by D E Dennis
Monica came over to his side.
“We know a good bit, but not enough.” She pointed at the ground a few feet from her. Michael crouched to get a better look. “Preston was found here lying next to a rock with blood and hair on it. Confirming our conclusion that he died from blunt force trauma. His phone, keys, and wallet were left on the body. Yet, there were no cash or credit cards so we haven’t completely ruled out robbery. Although, we’d have to think a robber would have been tempted by Preston’s sports car but it was left here.” Samira shook her head as she recounted the odd details. “We have the text message luring him to the woods, and from the brief conversation I had with Mrs. Charming, we know that her son left the house voluntarily last night. He simply told her that he was going out.”
“Have they found anything here that could point to the killer? Footprints? DNA? A note saying, ‘Hey, I did it, come arrest me at this address’?”
Samira cracked a smile. “I’m afraid not. It’s going to be a while before they clear the scene, but at this stage we have no leads on the killer.”
Michael nodded. “Alright, let’s go then. I’d like to meet the parents. See if they can shed any light on who would want to lure their son into the woods and bash him over the head.”
“As long as you don’t phrase the question like that, I’d be happy to escort you to Charming Manor.” Her gaze slid off his face as she looked over to her partner. “Spencer, do you want to come with us?”
Michael glanced over his shoulder at him, but Spencer wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were fixed on Monica, staring at her with a strange glint in his eyes.
“Spencer,” Samira called again.
He blinked rapidly. “What? What was that, Mira?”
“I said do you want to come with us to interview the family?”
“Yeah, of course,” he replied, sounding distracted. “I’ll drive.”
They left Siren Woods and this time Michael was leading the pack. He was practically sprinting so eager was he to get out of there.
Michael was already in the car: seated, buckled, and engine running by the time Monica joined him.
“You okay?”
Michael nodded. “I’m fine.”
They didn’t speak any more about it.
MONICA AND MICHAEL were stopped at the gate waiting to be buzzed in but even this far back, they had no trouble seeing the mansion looming on top of the hill. The crown jewel upon fifteen acres of land. The driveway leading up to the house was dotted with beautiful bright pink azalea bushes and magnificent topiaries decorated the lawn.
“Nice place.”
Monica shrugged. “I’ve seen better. If you ask me, this whole royalty theme they’ve got going on with the crowns on the gates and fences and the thrones made out of bushes is kind of tacky. The Charmings aren’t actually the king and queen of Castle Rock, no matter how much they think they are.”
Michael pulled his head back into the car and flashed his sister a grin. “Just this morning you were throwing me at Samira to take their case, and now you think they’re a couple of snobs.”
Monica lifted her chin. “They were snobs this morning, too. We just really need this case and the money that will go with it, so don’t let them in on how we really feel.”
“I’ve been dealing with rich snobs my whole life, sis. I’ve mastered the fake smile.”
Said smile was out in full force as the long-suffering butler led the investigators through the house and into the lavish sitting room.
A woman who could only be Penelope Charming, mother of the victim, sat perched on the edge of the couch. Her eyes bright red and puffy. She made to stand when they entered, but the hulking man standing to her right put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down into her seat.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Charming. I’m sure you remember me from this morning. I am Detective Reddy, and this is my partner, Detective Gutierrez.”
“Finally,” Bryan Charming said gruffly. “You said you would be back to take our statements right away. Where do you get off making grieving parents wait around all morning? I’ll be having a word with your chief and—”
Samira took a step forward. “Forgive us, Mr. Charming but—”
“Silence!” he roared. Mrs. Charming promptly burst into tears. “Never interrupt me!”
Michael sidestepped Samira and approached Bryan Charming. He was beginning to form a picture in his mind, and so far, it was not flattering.
Bryan flicked furious blue eyes on him as Michael turned over what he observed.
Handsome man and vain about it. Nails manicured, hair expertly trimmed, and no sagging around the middle that most men his age sported. Wealthy and likes people to know it based on the large, obscenely garish Bisset watch retailing at a quarter of a million dollars. Full of rage judging by the hostile outburst and look in eyes, like he’s ready to deck me if I make the wrong move. Why?
Because only son murdered and left for dead in the cold and dark.
All this went through Michael’s head in the four seconds it took him to cross the room and stop just short of the Charmings.
Bryan reared up to his full height, his fists balled at his sides. This close Michael was able to see the slight red around his irises.
He held out his hand. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Charming. I want you to know that I will do everything I can to find the person who killed your son and nothing will stop me.”
Slowly, Michael watched the fight drain out of Bryan’s eyes, while his wife’s tears devolved into soft sniffles.
“Th-thank you,” she sobbed. She was trembling like a leaf. Michael had never seen anyone so fragile, he felt like a loud noise would shatter her into pieces. Her thin blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, her pantsuit neatly pressed, and her waterproof makeup held up against her tears, but to anyone looking closely, she was a mess.
Bryan sighed and took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. “You must be Grimm. Glenmore’s boy. Your father told me to call you, said you would be able to find Preston’s killer.”
