by David Banner
"Sure,” I said before even registering it.
"Great, here's my number, just text me a location." She rose from the bench.
"Thanks,” I said, watching her disappear down the steps, her long dress blowing in the warm Miami breeze.
The next few minutes were a blur of confusion and questions, each one crashing against my mind like a new wave. It had been almost ten years to the day since my parents disappeared into the Carolina night. I had spent years putting it out of my mind, and now out of nowhere a storm came, blowing the uncertainty, the fear and the emptiness back into my life. This was not at all what I had envisioned for my easy Miami weekend.
I must have driven around for hours before I found myself pulling into the gravel parking lot of The Shady Palm, a small “out-of-the-way” bar I had frequented since arriving in Miami. I just didn't feel like going home just then and I certainly wasn't ready to speak to Micah about all of this. The truth is, I wasn't really sure how he'd react. Ever since our parents disappeared he kept himself kind of guarded, only speaking about it on rare occasions. Even back then, he never really let himself cry about it. I couldn't remember him shedding a single tear.
"Bad day?" a familiar voice asked from behind the bar.
"Just... strange." I muttered.
"Wanna talk about it?" she asked, sliding a Corona my way.
"My parents are dead,” I said.
Realizing I received no response I looked up to see Rachel staring at me. I could see her searching my face for anything as she tried to find the right reaction. We've been through this, she and I; she knew my parents were gone and had been for a while and she knew I'd already dealt with those emotions, or at the very least repressed them until they weren't an issue.
"I mean legally,” I said, taking a sip. "It's been ten years almost to the day that they disappeared. The court had no choice."
"I..." she stammered. "You always said they were 'gone'. I just assumed they died, I didn't know they had gone missing."
"I'm sure I failed to mention it,” I said. "Not the best bedside conversation."
Taking a step closer she placed her hand on my arm. It was soft and comforting, just like every time she had touched me before. She was a sweet girl and had been through a real rough patch with the last asshole she had gotten herself tangled up with. You could see it all over her, the apprehension, the mistrust of men. There was a sort of hesitation in everything she did, but she was still beautiful, it just took a second longer to see it.
"You alright?" she asked, gliding the tips of her fingers toward my shoulder.
"Yeah. I'll be fine." I sighed. "I just got a little bit of news I wasn't expecting. Having a little trouble making sense of it, that’s all."
"Not much going on here tonight." She smiled. "Chrissy can cover for me if you wanna go for a walk."
Slouching down onto my stool and taking another sip I gave her a small nod. Turning she untied the tattered navy blue apron from around her waist and whispered something into Chrissy's ear. A big bright smile stretched across Chrissy's face as she gave her friend a jab in the side. They were out of earshot, but I got the gist of what Chrissy thought tonight was about.
"Give me a minute,” Rachel said from across the bar, holding a finger in the air.
I smiled and took another sip of my Corona. Maybe talking it out would be good, or maybe I'd prefer to just walk silently along the beach. At the moment even the smallest decision seemed to have weight. Pulling my phone from my pocket I typed Anna Maria Island into the search bar. Miranda was right, it really did look idyllic. I cycled through pictures of the water and of the pier, trying not to look too hard and let myself get caught up in my own head.
Feeling a tap on my shoulder I couldn’t help but feel a slight bit lighter. We were friends, nothing more, but the thought of spending a little time listening to a voice besides the one in my own head seemed like just what I needed.
"Mr. Waters?” a thick voice said as I turned on my stool.
The hand belonged not to Rachel, but to a thick framed police officer. Another smaller officer stood behind him, stationed near the door. "Shit," I muttered under my breath. This could only have been about one thing. Maybe The Gator Tail had installed security cameras, or maybe some eyewitness with too much time on their hands decided to rat out my brother and me, whatever the case I wasn't feeling up to it right then.
"Yes," I said.
"I'm Detective Christopher Michaelson. I'm with the Miami-Dade Police Department. I need you to come with me." He said. "We have your brother in custody and we have a few questions for you."
"Listen," I said. "About last night—”
"What happened last night?" he asked, taking a step closer.
"What?" I asked.
"You said, ‘last night’,” he said. "I'm speaking about what happened tonight."
"What happened tonight?" I asked.
"What happened last night?" he said.
"What are you talking about?" I stood up. "Why is my brother in custody?"
"He's been charged with homicide,” he said.
"Homicide?" I said, confused as I ever was. "Of whom?"
"An estate lawyer from Atlanta,” he said. "I'm going to need you to come with me."
CHAPTER THREE
I T HAD TO BE A MISTAKE, THAT’S THE ONLY THING I COULD THINK. I had known my brother since he was born, I watched him grow up. Hell, I even raised him for a latter part of his life. He wasn't a murderer, I was as sure as rain about that, no matter what they were telling me.
I had been sitting in that empty interrogation room for what seemed like forever, even though my phone said it had been seventeen minutes. But I had seen enough true crime television and heard enough stories from my parents to know that I was without question being watched. They were waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to make a mistake and give away something that could be used against me or my brother. That wasn't going to happen though. It's impossible to reveal a truth about something that didn't happen. And my brother murdering some hot-to-trot lawyer. That hadn't happened, no way.
