Hollow Ground

by Hannibal Adofo

  “Well,” Brandt said, moving toward the door, “looks like you’re driving.”

  Vincent tossed the keys in his hand. “I figured as much.”

  8

  “Place really isn’t that big,” Brandt remarked as she looked through the window of the one-story building resting just off a dirt road, painted canary yellow, with a large warehouse connected to the main office of Sentry Logistics.

  “It’s a small company,” Vincent pulled the car into a spot and killed the engine. “They do garage doors, gates, stuff like that. Business has only been around for ten years. Family-run.”

  They approached the main office and entered, a slightly frazzled-looking woman sitting behind a computer and not looking up as she said, “Can I help you?”

  Vincent pulled his badge. “Detectives Vincent and Brandt. We’re here regarding a murder investigation.”

  She looked up. “Murder?”

  “Yes,” Brandt said. “And the victims had a garage door installed by this company. We just want to ask a few questions and maybe look at some old work orders.”

  The woman held up her hands. “I don’t think anyone here could have killed anybody.”

  “It’s not like that, ma’am,” Vincent said. “We’re just being thorough.”

  It took the woman a moment, but she eventually gave in. “Alright. Sales records are over this way.”

  Vincent and Brandt set about scouring through some old records with the woman and found the work order for the day that the Moretti’s garage door was installed. They discovered that Sentry Logistics had been commissioned to do all of the garage doors in the neighborhood, and discovered that majority of the garages had been installed six months before the Moretti’s moved in. Including theirs.

  “And there’s no way anyone could have used a remote on the Moretti’s garage,” Vincent said, “other than the Moretti’s?”

  The woman waved him off. “No. Each remote is unique. It only works with the specific garage door that it’s programmed. That’s why we get hired a lot—no one can hack our garage doors.”

  Vincent and Brandt asked a few more questions before making their way back to the car, exchanging notes and tossing out possible scenarios where Sentry Logistics could have somehow regarding in the murders.

  “I can’t see a scenario where they are,” Brandt said. “Employment records seem to reflect a pretty levelheaded staff.”

  “Unless we find something when we dig deeper,” Vincent said. “We’ll need to do a more thorough search on the names that we pulled from their records.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that someone here could have done this?”

  “Not really. When she mentioned that each house is given two remotes, it just made me realize that everything still, as of now at least, points to Kelly Moretti—more specifically, her boyfriend.”

  “Is that where you want to go next?” Brandt asked.

  “Indeed I do,” Vincent said. “But let’s get the drop on him at home.”

  “We should have gone there first. Kelly could have given him a warning call.”

  “Which was why I asked Grimes to send one of her people to sit outside his house while we went about dealing with this Sentry stuff.”

  Brandt nodded her head. “Good move, detective.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  As they made it to the opposite sides of the car. Vincent could hear the squeak of someone’s brakes and looked up as a truck pulled into the lot. It was an older-model Toyota, a little beat-up, the driver laying eyes on them and looking tense as he focused on the badges in their hands.

  “Brandt?” Vincent said.

  The truck peeled out backwards.

  “Go!” Brandt said as Vincent slid behind the wheel.

  The tires spun before she had a chance to close the door.

  Vincent reversed the car as the truck did a half s turn and sped up the road, but Vincent knew the truck was no match for the faster cruiser.

  “Call it in,” Vincent said, closing in on the guy’s bumper. “He can’t go anywhere.”

  Brandt snatched the radio and called in the plates—and that was when the truck popped a tire and flipped.

  “Holy shit!” Brandt cried out.

  The truck somersaulted three times before landing on its roof. Vincent slammed on his brakes; the cruiser slid to a stop then he and Brandt exited their car, guns drawn and trained on the guy trying to crawl out the driver’s side window of the truck.

  “Don’t move!” Brandt said.

  The guy froze with his hands out in front of him.

