The Hated: A Detective Jericho Single

by Walter Marks

  “Oh, wow,” Seth said. “Skinhead!”

  “Awesome!” said his brother.

  “Man, you got guts,” Seth said. “Those guys gotta be a little scary.”

  “It’s my job,” Jericho said, putting his cap back on. “But let me ask you something. The hate group members are certainly the prime suspects in your dad’s murder, but is there anyone else you can think of who might want him dead?”

  Both boys squirmed slightly in their chairs.

  “Our dad was a controversial figure,” Seth said. “His views on Latino rights rubbed plenty of people the wrong way.”

  Seth paused, then continued. “With what’s goin’ on in this country today, violence seems to be the answer to everything. I mean, take guns. Even something like background checks gets road-blocked. You know how many handguns there are in this country?”

  Too much irrelevant information, Jericho thought.

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “These days it’s like, y’know, if somebody rubs you the wrong way, shoot him.”

  “Eric, your father wasn’t shot,” Jericho said. “He was strangled to death.”

  “I know,” Eric said. “I’m just sayin’...”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  “That he was strangled.”

  “It was in the paper.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Well... then I guess I saw the marks on his throat,” Eric said. “When we identified the... the body.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I dunno. I was pretty shook up,”

  “We all were,” Seth chimed in.

  Jericho repeated the question. “What did you see?”

  “I... I saw like a dark red line,” Eric said. “Like some kinda cut around his throat.”

  “You think his throat was cut?”

  “I... I dunno.”

  “But it could also suggest he was strangled with a garrote.”

  “Huh?”

  “A cord fastened to two pieces of wood. I’m sure you’ve seen it in the movies.”

  “Oh... Yeah.”

  “So is that how you think he was killed.”

  Eric was breathing hard. “I don’t know. I told you, I was, like, freaked out seein’ Dad like that. I don’t remember what I saw. Okay?”

  “You don’t remember what you saw,” Jericho said firmly. “Because you never saw the body.”

  “Huh?”

  “You refused to go into the room and see him. You just sat outside and played games on your phone.”

  “That’s... that’s not true.”

  “The grief counselor told me all about it,” Jericho said. “And Officer Vangie Clark confirmed it.”

  Jericho watched them carefully. Eric chewed his lip and picked at a hangnail. Seth stared at the detective with forced calm. Jericho could feel their tension and let it percolate.

  Finally Seth spoke up. “Listen, Eric was too scared to look at the body,” he said. “Later I told him about the mark on Dad’s throat. It’s no big deal, so don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  After a while, Jericho spoke again. “Eric, did your mom sew the button back on your baseball jacket?”

  “Button? What button?”

  Jericho reached in his bag and pulled out the Star photograph. “I noticed in this picture, that your middle button is missing.”

  He thrust the photo into Eric’s face. Eric shook his head in confusion. “What... what does that have to do with anything?”

  Jericho showed him the evidence bag with the button inside it. “Is this your button?”

  “I... don’t know.”

  “It has a star on it, surrounded by a circle.”

  “A star? a circle?...”

  Seth jumped in. “How’s he supposed to know what’s on his button? And what does this have to do with...”

  “It was found in the sand next to the lifeguard stand at Indian Wells Beach. That’s the scene of the crime.”

  “Well, it’s not my button.” Eric said.

  “I had it tested,” Jericho said. “It has your fingerprint on it.”

  Eric looked stunned. His lips moved but no words came out. His brother spoke up. “Eric, we were both at Indian Wells beach a couple weeks ago. Remember, you went and sat up on the lifeguard chair to see what it felt like.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Detective,” Seth said. “He’ll be eighteen next month, so he’s eligible for a lifeguard job.”

  “It’s been a dream of mine, like, forever,” Eric joined in. “You know how many chicks a lifeguard can nail in a summer?”

  Jericho studied the brothers closely. He knew they were lying. Seth was apparently the smarter one. Eric took his cues from his brother. Clearly they had a special bond, the kind of bond only blood brothers share.

  It was becoming obvious they were involved in their father’s murder. But how? And why? If they killed him, it would’ve taken elaborate planning, especially to make it look like a hate crime. Were they really capable of...? Don’t speculate, investigate.

  To get the full story, Jericho would have to break the brothers apart.

  He would have to say and do whatever was needed to crack this case. And that would require a series of blatant fabrications.

  CHAPTER 21.

  Jericho planned his moves carefully before he spoke.

  “I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I know if feels like I’m pushing you pretty hard. But as a detective, I’m trained to question everything, to follow every lead. Truth is, I can’t imagine you killing your father, or having anything to do with it.”

  He paused and looked at them. They were hanging on his every word, as if hoping what he said would absolve them.

  “All right,” Jericho said, preparing another falsehood. “I think we can clear this up right now. During the autopsy they discovered tissue underneath your father’s fingernails — skin tissue he scratched off the killer in his struggle to survive. We have the DNA from that tissue — the killer’s DNA. If it doesn’t match your own, then you’re in the clear. Would you guys be willing to let me swab the insides of your mouths to get a DNA sample?”