"Mr. Waters,” the burly police officer said opening the door. I guess they had finally gotten tired of waiting.
"I would like to speak with my brother,” I said.
"We have a few questions for you first." He sat down across from me.
"I have a few myself,” I said. "First one: where's Micah?"
"This will go a lot smoother if you just cooperate with us. Answer a few simple questions then we'll bring you to your brother,” he said opening a folder.
"Fine," I sighed. "Shoot."
"Well," he said without looking up. "For starters, where were you today?"
"I was a lot of places today." I said. "Give me a time."
"About 9:00pm,” he said.
"I was..." I muttered, trying to remember exactly where I had gone after my meeting with Miranda. "I wasn't anywhere really,” I said. "Just kinda driving around town. I parked over by the beach for a while, walked for a few minutes. About 10:00 I went to The Shady Palm, that’s when you came in."
"Kind of a vague story there,” he said, finally raising his eyes. "Just driving around like that for hours."
"It's all I got.,” I said, not liking his condescending tone.
"Did you go to the Vizcaya Museum today?" he asked, his words practically dripping with accusation.
"I did,” I said "I met with an estate lawyer. But I'm sure you already knew that."
"Yes." Detective Michaelson smiled. "Mind telling me what the two of you talked about?"
"There's been some news on the estate of my parents. Just some legal stuff,” I said. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"I pick what I need to worry about,” he snapped.
"Its been ten years since my parents went missing,” I said. "They've finally been declared dead by the court and Miranda was the estate lawyer for the company that handled it. She was here giving me a few documents. Land deed and thi
ngs."
"They were both private investigators— your parents? I'm sure growing up in a house like that had it perks,” he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, at the moment we have yet to find the murder weapon. I bet if my parents had spent their lives researching crime scenes I could have picked up a few things. That was their specialty, right? Freeing the innocent?”
"Enough of this,” I said. "Tell me what’s going on and what it is you wanna know. Otherwise I'm out the door and back with a lawyer."
"Well, for starters a pretty lady flies down from Atlanta, meets up with you then ends up dead on the beach with your brother's DNA all over her,” he said.
"His DNA all over her...?” I repeated. "What?"
"Yeah.” He leaned forward. "You heard me. Now do you really have the balls to sit here and tell me your brother, the last person she was seen with, didn't have anything to do with it?"
Again, none of it made any sense. How had my brother found Miranda? How had he even known what she looked like? He had only spoken to her once over the phone and, as far as I could tell, had no interest in meeting her.
"Listen,” I said. "There has to be a mistake somewhere. This is just... crazy. Let me speak to my brother, then we can talk again if you want but, until I see him, I'm not saying anything else."
He stared at me for a long minute, then got up and headed out the door. I sat there for a few minutes trying to put the pieces together in my head. It was just all so messed up and if my life depended on it I couldn’t put the puzzle together.
A few minutes later the door opened and Micah came in, his hands and feet shackled together. I had seen this image in my mind a thousand times, but never for anything like this. I had been the big brother, the one responsible for his well-being so I guess it was only natural that I worried about him. I worried about everything, about the bar hustling, about him getting himself involved with the wrong types of people. I had seen him arrested a thousand times as I tried to sleep, but never for murder.
"Brandon!" he said through tear-filled eyes.
"Micah," I said, feeling my own eyes well up. "Whats going on?"
"I don't know, they're saying I killed someone. You gotta help me, tell them I didn't do this... You know I didn't do this, right?" he said.
"I know,” I said. "Just tell me what happened."
"It’s a little blurry now,” he said. "I went out for a drink. I was just sitting there minding my own business. But she was all over me, talking to me and ordering drinks. She ran her fingers through my hair and whispered in my ear. The last thing I remember is heading out on the dock, she said she wanted to walk on the beach."
"It’s okay," I said. "We'll fix this. I'll get you out of here. Can you remember anything else, anything strange or out of place. Was she alone, was she on her phone or anything?"
"No..." he muttered. "She had a friend, another girl."
"What did she look like?" I asked.
"She was shorter. With dark hair and a kinda accent,” he said.
"What kind of accent?" I said.
"I don't know..." he sobbed.
"Micah!" I said. "What kind of accent? British, Spanish... what?"
"No... like, Jersey or something,” he said.
"That’s enough!" the officer said, opening the door and grabbing my brother by the arm. "Your court hearing is set for Monday."
With that my brother was escorted out of the room and my heart sank into my stomach. I could feel the blood pumping through my body so hard it felt like my veins would burst. I felt my face flush and my chest rise and fall hard with every breath. This was it, this was my nightmare come to life and paraded in front of me. I didn't know if I would ever wake up.
"We have someone headed down here from Atlanta to identify the body,” the officer said. "We need you to do the same, to verify that the woman your brother killed is the woman you met with."
"Fuck you!" I snapped. "Innocent until proven guilty, my brother killed no one."
"Have a seat,” said Detective Michaelson. "We'll be ready for you in a few minutes."