  9

  “The guy driving the truck is named Robert Hendrix,” Vincent said. “Turns out he’s got an open warrant for a speeding ticket he failed to pay six years ago. He saw our badges, thought the worst, freaked out, and fled. His piece-of-shit tires ended up taking care of the rest.”

  “So he has no link to the case?” Grimes asked.

  “Sentry Logistics provided him with an alibi,” Brandt said. “He was working the night of.”

  “So he’s clean.”

  “Well, not after this little stunt he’s not.”

  Grimes sighed. “And nothing panned out at Sentry Logistics? Right?”

  “No, ma’am,” Brandt said.

  “Okay. So. Tell me what happens next.”

  “We know that our killers got in through the garage,” Vincent said, “and the door itself was undisturbed, so they used a remote. The garages that Sentry Logistics manufactures can’t be opened any other way.”

  “So someone used a remote to get in the house.”

  “Unless forensics and the techs come up with something to suggest otherwise. But that’s a few weeks away. All we have at the moment is witness testimony and possible suspects.”

  “And you believe Aiden Stonebrook to be one of those suspects. Yes?”

  “We’d like to talk to him,” Brandt said. “Yes.”

  Grimes took a moment to think it over. “Okay,” she said. “You have my permission to question him. I still have my deputy stationed outside of his house. You can head over there now.”

  “We need the address,” Vincent said as he and Brandt stood up. “We didn’t have a chance to pull it yet.”

  “Well,” Grimes said, “you might be amused to find that Mr. Stonebrook lives in Hollow Green. When I looked up his address, I called your department and asked for a favor on behalf of Edgar Vincent. They were more than accommodating.”

  Vincent huffed—he wasn’t amused.

  Not in the slightest.

  Brandt and Vincent turned onto Perlita in Hollow Green. Aiden Stonebrook’s house was at the end of the street. “Kid’s driving a long way to see his girlfriend,” Vincent said. “He couldn’t have found somewhere closer to home?”

  “You used to be sixteen,” Brandt said. “You remember what it was like when you were into someone.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Brandt looked at him. “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t recall much before my early twenties.”

  Brandt raised an eyebrow. “That’s sad.”

  Vincent shrugged. “Never thought it was a problem.”

  They pulled up outside Aiden’s house, a two-story colonial painted blue, as a police cruiser two doors down was pulling away. Vincent waved, recognizing Officer Campbell behind the wheel.

  “Do you know this Aiden kid?” Brandt asked as they got out their car.

  “No,” Vincent said. “I only know a handful of kids in Hollow Green.”

  Brandt smirked as they ascended the steps to the porch. “Everything seems to always come back to Hollow Green, doesn’t it?”

  Vincent knocked on the front door. “Yes, it does.”

  A big man with a graying beard answered the door. “Yes?” he said as Vincent pulled his badge.

  “My name is Detective Vincent. I’m with Hollow Green Police.”

  “I know you,” the man said as he pointed. “You used to be chief, right?�
��

  “Once upon a time. Yes.”

  “Well, how can I help you?” the man asked.

  “Is Aiden Stonebrook home?” Brandt asked.

  “Yes,” the man said. “Aiden’s my son. I’m Ben Stonebrook.”

  “We just need to ask your boy a couple of questions,” Vincent said. “He seems to be friends with the victim of a crime that happened earlier in Clarendon Hills.”

  “Oh,” Ben said, taken aback. “I haven’t heard a thing from Aiden about that.”

  Vincent saw a young man pop into the foyer. He was tall like his father but not nearly as hefty or wide — a head full of curly hair, wearing a t-shirt and a red pair of shorts. “Dad?” he said. “Is everything cool?”

  Ben stood aside. “Aiden, these are Detectives Brandt and Vincent. They said they needed to talk to you.”

  Aiden approached them, tentatively. “About what?”

  Vincent interrupted, “Is your girlfriend Kelly Moretti?”

