Behind The Lies by Mark Beckner (the chimp paradox .txt) 📗

up their lunch with Jackson gulping down the last half of his Pepsi. They then head to the residence of Isabella Santos.

Santos lives just around the corner at the end of the block where Rogers lived. Her home is in the direction Hernandez saw the suspect go. Santos is 42 and lives with her two teenage boys in a bungalow-style home similar to others in the neighborhood.

“Thank you for calling the police Mrs. Santos,” starts Garcia. “I understand you might have some information for us.”

“Yes,” says Santos. “I saw the news last night before going to work and I might have seen the man you’re looking for.”

“When do you think you saw him?”

“Early in the morning last Saturday when I was getting home from work.”

“Where do you work?”

“At the Donut Stop on Bell road. I work nights making fresh donuts for the following day.”

“What time did you get off work last Saturday?”

“Around three-thirty in the morning. It takes me about fifteen minutes to get home.”

“Okay, so when you got home, what did you see?”

“As I was pulling up, I see a man in dark clothing and dark hat walk up to a car parked across from my house. He looks like he’s hurt, which I thought was strange. He then gets into the car and drives off.”

“Why did you think he was hurt?”

“He was holding his left arm and appeared to be in pain.”

“Can you give us any further description?”

“Yes, he was a white male, big man, with a dark beard. Like what you are looking for.”

“What kind of hat?”

“Just what you are looking for, a knit pullover hat.”

“Any glasses?”

“I don’t remember him wearing glasses.”

“Mrs. Santos, this is important,” interjects Jackson. “Have you ever seen this person before last Saturday?”

“No, I don’t recall ever seeing him before.”

Jackson continues, “What about his car? Can you describe it?”

“I don’t know cars very well, but it was definitely very dark-colored. I think it had four doors, not a real big car.”

“Thank you Mrs. Santos, you’ve been a big help. Juan, you got anything else?”

“Yes. Did you notice if he walked with a limp?”

“I can’t say, as he was kind of hunched over holding his left arm. He was in a hurry, I know that.”

“Okay, thank you for your time. If you see or hear anything else, please give us a call.” Garcia hands her his business card.

“We now know for sure our suspect is a large white male with a beard,” confirms Jackson as they drive back to the station. “And he drives a dark-colored four-door sedan.”

“Probably also has a limp,” adds Garcia. “Not everyone would notice that.”

“True,” Jackson agrees.

Back in the office, Garcia is starting to feel confident they are close to identifying the Candy Man Killer. He expects at any time now they will get word on a DNA match for the suspect. He can hardly wait to put handcuffs on this brutal serial killer.

That evening at home, Garcia is sharing the update on the case with Rosa. Rosa can tell he is encouraged over developments in the case and that the Candy Man Killer will soon be identified. She is also concerned over Ricci’s injury and thinks it is too bad he has not been able to participate in the latest developments.

“That’s a shame Ricci has not been available this week,” Rosa says with empathy. “Having been involved for all the murders from day one has to be hard on him.”

“I thought of that too,” answers Garcia. “But he will be back on Thursday for light duty. I’m sure he would like to be there for any arrest.”

“What a coincidence,” says Rosa, “he gets injured the same day your suspect gets injured. It’s a shame really, and what are the odds?”

“Yes, it is a shame. I know Mike wants to be there.”

Later that night, Garcia lies awake in bed thinking about the recent developments in the case. Furthermore, he can’t get his wife’s comment about the strange coincidence of Ricci getting cut the same day the suspect got cut. He knows it’s just a coincidence, but it’s a strange circumstance. He knows there is no way Ricci is involved, and certainly does not fit the description, other than being big and right-handed. And he doesn’t walk with a limp. We need to get that DNA match and get this over with, thinks Garcia.

On Wednesday morning, Jackson tells Garcia that Nathan Smith, aka Snowman, has been located. He was picked up on a street corner in the North Lawndale neighborhood and transported to the station for questioning.

“We now know he doesn’t fit our suspect description,” states Garcia, “he’s black.”

“Sure, but we can’t assume anything,” cautions Jackson. “We only have descriptions, some vague, on a few of the cases. You never know. It’s good to be thorough.”

“You’re right, of course,” agrees Garcia.

Nathan Smith, aka Snowman, is waiting in an interview room where everything can be recorded. After introductions and a few friendly exchanges, the detectives get down to business.

“So,” says Jackson, “I understand you had some dispute with Jimmy Johnson, or should I say JJ?”

“Nothing that would cause me to kill him,” protests Smith.

“Just tell us what the dispute was about.”

“He thought I was taking some of his customers away.”

“Were you?”

“No, not at all. I don’t sell anymore.”

Jackson laughs, “we are well past that Nathan. We know you sell, so stop the charade. We are only interested in your involvement in JJ’s death.”

“There’s no involvement,” protests Smith.

“You were at his house the night he got killed.”

“No I wasn’t, and you have no proof of that.”

“Then why did you run off and hide?”

“Because I heard you were after me and didn’t want to be arrested for something I didn’t do”

Jackson and Garcia continue to interview Smith for another 30 minutes, trying to get him to admit to some knowledge or involvement in JJ’s murder. They aren’t sure if Smith’s DNA is in the database, so with his consent, they take several swabs of the inside of his mouth to submit to the lab.