CHAPTER FOUR
A FTER MAKING MY ID AND LEAVING THE POLICE STATION I HAD ONLY ONE THING ON MY MIND. And that was clearing my brother’s name. I needed to get to that crime scene out on the beach and I had no time to waste. I didn't know what I was looking for, I just knew I had to look.
On the way there my mind was filled with anger about so many things. I was angry with the police, I was angry with my brother but, most of all, I was angry with my parents. I had spent my whole life just brushing the memories of them under the rug and, since the day I woke to find them gone, I swore I would never be like them. I swore I would never visit crime scenes and try to find the truth about a crime.
My childhood had been spent watching them lay photos out on the floor and on our dining room table. Photos of crime scenes, of bars, broken down cars, and mugshots. I would hear them from my perch on the staircase, talking about murders and suspects. They would spend hours poring over evidence trying to find what someone else may have missed.
They were good at what they did. There had always been whispers after their disappearance that maybe they were just a little too good. That maybe they had
crossed the wrong person trying to prove someone's innocence. Especially given the trouble they had encountered with the last case they had taken on.
Getting out of the taxi I began walking down the beach until making my way to the scene of the crime. It was roped-off with caution tape and a sign from the Miami-Dade Police Department. Taking a look around the perimeter I didn't see any officers, but I still knew better than to cross into an active crime scene. So I just made my way around the edges of the tape, looking for anything I could see. There was nothing though, just a jumble of sand and a few seashells so I just stood there, staring at it trying to figure out what to do.
"She was a fighter..." a voice mumbled from out of the darkness.
"Excuse me?” I said, looking around for its source.
"Didn't go down easy,” the voice spoke again.
I looked to see a man lying on a bench. He was a few yards back off of the sand, right at the edge of the taller grass that lined that particular stretch of beach. I could barely make him out, but he looked homeless or transient. Miami had quite a few of those people, the ones who would spend their days in bars and their nights sleeping on the beach. It was like any big city in that way.
"Are you talking about the murder?" I asked.
"Pretty woman." He took a swig from a big bottle of rum.
"Were you here?" I asked. "Did you see what happened?”
"Didn't stand a chance..." he said.
"Can you tell me what happened?" I asked.
"They killed her,” he said, his sleep filled eyes rolling back in his head.
"Hey!" I said. "I need you to pay attention here."
"It'll cost ya,” he said.
"Fine,” I said, pulling some cash from my pocket and placing it in his hand. "Now tell me what happened."
"She was talking on the phone." His voice was muffled from the mixture of sleep and rum, but I did my best to understand him.
"Okay..." I said.
"Two big guys... fighting. Arguing with her,” he said.
"Two guys?" I asked.
My brother had mentioned another woman but not another man. And I didn't know my brother to really have any friends here. He wasn't the type to just go around making guy friends out of nowhere. I could see him leaving anywhere with a girl, but not a guy.
Pulling my phone from my pocket I cycled through my photos until I found a picture of him. It was a random selfie we had taken a few weeks before on his birthday. I could feel my eyes welling up a little as I looked at the screen. All I wanted was to get him back home with me.
"This guy?" I asked.
"Too small... bigger guy,” he said through a world of coughs.
"What?" I asked. "Listen, asshole. Was t
his one of the guys or not?"
"I didn't see him,” he said.
I grabbed the man by the shoulders and sat him up straight on the bench.
"I need you to focus. My little brother’s life is on the line here,” I said, giving him a slap on the cheek. "Now, was this one of the guys you saw arguing with the woman or not?"
"Not,” he said.
Releasing my grip on the man I watched him slouch down into the bench. Normally the smell of him would have been enough to send me running for the water, but I had too much on my mind to care about that. I needed to figure out who was with Miranda when she died, if not my brother. Which only led to the even larger question of where Micah actually was during all of this.
"What’s it worth to you?" the man asked. I turned to see him holding a small purse. It was one of those little sparkly numbers women hold in their hands whenever they're all dressed up or heading out on the town.
"Did that belong to Miranda?" I asked.
"They ran... she was dead. Thanks for the rum,” he chuckled.
I extended my hand toward the small wallet. He pulled it back, extending his other hand and rubbing his fingers together the way people do when that want to signify money.
"Fine!" I snapped, slamming a little more cash against his chest and pulling the bag from his hand.
The lack of any actual cash made me pretty sure he had already riffled through it. But cash was the last thing on my mind right now. I stood and made my way out onto the beach and a little closer into the light. I didn't know what I would find if anything, but at the moment this was my best shot.
Aside from a tube of lipstick and a small mirror, the purse held only one thing; a key. A key card from a hotel. The words The Mandarin Oriental Miami were printed across it along with a logo, one that looked like a Chinese fan. I had seen the logo before, I just wasn't quite sure where. But that didn't matter, a few taps on my phone and I'd be on my way there.
As much as I wanted to leave that beach and head to the hotel right then I was just too tired. It had been hours since the police came to The Shady Palm to get me and my mind had been running a million miles an hour ever since. I needed to get home, get myself in the shower and into bed. Tomorrow would be another day and I would be no good to my brother if I was so tired I missed something.