  They both looked dumbfounded. Finally Seth spoke up.

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Well, it would be in your best interest...”

  “Fourth Amendment — protection from warrantless search and seizure.”

  “Your refusal is legal, but it sure won’t help your situation. Look, if you’ve got nothing to hide, I’d advise you to consent.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Seth said. “And Eric, I advise you not to either. I saw this on ‘Law and Order.’ If you’re not under arrest, they can’t make you.”

  Eric looked at Jericho. “Are we... like, under arrest?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Then... then I’d rather not do it either.”

  “Okay,” Jericho said. “Look, I wanted to give you the opportunity to cooperate. But actually, I already have your DNA.”

  Seth looked skeptical. “What do you mean?”

  “I have it on the pens you used to fill out the registration forms.”

  “Bullshit,” Seth said. “All we did was write with those pens. You can’t get DNA from that.”

  “I guess you’ve never heard of Touch DNA.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  “Well, you see, skin cells — keratinocytes they’re called — are always being shed by the body. Touch DNA only requires seven or eight cells. You touched those pens, so now the lab can process the sloughed-off cells and then make multi-copies of their genes. That’ll result in a highly specific genetic portrait of each of you.”

  Both boys looked at Jericho with disbelief and anger.

  “I’ve got those pens stashed here in my bag,” Jericho said.

  “So... so... you tricked us,” Seth said bitterly.

  “It was a test. I gave you a chance to give me your samples,” Jericho said. “You turned me
down, which indicated you did have something to hide.”

  He looked at them steadily. “All right, guys — lemme give it to you straight. You know damn well the DNA on the body is gonna match one of you. I don’t know which one of you, but you do. Whoever that is, I strongly suggest you confess. I’m sure there’s a very good reason you killed your father — but we’ll get into that later.”

  He paused, then went on.

  “Look guys, I’m on your side. Right now, coming clean is your best chance — I would say your only chance — to get a break. For one thing, it will influence the court’s decision — whether to try you as a youthful offender or as an adult. That’s a choice between Juvie with possible probation, and years in Sing Sing or Attica — where they’re not real nice to teenagers. So... what’s it gonna be?”

  Seth looked at the detective impassively. Eric began to tremble. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to cry. Then his eyes welled up and the tears came, bursting out and flowing down his cheeks. His body was wracked with sobs. He covered his face with his hands.

  “Eric,” Jericho said softly. “Did you kill your father?”

  Still hiding his face, Eric tried to speak. At first no words came out. Then in a voice that sounded like a little boy, he spoke.

  “Yes.”

  “You killed your father.”

  “...Yes.”

  “You strangled him with a garrote?”

  “...Yes.”

  “Where did you do this?”

  “...In his car. In the parking lot, after his OLA meeting.”

  “Was your brother with you?”

  Eric pulled his hands away from his face. “No. No,” he said. “Seth had nothing to do with this.”

  Jericho pressed on. ”So after you killed your dad, you drove to the beach, dragged his body to the lifeguard chair, and put him on display up there?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “You did that all by yourself? I mean, a dead body is pretty heavy.”

  “I... I’m pretty strong. I lift weights.”

  “When did you write on your dad’s forehead?”

  Eric looked nonplussed.

  “You wrote 8668 with a Magic Marker, right?”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah. I did that.”

  “Just you?” Jericho said. “Seth had nothing to do with it?”

  “Like I said — it was just me!”

  Jericho swung his gaze over to Seth. His eyes bored into the boy.

  Seth turned to his brother. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Don’t worry,” Eric said. “You’re in the clear.”

  “I’m not in the clear!” Seth shouted. “You think I’m gonna let you go down by yourself? We’re brothers, for chrissake!”

  He hesitated for a few moments, then turned to Jericho. “We planned the whole scheme together,” he said. “We hid in the backseat of Dad’s car, then when he got in I grabbed him, and I held him while Eric did him.”

  “Then you wrote 8668 on his forehead” Jericho said, “Knowing the police would eventually figure out that was a hate group sign.”

  “Yes,” Seth said. “We looked up all about hate groups on the Internet. And we wanted to make sure you’d know the meaning of 8668. So the day we got fingerprinted, we brought you the webpage about The Hated.”

  Jericho nodded. “And that would also throw suspicion off yourselves.”

  “...Yes.”

  For a while no one spoke. Eric was clearly terrified. Seth’s eyes were closed and he appeared deep in thought.

  “Detective,” Seth finally said. “We told you what you wanted to know. So now... can you... I mean, is there any way you can help us? Is there... some way out for us?”

  “I can’t do anything. But you can help yourselves.”

  “How?”

  “Mitigating circumstances,” Jericho said. “If killing your dad was in some way justified, it would definitely help your case. So... why don’t you tell me why you did it?”

  Jericho’s request was met with stony silence. Eric and Seth looked back and forth between each other and Jericho. Finally they both faced the detective and shook their heads negatively.

  “You won’t tell me your motive?” Jericho said.

  The boys remained silent.

  “Why not?”

  For a long while no one said anything.

  Finally Seth spoke. “Can you keep it out of the papers?” he asked. “Can we keep it out of the trial?”

