Four Ways To Midnight (An Anthony Carrick Short Story Collection Book 1)

by Jason Blacker

  "I heard he'd promised to get back with Zaira."

  "Nah man, he'd told her last weekend that he was moving on. And it was the right thing to do."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Man, that Zaira, she's trouble. She didn't want him to head to UCLA. She pretended like she was happy but she wasn't. She's also got a wicked temper. One time they got into this huge fight and she tried to stab him. Hit him in the hand instead. He had to get stitches for it, but told the doctor he'd cut himself on some broken glass. If there's one person who could've killed him it'd be her. And maybe her brothers. They're no good."

  "Have you got any evidence to this effect?" asked Roberts.

  "I didn't see her kill him if that's what you mean. But get this. I left him around twelve thirty. Like I said, we were good. But when I was leaving I'm pretty sure I saw Zaira hiding behind one of the poles by the roller coaster. It was dark but I'd put money on it being her. I turned around and saw her heading towards Gregg, but I was quite a ways away."

  I looked at Roberts and suddenly the coin slipped into the slot and the machine turned its cogs in order. Roberts nodded at me.

  "How was Gregg murdered?" asked Dennis.

  "He was stabbed."

  "Shit, man, didn't I just tell you she tried to stab him one time? I always told him that bitch was crazy, but I guess he was scared of her."

  Roberts got up.

  "You stay here. Don't go anywhere. An officer will come and get you in a minute."

  "But I helped you out right?" asked Dennis.

  "Maybe," said Roberts as we opened the door to leave.

  "So we're good on the weed, right?"

  "What weed?" said Roberts.

  Dennis nodded.

  "You're alright, man, for a cop."

  We left and headed back to Roberts office. He called in Schaal and Campos.

  "Cut him loose," he said.

  "Just like that?" asked Schaal.

  "Just like that, but keep him close. What I want you two to do is get a search warrant for Zaira Estrada's place. Maybe we'll get lucky with the murder weapon still being there."

  He said that last part to me. Maybe hell would freeze over. If so, I'd sooner stay in Santa Monica.

  "You think she did, boss?" asked Campos.

  "Evans said he saw her crouching around the pier when he left Gregg at twelve thirty the night he was murdered. Now she's a small thing, I reckon she would've needed help to move Gregg's body. See if she made any calls to whom and from where. I also want any video or camera footage you can find from the pier that puts her there. I want this buttoned up tomorrow."

  "You got it, boss," said Campos, and he and Schaal left.

  I looked over at Roberts as he reviewed the file at his desk.

  "I suppose we should have seen it coming."

  He looked up at me.

  "How so?"

  "A woman scorned."

  "Hell hath no fury like," he smiled. "You quoting Shakespeare again?"

  "Actually no, but I see you're misquoting Congreve."

  Roberts frowned and shook his head at me.

  "Is that right?"

  "It sure is. William Congreve wrote 'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned'."

  "The point remains."

  "It does indeed, seems to me it murdered his remains."

  "Sometimes I forget how witty you can be," said Roberts.

  "Better a witty fool than a foolish wit," I said, standing up.

  "Who's that?"

  "That's your boy Shakespeare," I said, turning to leave. "Call me when you haul her in. I want this put to bed nice and tidy like."

  "And sung a lullaby?"

  "Rather a story of horror, and retribution, and of bodies hanging from gallows."

  "I'll see what I can do. Though you know we haven't hanged anyone in over seventy years."

  "One can hope," I said, and walked out of the office wondering if capital punishment really was the way to keep us safe from the bogeymen.

  Washed Up: Chapter Seven

  I didn't think that Roberts would have me called back in to headquarters the rest of the day, and I was right. That meant that Friday morning would be the start of another new day and another paycheck. Two hundred and fifty bucks. I'd get three days pay out of the good citizens of Los Angeles for helping the LAPD solve a case that had really been solved in two days.

  My heart was full of gratitude and my head full of cheap beer and even cheaper scotch, when the call came in at nine in the morning.

