#5 Blood Salted Seas

The salt and sand chafed, as Malachi and I shuffled into Gus’ Grouper Shack. We were at Pass-a-Grille, one of the many little island towns scattered on the westernmost edge of Pinellas County. It had been a long week, capped off with a dramatic car chase as Malachi and I stopped a serial kidnapper from crossing the county line. I love a little adrenaline, but too much makes me itch. And Malachi loses hair when he’s stressed, which is why he’s almost bald now. So we agreed on a joint three-day staycation at the cheapest motel we could find. That first day we napped on the beach, built an architecturally impressive sand castle, and managed to swim with a couple of curious wild dolphins. In short, we had worked up an appetite.

Gus’ Grouper Shack was plenty plain. It had glossy wooden floors and matching wooden walls decorated with old photos of fishermen and vintage postcards. When I was in my twenties I used to work at places like this all over Florida. It was always the shabbiest restaurant that made the best food. I took in a deep breath and was flooded with the smell of fresh blackened fish. It was going to be fantastic.

 We sat near the back at the bar.

“Can I get you two anything?” The girl behind the bar was chipper and looked barely old enough to be serving alcohol. Her smile was warm and easy, and Malachi matched it without missing a beat. 

“I’m gonna take a sweet tea. Frost?”

“Lemonade for me.”

“Alrighty, I’ll get that right for you two.”

I licked my lips, tasting the residual sea water, and managed to stifle a yawn. 

Then a voice next to me said, “If you guys want to really have a good time, you gotta get the gator nuggets. I always get ’em with the buffalo sauce. It’s perfect.” 

The speaker’s curly mop of black hair dangled over his eyes, which crinkled as he grinned at us. He looked like he should be on the cover of TeenBeat or the backup guitarist in a Nirvana cover band.

“Thanks.” I nodded.

The waitress coasted back over to us and set down our drinks. Honestly, she seemed to be a lot more interested in the Teen Idol than in taking our order.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” He shoved his hair out of his face, eyes locked on hers.

I think they would have stared at each other all night if Malachi hadn’t cleared his throat. The waiter, whose name tag read Violet, turned back to us. A light blush dusted her cheeks. I stifled a laugh.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to order. Our friend here recommended the gator nuggets with buffalo sauce so that’s what I’m gonna do,” Malachi said.

“I swear you won’t regret it, man,” Teen Idol said.

I handed Violet the menu. “Cool. If he’s getting the nuggets, then I’m gonna go with the potato skins to start.”

“Okay. I’ll put it in that order.” Violet walked off again, hyperfocused on keeping her eyes straight ahead, although that didn’t stop our new friend from watching her go.

“So, how long have you two been dating?” I asked.

The man’s nose scrunched up and then the dopiest grin spread across his face, changing it from young-looking to positively childish.

“A year, but wow. What a year.” He furrowed his brow before it smoothed. He held out his hand. “Benji Black. That’s me. What are you guys called?”

“Carolyn Frost.”

“Oh! The Sponge Shack—the joint I work at sometimes—my boss, she loves your show. Listens to it all the time. Can’t get enough of it.”

“Cool. Thanks to her.”

“Which means you,” he pointed at Malachi, “you gotta be the detective dude she’s always with. Swanson.”

“This never stops being strange,” Malachi said to me.

“Get used to it, Big Guy, you’re a star.” I gently nudged him, and he flicked my ear. 

See how he treats me?

“You know, if you guys ever need, like, lighting or sound or anything like that, I’m your guy. Used to do some roadie work for a couple of bands. Didn’t work out, but hey. And I’m always willing to go on tour if you guys need it, just so long as it isn’t summer. Violet’s only back here during summer. You know she goes to Dartmouth? Studies English. Isn’t she amazing?”

“Benji.” Violet walked towards us. Her eyes darted between me and Malachi and her boyfriend. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t bother them. Dad barely likes that you’re here anyway.”

“Come on, I can’t brag about you a little bit? Not like you’ll get in trouble. Perks of Daddy being the boss.”

Malachi, always a gentleman, seamlessly changed the subject. “Do you mind if I ask? We’re only gonna be here for a few more days. What do you guys recommend we do?” 