  “It’s part of your defense,” Jericho said. “Maybe with a good lawyer, you could confess and avoid trial and get the records sealed. But it would be up to a judge, and he’d be under community pressure to make the trial public. Anyway, why would you want to conceal your motive? Explaining it is your only chance to get a lighter sentence.”

  “Seth,” Eric said to his brother. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should tell.”

  “We can’t,” Seth said. “Think what it’ll do to Mom. And to Caroline.”

  Seth’s remark generated a tense protracted silence. Both boys stared down at the floor, as if looking up would be a catastrophe.

  “Listen, guys,” Jericho said. “You asked me to help you. I can only help if I understand everything. What do you say?”

  There was another extended, painful silence.

  Finally Eric cracked. “I’m gonna tell, Seth.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m telling,” Eric said. He took a deep breath. “Our father... he was abusing Caroline.”

  “Your sister.”

  “Yes. It was horrible,” Eric said.

  “How did he... uh, what form did this abuse take?” Jericho said.

  “Abuse? Bullshit” Seth yelled. “Let’s call it what it is. Dad wasn’t abusing her, he was raping her!”

  Jericho suddenly thought of his own daughter. He shuddered.

  “How do you know that?”

  “We saw them,” Eric said. “See, sometimes at night, me and Seth used to, like, sneak out of the house, go back in the garden shed and smoke cigarettes...and, okay, sometimes weed. Anyway, this one night we were sneaking past Caroline’s room, which is on the first floor. Usually the shade was down, but this night it was up. We peeked in and saw my dad on top of Caroline... his pants were down...”

  Seth jumped in. ”We could hear the bed squeaking, I’ll never forget that sound.” He paused, remembering. “We got the hell out of there, and when we got back to our own room, we were both freaked out. We couldn’t even talk about it.”

  “You gotta understand,” Eric said. “We love our little sister. When we were growin’ up, both our folks worked. So they weren’t home a lot, and it was, like, up to us to take care of her. Caroline was always the sweetest, most adorable kid you could ever imagine. Both of us, we promised ourselves we’d always love her, protect her.”

  Seth joined in. “But we couldn’t protect her from her own father.” He sighed deeply before going on.

  “Next day, we took Caroline to the park after school. We put her on the playground swing and swung her up and now, and she was giggling like she always does...”

  “And then we stopped swinging her,” Eric said. “And we told her we saw what her daddy was doing to her. And she shook her head, said it wasn’t true, and we said it was, and we went back and forth till finally she started crying. And she started repeating the same thing — ‘Don’t tell Mommy. Please don’t tell Mommy.’”

  “We understood,” Seth said. “Mom wouldn’t believe her, and she’d just get mad if Caroline said anything, or if we said anything. I asked Caroline how long Dad was doing this horrible stuff. And she said ‘Years’. Years, for chrissake!”

  “We knew we had to, like, put a stop to it,” Eric said. “We couldn’t go to the cops. An investigation would be a horror show — it would, like, destroy our family. It would get into the papers and all our friends and our family would know about it. The shame would be...”

  He looked pleadingly at Jericho, hoping he’d understand.

 
; “Mom idolized Dad,” Eric went on. “And she’s deeply religious — she would go to pieces!”

  “And what about Caroline?” Seth interjected. “What would this do to her? — an innocent kid. Bad enough she had to suffer what that bastard did to her. But what would it do to the rest of her life? We thought about going to Dad and telling him to stop. But we knew he’d just deny everything. And he’d start, like, making our lives hell. And he’d keep doing it anyway.”

  “But we couldn’t let Caroline suffer any more,” Eric said. “So we talked it over, and we realized getting rid of Dad was the only solution.”

  “So we came up with this plan,” Seth said. “We had no choice. You see that, don’t you, Detective? We just had no choice!”

  Jericho did see it. From their point of view, and given the way they felt about their sister, he understood their actions. But they’d committed murder, premeditated murder.

  He needed time to figure this out.

  “You guys are gonna need a good lawyer,” Jericho said. “Is there someone you could call?”

  They both shook their heads no.

  “I’ve got a list of defense attorneys in my office. I’ll get it for you. Stay here.”

  Jericho got up and left the room. But it wasn’t to get a list of lawyers. It was to be alone and concentrate.

  The moment he closed the door, he stopped in his tracks. It hit him: He’d missed all the signals little Caroline had given him. Her shriek and fearful withdrawal when he first knelt down to talk to her, her flinching when he tried to touch her hand. The nightmares her mother spoke about — Caroline being chased by a big, scary monster. And this recent tragic episode, when she ripped apart the legs of her dolls — a dramatization of her own violation. And then her tearful cry, “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault,” expressing the profound guilt she felt; that somehow her behavior had caused her father’s death. Or perhaps she’d wished her father would die, and when it came true, she’d blamed herself for wishing it.

  He shook his head in dismay. The impact of this kind of trauma on a child is devastating and could last a lifetime. Thank God, she’ll be getting some competent therapy. I can only hope that with support and guidance she’ll find the strength to survive.