  My tongue felt like it had been replaced with dry coral and my throat felt as if I'd been sucking exhaust from the tailpipe of a Hummer all night. It was John Roberts, and he just wanted to tell me that they were executing the warrant, and he wanted to see if I wanted to attend.

  I thanked him most kindly but I asked him to call me when they were bringing her in. Those weren't my exact words but I figured he received the sentiment from the tone.

  I got up, showered and shaved and put on some cologne so that I might smell half decent even if I didn't exactly look it. I went to a local diner and had a plate of eggs and bacon with a cup of coffee. I felt shades better. It was a Friday and it started to look like the day might turn out alright after all.

  It was noon when Roberts called me up and invited me back to headquarters because they were bringing Zaira in. I wanted a piece of that so I told him I'd meet him there. And I did. I got there before any of the rest of them did. Three interview rooms and three suspects. It seemed like the homicide floor was tailor made for interviewing murder suspects.

  Roberts put Zaira in one of the rooms, and Schaal and Campos put Tweedledee and Tweedledum in the other rooms. They came out and we all gathered in the coffee room.

  "Carrick and me are gonna take a run at Zaira. You two spar with Pampín and Ezra respectively and see who can get who to break first. The first in a confession will win this day old," said Roberts, pointing to a solitary sugar coated donut in an open, oil stained box.

  "Tempting," I said. "Just so we're clear, you want to see who can take the longest time to reach a confession?"

  "Smart ass," he said.

  Schaal didn't look too impressed and Campos didn't look like he ate many donuts, and me, well I hadn't had lunch and the eggs and bacon had sopped up the last bit of liquor in my belly and I was starting to feel the claws tickle my innards.

  "Like old times," I said to him.

  Roberts nodded, and we went in to see Zaira and what we could make of this whole debacle. Schaal and Campos sauntered into their interview rooms like men led to the gallows.

  Zaira wasn't looking as good as she had the first day I'd met her. She was pretty attractive in a slumming it kind of way, but today her hair was all messed up and she didn't have any makeup on. She did however, look like a killer. How could I tell? Because we practically had her holding the knife on camera. Or as close as you could get to that. I sat down across from her and massaged my temples. I could've used an aspirin, but I what I wanted was a confession. Roberts sat next to me and opened up the ever expanding folder.

  "You've been charged with the murder of Gregg Gelvan. All I want to know is why you did it?" asked Roberts.

  It was a bold if not steady start. I watched Zaira get her nose all out of joint. She looked at Roberts as if she wanted to burn him with her eyes.

  "I told you. I didn't do it. I didn't kill Gregg, okay. He was my boyfriend okay, we were gonna get back together."

  "That's what you said the last time we met you," said Roberts.

  "'Cause it's true, that's why."

  "That's funny because we've heard a different story. Dennis Evans tells us that he thinks you killed Gregg."

  "He's a lying no good two bit crook. You gonna believe him over me?"

  Zaira tossed her head back in scorn. I wanted to slap some sense and decency into her. What I did was pretend to be the caring uncle.

  "Listen," I said, "I know wha
t it's like to be cheated out of something good. To have a chance to make it out of Green Meadows and have a good family in a nice house with a white fence."

  "You know nothing."

  "I know that I got a chance like Gregg did. I came from West Adams. Only I took my lady with me unlike Gregg."

  I looked at her hard trying to seal the deal, see if she'd buy into my lies.

  "Lucky for her," she said in a rather condescending tone.

  "Lucky for me."

  "Zaira, we have you on video at the pier at just before one a.m. arguing with Gregg. We have the knife we found in your bedroom under your bed. And I'll tell you what. Forensics is gonna find Gregg's blood on it. I don't care how careful you think you were in cleaning it, there's always trace. Then, like I said, we have Dennis Evans putting you at the scene of the crime. Lastly, there's the phone call you made to your brothers to help you clean up the mess you made. We found the blood you tried to wash off the pier. The only question is, do you want us to put in a good word. Do you want us to tell the DA that you're remorseful, or do you want to have a chance at the death penalty?"