“Oh, there's a lot to do down here. You two like ice cream?” Benji asked. “Who am I kidding? Everyone likes ice cream. This place called the Custard Curl makes the best milkshakes I’ve ever had in my life, swear to God and my mother. Go, and if Nichole is working tell her I sent you.”

“You still talk to Nichole?” Violet’s voice had gone flat. 

Benji opened his mouth, on the edge of a thought, then he closed. I glanced at Malachi who looked equally amused at this cut scene from The Young and The Restless we were watching play out. 

“Come on, Vi. It’s not like I can’t have friends. Me and Nichole, we’re close.”

“Close like how you and Darla are close? Or like how you and Gwen are close?” 

“Alright. Skip the Custard Curl. Go to the beach. Wear sunscreen. Don’t walk on the dunes. You’ll have a great time.”

“Just be careful.” Violet still looked a bit dull behind the eyes, but I could see her pushing through for our sake. “There’ve been a few robberies around. Nothing too bad, but tourists really bring out the scammers, you know?”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” I said. “He’s got a gun.”

“Don’t pay attention to her. She’s joking,” Malachi said.

***

The next morning, I woke up ready. We had brought fishing rods and we were ready to catch some grouper, maybe some snapper if we were lucky. The last time we did one of these buddy trips Malachi caught a fish bigger than my arm, and I knew I had to catch something impressive this trip—otherwise I would lose all fishing credibility. 

We shuffled down the beach with our tackle boxes dangling, trading some respectable trash talk. Wisps of cotton-candy-pink clouds lazily floated towards the glassy horizon, and the tangerine sun slowly crawled into the sky. It was perfect until I saw it. At first it looked like a pile of seaweed, but as we inched closer it became clearer that the unmoving pile of seaweed was, in fact, an unmoving corpse. I don’t know who started running first, but within minutes both Malachi and I were crouched near the body, tackle boxes and rods forgotten somewhere behind us. 

I didn’t need to move the body to tell who it was. The black mop top gave it away, even if the hair was limp and soggy. The waves brushed my ankles, but I knew that wasn’t the reason I felt so cold. 

“Frost. I’m gonna have to call—”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Malachi stood and took a few respectful steps away. I could see he was rattled too. I traced the swollen cheeks of the dead boy in front of me with my eyes. He was lying on the side of his face as if he’d fallen forward. The very back of his head was matted with what had to be blood. I glanced at his fingernails. His hands were dark and looked very stiff. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been dead for several hours now. There were a lot of terrible places to die, and a beach was one of them. Water ruins the body. Birds peck at body parts. The waves erase footprints. Evidence gets buried or washed away. It’s a challenge for the best of them. It’s a good thing I am the best of them.

I took a deep breath and settled the sick feeling in my stomach. There was no time for emotions, not those kinds anyway. I leaned over to get a better look at the hole in the back of Benji’s head. Lucky for me, it wasn’t too terrible. I suspect the salt water and birds took away the biggest bits and pieces. It was unusual though. It looked like the middle of his head had been bashed in repeatedly. And there were dark ragged grey flecks sprinkled throughout.

“They’ll be here shortly. A couple of minutes, they said. See anything?”

“What does this look like to you?”

Malachi squatted next to me and took a hard glance at the wound. He poked his lips out and turned to me. “Rock.”

“Yeah. 

“And in the back of the head when there are no big rocks around. Makes it look like murder.”

“Sure does.”

Malachi went quiet and glanced towards the horizon. I felt for sure he was thinking about how we wouldn’t be going fishing today. I know I was.

“At least it wasn’t premeditated. A rock on the beach, that’s the sort of thing you pick up in the heat of the moment. Of course, that means whoever did this probably tossed it in the ocean after they killed the kid,” he said.

“Sure. It’ll be a challenge.”

“And God knows how much you love those.”

We grabbed our forgotten fishing gear and walked away from the shoreline to sit down without further contaminating the crime scene. True to their word, the cops arrived within a few minutes. They got to it right away, and they were finished just as quickly because there wasn’t much to bag or tag. I watched them carefully, only to see something glint a little ways off from where Benji was still splayed out. I couldn’t quite see what it was. I was about to get up and find out when the police chief headed our way. Malachi stood and dusted off his shorts. I did the same.