If Bryan noticed Michael’s grip tightened around his hand, he gave no notice of it. Michael quickly freed himself from the handshake.
“We, the CRPD, will find your son’s killer, sir.” Of course, Spencer wouldn’t be able to resist running his mouth. “With all due respect, Mr. Charming. There was no need to call in a private investigator. The Castle Rock Police Department has the forensics, manpower, and most importantly the law on our side in order to track down this killer. I assure you all of those resources and more will be put toward finding your son’s killer. All Grimm will be able to do is snap at our heels, while he drains your wallet dry—ouch!”
Spencer clutched his arm nursing the area where Monica had dealt him a particularly savage pinch. “Watch yourself, Frog,” she hissed. “Grimm Investigations is a fully licensed business with a hundred percent success rate. We also have an advantage that you can’t top.”
“What would that be?” Bryan piped up.
Monica faced him down, her arms crossed. “We aren’t cops. We’re just a couple of harmless PIs known around the neighborhood for catching cheating husbands and tracking down teenagers that ran off for a weekend of fun. People know us, they like us, they talk to us. No one feels that comfortable around a cop. I bet even Momma Frog watches what she says around this one.”
Spencer flinched when Monica flapped her hand in his direction. He took a few steps away for good measure.
“Miss Grimm has a point,” Samira conceded, “but I must agree with my partner. The CRPD has the knowledge and resources to find your son’s killer, and we will do exactly that, but it’s your right to hire a private investigator—”
“Yes, it is,” Bryan said curtly. It seemed the no-interrupting rule only applied to him. “It is my right, and unless the CRPD also has a hundred percent success rate and the personal recommendation of Glenmore Grimm, I don’t want to hear another word about it. You’ll work with Grimm I
nvestigations or I’ll turn your badges into coasters.”
Samira lifted her chin. “Yes, of course, Mr. Charming.” Her tone did not change, but anyone who knew her well enough would note the sudden stiffness in her shoulders. “If you’re feeling up to it now, we can start the interview?”
Bryan nodded and gestured agitatedly at the couch. “Yes, let’s just get this over with.”
The four of them arranged themselves on the cushions. Samira started the interview.
“Mr. and Mrs. Charming, walk us through what happened last night.”
Penelope sniffed, pausing to wipe her nose with a tissue clutched in her hand. “We had dinner together as a family,” she began. “Afterward, Preston went up to his room to work on his homework.”
“What time was this?” Samira asked as she pulled out her notepad. Michael did not do the same. If anything important was said, he would remember it.
“Around seven o’clock. He stayed in his room and only came out once to get a glass of water. He came down again around nine thirty and said he was... g-going out.” She faltered, dissolving into tears once more. Samira shifted her gaze to Father Charming.
“Did he tell you where he was going or say if he was meeting someone?”
He shook his head. “He only said he was going out.”
Spencer spoke up. “Was it normal for him to leave abruptly in the middle of the night?”
Bryan frowned. “He is eighteen years old. He’s an adult and as long as he carried himself like a man, we treated him like a man. He didn’t have a curfew and we didn’t ask him a million questions before we let him out the door.”
“Understood.” Spencer took out his own notebook and wrote something down before continuing his questions. “Is there anyone who would want to hurt your son?” Penelope’s wailing grew louder. “Was someone threatening him?”
“No,” Bryan snapped. “No one wanted to hurt Preston.”
“Was he having trouble at school?”
“Preston loved school. This was his senior year. He was voted class president. On his way to being valedictorian. He’s a popular kid.” Michael noted Bryan’s difficulty with speaking about his son in the right tense.
“What about his dating life? Any spurned exes in his wake?”
“What?” His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean? Why would you ask that?”
Bryan’s hand flashed out and seized his wife’s wrist, squeezing tightly. Almost immediately, her wails ceased until all that could be heard were her soft sniffles.
“I only meant,” Spencer continued after a tense silence. “Did Preston have a relationship that ended badly? Or was he seeing anyone?”
Penelope lifted her head at this. “Preston has a girlfriend. A sweet girl named Abigail Ino. They have been together for six months now, and as far as I know, things were going very well. Preston certainly never mentioned them having any problems. Why just last weekend, they threw a party together.”
“A party?” This came from Monica.
“Yes. My husband and I went away for the weekend and Abigail and Preston threw a little get-together for their friends.”
Michael filed that away.
“How did your son seem these last few days?” Samira asked, her pen poised over her notepad. “Have you noticed anything different? Was he anxious or withdrawn?”
“He’s a teenager,” Bryan said impatiently. “They’re all withdrawn. Look, enough with the questions. This isn’t about Preston. No one had a reason to want to hurt him, so hounding us won’t get you anywhere. This was clearly some madman who didn’t know my son and just saw an obviously wealthy kid out alone. So instead of worrying about who my son was dating, tell me what you know about the trash that killed him!”
Samira remained calm in the face of Bryan’s growing fury.