  "Listen," I said, trying again. "I understand what it's like. You've got a chance here to do the right thing and maybe get out of Chowchilla alive. Maybe you can even help out your brothers. Accessory to murder is also a capital offense, especially before the fact like in your case. You want to see them hanged?"

  Zaira looked at me, and pouted. Then she put her hands to her mouth and started chewing her nails.

  "Ezzy had nothing to do with it. Pampy wouldn't let him go and help me. It was only me and Pampy, okay?"

  "All right," I said. "Tell me what happened then."

  She looked down and she brushed her hands through her messy hair. When she looked back up, her eyes were swollen with tears.

  "I didn't mean it," she said, looking away from me. "I just wanted him for myself. I begged him to come back to me. I told him I loved him, that I was going to support him. He told me it couldn't be. He said that he'd made that bitch pregnant. I couldn't believe it. We'd always talked about starting a family one day, but a couple of months with that bitch and he's gonna have a family with her. No way. We always took precaution, he always wore a rubber, saying it wasn't the time, promising me we'd have a family one day."

  Zaira stopped for a moment and squeezed out a couple of her tears. Others took their place in her eyes.

  "I took out the knife and I told him he was an asshole. I asked him why he'd played me like that. He said he hadn't meant it, but he'd seen how big the world was now he was going to college, and he told me there was no place there for me. Can you believe it? After all we'd been through, he thought he could just walk away and leave me like garbage on the side of the road. I told him I wasn't going to let that happen. I told him he had to be with me. I told him he'd promised to have a family with me. He said I was overreacting and he told me to put the knife away. When he reached for it I just stabbed him, quickly. Three times. I didn't mean to, it just happened. I tried to help him. I mean it didn't look that bad, he wasn't bleeding lots like you see in the movies. I told him I'd get help so I called Pampy. But by the time he got there, Gregg was dead. What could I do?"

  "And what did the two of you do?" asked Roberts.

  "Pampy pushed him over the pier and he tried to wipe up the blood. He told me we had to get home, and so he drove me. I didn't want to kill Gregg. But that bitch stole him from me and he couldn't see it. He gets her pregnant and thinks he can just dump me. I'd never been so angry in my life."

  I got up and walked out of the interview room. I left Roberts to collect her written statement. She'd write it all down, and maybe that would be cathartic. Maybe that would make it seem all right. But nothing was all right in the world. Gregg's mother had died just this morning. That was the other thing Roberts told me when he called.

  God might be watching over the sparrows, but humanity continues to fall off the cliff of life without so much as a murmur. Without even the indifferent sigh of an indifferent God.

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  SOME OF MY OTHER BOOKS

  I write two mystery series. A cozy mystery series and a hardboiled detective mystery series.

  Lady Marmalade Mysteries:

  The charming and warm Lady Marmalade is the Baroness of Sandown. But don’t let that full you, she also loves solving crime and crafting the best ever marmalade jam you’ll taste.

  Check her out for some cozy, warm mysteries set between the two World Wars. You’ll find cameos by some of history’s greatest characters like Gandhi and Lord Mountbatten!

  Anthony Carrick Mysteries:

  The tough drinking, hard talking Anthony Carrick is an ex-LAPD homicide cop with a conflicted past. From the same mold of Sam Spade and Mike Hammer, he enjoys seeking justice for the downtrodden. Sometimes that means using his fists.

  He’s a painter in his spare time and lives with a one-eyed rescued cat called Pirate. For fans of noir and hardboiled fiction, this is your stiff, tall drink of fun.

  Also by Jason Blacker

  A Lady Marmalade Mystery

  Poisoned Heart

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  Heartless

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  Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

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  Washed Up

  Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

  Four Ways to Midnight

  Head Case Trilogy

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  Ta.X.I. to Angola

  Standalone

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