“You must be Malachi and Carolyn. I’m Chief Harrison Banks. Thanks for phoning this in.”

“Yeah. He was a sweet kid,” I said.

“I wouldn’t quite call him that. Benjamin wasn’t exactly a model citizen, but it’s a shame he’ll never get the chance to grow out of it,” the chief said with a slight frown.

“I want you to know, I’m a detective over in Tampa. Carolyn consults for us sometimes. If you need any help—”

“No, don’t expect we will. We’ve been dealing with some vagrants. Stealing. Harassing tourists. We checked, and Benjamin is missing his wallet and keys. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was just a case of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The guys who did it probably aren’t even in town anymore.” The chief pushed his hat back a little to block the sun from his eyes.

“Still,” I said, “it is a murder. Don’t you think you should—”

“All due respect, ma’am, this isn’t Tampa or St. Pete or one of those big cities. This is a nice little town full of good people who just want to enjoy the day. Kicking up a bunch of fuss about a drifter who’s hardly been in town for a year and a half, who nobody much likes, is sure to get the people all riled up, and that’s when the real crime will start. So we’ll look into it how we want to look into it.”

“Murder is murder.” Malachi stared stone-faced at the officer. 

The officer returned his look with a cold smile. “Are you two gonna be a problem for me?”

“No,” I lied. “Not at all. Let’s get outta here, Big Guy.” I turned on my heel and made my way up to the house-lined street. 

After a moment, Malachi followed. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“I’m thinking we can maybe stop at one of these houses. Maybe someone was up and saw something.”

He nodded, and I saw a quiet smile creep up his face. I felt my own face do the same. What can I say? We were born for this sort of thing. We stopped at the house closest to the beach. It was a small little cottage painted hot pink with a welcome mat in the shape of a blue-polka-dotted neon yellow salamander. It was out of place next to the stark, beige, boxy, three-story houses that probably cost the same as at least three kids’ college education. Malachi knocked on the door, and we waited quietly. The sound of shuffling feet was just loud enough for us to hear. 

“What do you want?” An old woman with a bright purple dye job and milky cataract eyes poked her head out.

“Hi, Miss. We’re—” Malachi was quickly cut off.

“I’m not selling my house. You developers never take a hint—”

“No,” Malachi cut her off. “We’re here to talk about a murder.”

“Murder?” She flung her door wide open. “What murder?”

“Can we come in?”

She scanned us for a moment before stepping aside. We walked into her home and were overwhelmed by the smell of cigarettes and cheap candles. She closed the door behind us and shooed us to her living room. We sat on her couch. She plopped down in a chair across from us and leaned in, all ears.

“I’m Darlene. Make yourselves comfortable. So, what’s this about a murder?”

“Did you know Benji?” Malachi said.

“Of course. He used to clean my house before he tried to steal my signed picture of Bill Clinton. Don’t tell me that little rat killed someone.”

“He’s dead.” I said.

“Oh.” She leaned back in her chair and became still. 

Malachi and I exchanged a glance and then he moved towards the edge of the couch, his interpersonal skills bubbling to the surface.

“I’m sorry you found out this way,” Malachi said.

“What happened?”

“Looks like he died last night,” he said.

“Last … where did he die?” she asked.

“I’m sorry to say it, but just a little ways away on the beach,” he continued.

“What time?”

“We’re not sure actually. Why?” I said.

“Because,” her eyes narrowed, “who did you two say you are again?”

“I’m Malachi. She’s Carolyn.”

“You two cops?”

“Sort of. She’s not. I am, but not here.”

“Good. I hate Harrison and his little army. They’re always hassling me about my outdoor cats. Now, last night, I was having trouble sleeping and I went out to smoke and go back to sleep. I went outside at 1:12—I know because I checked the stove. Sometimes I forget to turn it off, which is part of why I have such a hard time sleeping. So, I went outside. Pitch black, and I’m smoking for a minute or so, when I heard a few voices arguing and then I heard a girl scream.”

“What kinda scream?” I asked.