  A long pause from Aiden. “Yeah… I guess so,” he said, followed by a swallow. “We uh, we hang out.”

  Brandt motioned to the living room over Aiden’s shoulder. “Mind if we talk to you for a second?”

  Aiden’s father nudged him. “Aiden,” he said.

  Aiden composed himself, turned around, and reluctantly headed toward the living room.

  Brandt and Vincent were seated across from Aiden, Ben standing directly behind his son as Brandt hit the red button on her digital voice recorder.

  “Can you state your name for me?” Brandt asked.

  “Aiden,” Aiden said.

  “Your full name,” Vincent said, “including your middle name.”

  Aiden cleared his throat. “Aiden Benjamin Stonebrook.”

  Brandt scribbled a note. “Thank you, Aiden. We’re here today to talk about what happened over at Kelly Moretti’s house the night before last. Did she tell you what happened?”

  Aiden swallowed. “She sent me a text,” he said. “Yesterday.”

  More notes from Brandt. “Were you at her house before the murders?”

  Aiden paused fiddling with a loose thread on his shorts.

  “Aiden?” Vincent said.

  “No,” Aiden said, pulling the thread out and avoiding eye contact. “I wasn’t.”

  “Really?” Brandt perched forward. “Because Kelly said otherwise.”

  Aiden looked up, his eyes wide. “She did?!”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Aiden took some time as he swallowed and repeatedly cleared his throat. “I…I was there. Yeah.”

  “When?” Brandt asked.

  Aiden shrugged. “Like nine, I think. We just…” He swallowed hard. “We were hanging out. And then I left.”

  “Why?”

  “Her dad said I couldn’t be there on weekdays.”

  “Do you do that a lot?” Vincent asked.

  Aiden shrugged again. “Sometimes. I don’t know.”

  “I think you do or you don’t, Aiden,” Brandt said. “I know it’s tough, but you know if you were spending a lot of time with Kelly. Right?”

  “A few days a week,” Aiden said. “Just a few hours here and there.”

  His father huffed. “So that’s why.”

  Vincent turned around. “That’s why what?”

  Ben waved him off. “He said he was hanging with friends and needed to use the car. I let him. Now I know why there’s been so many damn miles added to the damn thing.”

  Aiden hung his head.

  “Aiden,” Vincent said, “were you in the house during the murders? Did you see anything?”

  “No,” Aiden said. “I left before it happened. I only heard about it from Kelly a day ago. I thought she was just ignoring me when I texted her later that night.”

  More notes. “How did you sneak in?” Brandt asked. “When you stopped by for your visits.”

  “Her window. I would climb the tree that went up to her window and sneak inside.”

  “You didn’t come in any other way?”

  “Like where?”

  Vincent pretended it was just a suggestion. “I don’t know,” he said. “The garage, maybe?”

  Aiden thought about it. “No. I don’t think that would work.”

  “Why?”

  “Her house doesn’t have that kind of a layout or whatever.”

  “Are you familiar with Kelly’s house?”

  Aiden looked up and pondered. “A bit, I guess.”

  “You know it pretty well?”

  Aiden began to look frustrated. “A bit, maybe. I don’t know. Why?”

  “Just being thorough,” Brandt said. “That’s all. We have to ask you questions that might not make sense so we can build a better picture.”

  “Exactly,” Vincent said. “Like asking you if Kelly gave you a remote to the garage door of their house. Things of that nature.”

  Aiden squinted. “I don’t get it. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Did you ever receive anything like that from Kelly? A key to the house, maybe?”

  Aiden sat up straight, his hands digging into the cushions of the couch. “No! No way! Kelly would never give me something like that. Her old man is too strict. She always kicked me out before they came home.”

  “And that never made you…mad?” Brandt asked.

  “No,” Aiden insisted. “I respect Kelly. I love Kelly!”

  “But it didn’t make you mad?” Vincent said. “Her dad not letting you come over during the week.”

