s been abandoned for a while. Homeless people sleep in here at times,” Deputy Harry said. He pointed at several spots that seemed to have been sleeping areas.
“No wonder there’s a putrid urine and fecal stench looming in the air. Even with the face mask the smell is strong.” Coolidge looked around, disgusted.
“Do you have the owner’s information?” McKinley asked, diverting his attention to the deputy.
The deputy shook his head. “Not yet. I will get that once I’m in the office. We are short-staffed and I’m doing a two-man job here,” Deputy Harry said.
Coolidge stepped between McKinley and Deputy Harry. She looked at the deputy. “Thank you, Deputy. We’ll take it from here,” she said dismissively.
McKinley peered around Coolidge, meeting the deputy’s gaze. “We’ll look for you when we’re done here,” he said.
“Sure thing. If you guys need anything come find me. I’ll be talking to the media.” He walked away, discarding the gown, booties, and mask in a nearby trash labeled “Soiled Contaminated Items Only.” He stopped by the hand sanitizing station, rubbed his hands together, and straightened himself before disappearing outside.
“Too bad we don’t have camera surveillance of this place,” Coolidge said. Her eyes searched the area once more.
McKinley nodded. “Yeah, but I can ask Bush to look into that and maybe he can find something we can’t see that only the cameras pick up,” he said.
“Good point,” she said.
She jotted down the information that Deputy Harry had told them and the scene description in more detail.
The closer they moved to the crime scene the more pungent the smell became.
There was blood splattered and smeared everywhere. This once-white room was now marked with a dried red color. The three body imprints were drawn where they had been found. Coolidge began to take her own photos of the markings before the scene was washed down and erased.
McKinley was beginning to feel as if this town just moved along with the next crime, judging by the procedures of the Huntersville forensics unit, which was nothing compared to the expertise of Aaron and his team. He could already sense that this case was going to be a tough one. His thoughts of it being easy or that good vibe he had before he arrived was vanishing.
McKinley started to whistle. He’d been whistling since he was young as a coping mechanism. He used to have panic attacks while he was in foster care, but they had never occurred when he was in school or the few times his parents were sober enough to pick him up for visits. He didn’t know if he hated them for being drug addicts or hated the drugs that had led them to their current state of mind. He had tried to visit them once as an adult, but they were rooted too deeply into their habit to notice who he w
as. He wondered if they thought of him or Monroe when they managed to be sober.
McKinley had been constantly searching for Monroe, his little sister, after his mother had sold her to a stranger in her inebriated state of mind. Child Protection Services had been at their house hours later, but she couldn’t recall anything. He wanted to hate his parents but the sad truth was that he pitied them.
McKinley had been ten years old when his sister was born on September eighteenth, the numbers he had tattooed on his chest as a reminder. He only had a picture of her in his wallet to remind him of her chubby cheeks, her curly blonde hair, her big blue eyes, and her sweet smile. He was constantly looking for her—she should be twenty-three years old by now. She should be a young lady today, probably in college, studying to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or maybe even an artist, or a photographer capturing life with a click of a camera.
Monroe, I need to find you soon, he muttered.
He went back to his task as he wrote his findings and his recommendations in his notepad as a reminder for his report later.
Coolidge waved her hands in McKinley’s direction. “McKinley!”
He seemed to have snapped from where his mind had wondered. “Yeah, what’s up?” he replied.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last minute or so. Did the smell get to you or something? Because you only whistle when you’re in your head.”
“No, I’m fine.” He tried to regroup as to appear sure of his statement.
She nodded skeptically. “Good. Because we’re also going to need the pictures of the actual bodies from the forensics lab,” she said.
“Yeah, we’ll get the medical examiner’s office and the forensic unit’s address from Deputy Harry. However, their pictures and assessment won’t be available until two days from today at least,” he told Coolidge.
“Considering the slow-paced lifestyle of this town, we’ll be lucky to get it in two days,” she said. Her tone indicated her annoyance with the sheriff’s department and with the crew who didn’t wait for their arrival.
McKinley sensed her annoyance and tried to make light of the situation. “Well, I’m shooting for two days and if not, we’ll harass them for the pictures. We need to report our findings to Bush once we get back to the hotel.”