“What kind of stupid question is that? A scream scream. The kind you hear in a horror movie.”

“Did you hear what the voices were saying?” I asked.

“Not really. The waves are loud at night.”

“Okay, then could you at least tell how many people were out there?” I tried.

“At least two. Because one of the voices was a man’s and the scream was the girl.”

“Okay. Did you go investigate?” Malachi asked.

“Are you crazy? I took my tail right back in the doors, locked everything, and tried to go back to sleep.”

“So, you didn’t see anything?” he said.

“No. Too dark.”

“Hmm.” Malachi shared another glance. He stood and I followed. 

“Well, thank you very much, Miss Darlene. We’ll be back if we have any questions.”

“Actually,” I pipped in, “do you know where Violet, Gus’ daughter, lives?”

“Why sure.”

She gave us directions and we left shortly after. We decided to drop off our fishing gear in the car and walk since it wasn’t too far according to Google Maps. It really was a beautiful day, which was hard to ignore even under the circumstances.

“So you obviously think Violet was there,” Malachi said as we passed the row of low lying pastel bungalows leading to our destination.

“I only know four people in this town, and she’s dating the guy. Not a terrible guess.”

We arrived at her house in no time. The neighbor across the street, a man wrapped in a plaid robe, watched us intently from his window. I gave a wave just to look less suspicious. He waved back slowly and let the curtains drop.

Violet’s house was a two-story Victorian covered in chipped lavender paint. The white picket fence wrapped around the building was missing a few boards. Two bikes were leaning against the porch railing. One was a simple black commuter bike. The other, a purple cruiser, was covered in stickers. I could see sand still stuck to the bottom of its black tires. 

We entered the gate and knocked twice, before a man with arms like cannons opened the door. He peered out at us, looking much more tired than anyone should be at 11 in the morning.

“This really isn’t a good time.” He spoke quietly, and looked over his shoulder. I tried to see what he was looking at, but I couldn’t quite get a good look.

“You must be Gus, right? Violet’s dad? We’re friends of Benji—” I started.

“Really? I didn’t know he had many friends. You don’t look like his sort. Not enough piercings.”

“Oh, you know, Benji was a guy of many multitudes. Anyway, I don’t know if you heard, but he died last night.”

“Oh.” His brows knit together and a shadow fell over his face. His eyes darted between me and Malachi. 

I cleared my throat and barreled on with my lie. “I know Benji and Violet were crazy about each other. We just want to be here for her in her time of need, like Benji would have wanted.”

“Right.” He started to nod his head. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking even more of it than he already was. “The thing is, the police already came by and told me and Violet all of this, and Violet isn’t taking it so well. In fact, she’s not actually here. Went out to clear her head. You understand.”

“Well, do you know when she’ll be back? Wouldn’t it be nice if she had people she could share memories with?” I nudged Malachi. “Right, Big Guy?” 

Malachi silently nodded. He hated lying, but he needed to pull his weight if we were gonna get in this house.

“I don’t know actually,” Gus said.

“Alright. Well, she couldn’t have gotten too far without her bike,” I said. “Maybe we’ll run into her.” 

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”

“Why not?” Malachi muttered.

“You two don’t get it.” He straightened to his full height. “Violet is gonna be something special, and he wasn’t, and now that he’s gone and died, she’ll never figure that out for herself. So, she needs time and lots of space. I’m sorry about your friend.” He slammed the door in our faces. 

Well, that was a bust. We walked down the porch and I glanced at the nosy neighbor’s house. He was staring at us again from the window, this time with a fresh cup of some steaming beverage. Malachi noticed as well and, without hesitation or a break in stride, crossed the street and gave a thunderous knock on the peppers door. I heard a muffled four letter word before the door gingerly swung open a minute later. 

The man looked up at us from his thin wire glasses, eyes big and awed. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Malachi Swanson. This is my associate, Carolyn Frost. Have you noticed anything strange across the street today or last night?”

“Besides you two?”

“Yeah. Besides us,” I said.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to gossip or spread rumors. I have to live here, you know?”

“Sir, please, a young man was killed and it doesn’t seem like anybody in this whole town cares. If you have anything to help, please tell us.” 