  “No,” Aiden said, head in his hands. “I swear! I got to see her enough. We were just; I don’t know, being teenagers.”

  Aiden practically collapsed into the couch as his father said, “Is my son a suspect?”

  “His presence at the house right before the murders raises questions,” Brandt said. “That’s all.”

  “You’re treating him like he is a suspect,” Ben said.

  “We merely need to establish timelines,” Vincent said. “That’s all. And someone being at the house right before the murder is an important part of the timeline.”

  “I liked her family,” Aiden said. “Her little brother Eric… He was cool. We liked each other.” Aiden’s eyes began to wander.

  Then he cried.

  “Aiden,” Vincent said, leaning forward, “look at me.”

  Aiden looked up, fear in his eyes.

  “Kid,” Vincent continued, “if you know something, if there’s something you’re hiding, something you want to get off your chest, now is the time to do it. If there’s something you know, any role you played in all of this, we need to get you down to the station and get it on file. That way, we can help you try and figure this whole thing out.”

  “Aiden,” Brandt said, “is there anything you want to tell us?”

  “I was just there making out with her,” Aiden said, his eyes to the right. “We made out, she kicked me out, I got in my dad’s car, and I drove back home. I didn’t see anyone or anything. I swear. That’s all I know.”

  Vincent and Brandt covered their bases by asking a few of the same questions in different ways before stopping the recorder, informing Aiden and Ben that they’d be in touch, and then turned to leave.

  “Think he’s telling the truth?” Brandt asked.

  “Not sure,” Vincent said. “We’ll question him again. For now, we need to wait on all the forensics to come back from the lab. We’ll also get Grimes to get a warrant to swab and take samples from Aiden.”

  “They took samples from Kelly and Tony already, correct?”

  “Correct. Forsensics collected everything necessary. Grimes has a well-organized machine over in Clarendon.”

  They got inside the car, Brandt taking on the driving duties this time around. “Any hunches now?” she asked.

  Vincent leaned against the window. “Remember how I say in my little speeches about how facts and science ultimately win a case?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,” Vincent said, “for now we have to rely on
the science because my gut is coming up empty.”

  “That actually happens?”

  He side eyed her. “Yeah. It happens. I kind of, I don’t know, lose the scent of the case for a moment, sometimes longer.”

  “Hmm,” Brandt said. “Maybe it’s an age thing.”

  Vincent leered at her, but playfully. “No, no,” he said. I’d know if I’m losing my mind this isn’t like that. It’s more like writer’s block.”

  Brandt turned the key and put the car into gear. “That sucks,” she said.

  “Yes,” Vincent said. “It does.”

  Brandt turned around and drove up the street. Ben Stonebrook watched them leave through his living room window.

  10

  Months later, Vincent and Brandt sat in their vehicle, a pair of binoculars enhanced Vincent’s eyes as he scoped out the manicured and sprawling green lawns of the Clarendon Hills golf course at the country club.

  Brandt was steadily drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Should be any day now for the DNA results,” she said.

  “Should be,” Vincent said. “The Clarendon people are taking their sweet time.”

  Two men in brightly colored pants and shirts moved toward hole seven with their clubs over their shoulders. One of the men was holding his head noticeably of low. “I’ll tell ya,” Vincent said, shaking his head, “nothing helps get over the death of your wife better than a few holes.”

  Brandt using her own set of binoculars gestured toward the men, more specifically the one with the bright yellow shirt, Tony Moretti. “You starting to think he might’ve been in on the murders?”

  “No, no, no. I don’t believe so. Again, we could end up hearing something come out of left field on the physical evidence, but I highly doubt it.”

  “What was with the comment about the golf, then?”

  Vincent lowered the binoculars and took a break from watching Tony and his pal. “I can see Tony Moretti’s face pretty well from here. He doesn’t look happy. Plus, look at all the weight he’s lost in the past few months. The guy is a stick with legs.”