“We are considering the theory that this was a robbery. Your son’s wallet was empty of cash and credit cards.”
Bryan’s scowl deepened. “No.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “No, he wasn’t robbed. We took Preston’s credit cards away from him.”
Spencer lifted his head. “Why would you do that?”
“I told you, Detective. When Preston acted like a man, we treated him like one. When he didn’t, he was punished like a child and had his toys taken away.”
Spencer nodded sedately, closing his notebook with a snap. “Alright. Well with this information, a robbery gone wrong is looking more and more unlikely. If you don’t mind, we would like to look around Preston’s room.”
“I do mind actually,” he replied surprising Michael. “It’s been an awful morning. My wife and I just lost our son, and now you want to stomp around his room, pawing through his things, searching for who knows what, and treating our home like a crime scene.”
“We just want to find your son’s killer, Mr. Charming,” Samira said.
“Well, I can assure you, Detective Reddy, the killer is not in his room so why don’t you get out of my house, do your job, and find out where the trash actually is.”
That was a dismissal if he ever heard one, and Michael didn’t need to wait around for another.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Charming, Mrs. Charming. We’ll see ourselves out, and once more, I would like to express my condolences for your loss.”
The group echoed Michael’s sentiments and followed him out of the mansion. Samira didn’t speak until the butler slammed the door in their faces.
She sighed. “We’ll have to come back to search the son’s room. Maybe even with a warrant if Mr. Charming keeps this up.”
“He did get strangely cagey toward the end there,” Michael agreed.
“And what about you, Grimm?” Spencer jeered. “You just sat there like a houseplant, not saying a word. Really earning the PI commission, I see.”
“You don’t learn easy, do you, Frog?” Monica said menacingly.
Spencer frowned and Michael noticed the warring emotions on his face as he looked between him and his sister trying to decide if he wanted to test Monica’s patience.
“I didn’t need to speak,” Michael said. “I needed to listen. You’d be surprised how much more you can learn when you just listen.”
“And what did those ears pick up, Mikey?” Samira asked with a smile.
He blinked at the use of his old nickname. No one under pain of death called him Mikey, and no one other than Samira ever could.
She closed the distance between them. “Because all I heard was that we can eliminate robbery as a theory and that Bryan Charming is a raging jerk.”
Michael smirked. “I heard a little bit more than that, and tomorrow I’m going to follow it up.” He winked at Spencer. “Put that PI commission to work.”
He stepped around her, walking off to his car.
“Hey, wait,” Samira called after him. “Follow up on what?”
Michael didn’t turn around or pause in his stride. “Abigail Ino, of course.”
Chapter Four
After a quick stop for lunch, Michael, Monica, and their bag of subs turned into the plaza that housed their private detective agency. It didn’t look like the first stop to hunting down dangerous criminals. It looked more like a place to get your taxes done, but nonetheless, Grimm Investigations was his pride and joy.
Two years ago, he put everything he had in his bank account to rent this place, fix it up, and slap his name on the front door. It was a complete teardown when they moved in, but he and Monica killed themselves putting it to rights.
Now the formerly grimy space had a main room for conducting business. It had two oak desks and comfortable chairs for clients. Just off that room was what they called their breakroom complete with sectional couch and big screen TV. There was also a small kitchen and a tiny bathroom missing handles on the sink.
This place was like his second home, literally. He had fallen asleep enough times here that Mo brought in blankets and pillows for their late nights.
Wrapped up
in his thoughts like he was, Michael didn’t notice the other car parked out front until it was too late.
Laughing and joking together, Michael and Monica glided down the hallway and pushed through into their office.
Clink.
Michael held up a hand, stopping his sister in her tracks. He had locked this door before he left. He was sure of it.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Michael ventured further inside, stepping lightly on the balls of his feet.
“Who’s in here?”
“Who else would it be?” a sharp voice scolded, causing him to spin around, clutching his chest. “You have other women coming in here, bringing you lunch, and cleaning up your mess? Honestly, baby, you’re running a business. You can’t have office supplies strewn about the place and flies buzzing around.”
Michael relaxed, chuckling softly and went to give his mother a hug. “Good to see you, Mom. How was your morning?”
She harrumphed but hugged him back just as tightly. “It was fine.”
Michael pulled back. His mother smiled at him patting his cheek affectionately. “How’s my boy?”
“Your ickle baby boy just got his first murder case, Mom,” said Monica. She took her turn hugging their mother.
“Murder case?” His mother frowned at him over his sister’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t do murders.”
“Not by choice, Mom,” Michael said mildly, plopping down into his chair and throwing their lunch onto the desk. “We just never had anyone hire us to chase down a killer... until now.”
His mom released Monica and planted herself in front of his desk with her hands on her hips. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she demanded. “I don’t want my babies chasing down killers! That is what the police are for.”
Standing there with her hands on her hips and staring him down, Michael was reminded of Monica in that very same position only hours ago. It struck him sometimes how much his younger sister was like their mother. Although telling her that would only earn him a pop on the head, which was ironically another way she was like their mother.