I watched the man wrestle with Malachi’s words.

“Well, now that you mention it, I did notice something strange last night. I came home late from an … evening with a lady friend—around midnight or so—and I was sitting at the window, reading, when I saw the girl across the street, Violet, sneak out of the house and leave on her bike. I know it was her because that bike makes a horrible squeaking sound after a humid day. You wouldn’t believe how often it’s yanked me out of a cozy dream on a Saturday morning.”

“Okay,” I said, “did you see her come back?”

“No. I was asleep by then I would think.”

“Alright, how about today? Did you see her leave the house?” Malachi asked.

“No.”

“No? Not on a bike or on foot or anything?” I asked.

“No. You two should take this talking heads thing on the road. Very entertaining.” He smiled as if he thought he’d really said something clever.

“And did you see anybody leave the house?”

“You mean Gus? He’s the only other person that lives there. No, I didn’t see him leave. Of course we have our garages in the back so I wouldn’t be able to see him go anyway.”

Malachi nodded and turned to face the house again. I could practically see all the thoughts bouncing around in his head. 

Personally, I felt a growing pressure in my mind. It was as if I could see the outline of the solution in the midst of a haze, but try as I might I couldn’t figure out what the solution itself really looked like. The answer was hazy and the facts were unclear. Something was missing, and I wasn’t sure this particular nosy neighbor was going to be the final piece we needed. 

I cleared my throat and asked perhaps the most important question I had asked the whole day. 

“Where can you get a good sandwich in this town?”

***

“Man, I told them no tomatoes.” Malachi wrinkled his nose at the offending slices on his turkey sub as we left the corner store, which apparently had the best deli in all of Pass-a-Grille. 

I happily bit into my Cuban and tossed back a handful of spicy boiled peanuts. While Malachi removed the tomatoes, I leaned against the store’s wall and smiled at the man sitting down on his mat next to his suitcase. He nodded in acknowledgement, asked for a dollar, and gave a brighter smile when I handed one to him.

I turned back to Malachi only to see him digging through the trash with reckless abandon. I hustled towards him.

“Swanson, what’s going on?”

“Look at this.” He tore a piece of the wax paper holding his sandwich, and used it to pull out a thin black wallet. In the clear I.D slot, Benji smiled back out at me. Not a single credit card appeared to be missing, and when Malachi opened the cash slot a handful of bills slipped out.

“Now this is interesting.” I took the wallet. 

Malachi plucked out a pair of car keys. No doubt they were Benji’s as well.

Malachi turned to the homeless man sitting on the ground who was watching us like a good episode of T.V.

“Hey, you.”

“They throwing away wallets now?” The homeless man laughed at his own joke.

“Did you happen to see who tossed this in here? It was buried pretty deep; it was probably a little while ago.”

“Nope. Didn’t see anybody throw away a wallet or I would’ve grabbed it myself.” The man shrugged.

“Damnit.” Malachi started pacing. “Maybe the guy inside has cameras. I’ll be right back.” He hurried into the building. 

“You think he’ll give me some of that cash?” asked the man.

“No. The wallet’s sort of a big deal in a murder investigation,” I said.

He whistled and slid down the wall till he was nearly lying down. “Murder’s no joke. I had a friend of mine, another homeless guy, staying at the beach get jumped a couple weeks ago. Took all his stuff when he was sleeping. Bunch of punks out there these days.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure that’s what this is. Mind if I sit?”

“Sidewalk’s free.”

I sat next to him, and for a minute we both stared at nothing. Well, I was staring at the laundromat across the street, but that might as well have been nothing.

“Dale.”

“Carolyn.”

“So, who died?”

“This 20-something kid we met yesterday.”

“Ahh. That’s too bad. 20 years old, you’re barely here.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “we’re actually not too far from where he died. He died over there on the beach last night.”

“Huh. That’s funny.”

I turned to face him, though he was still staring at the laundromat. His eyes narrowed like he was trying to remember something. 

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Last night, or this morning I guess, I saw something a little strange.”

“Strange how?”

“This guy, big guy, was over at the laundromat. He looked like he was dripping wet. Went in and stayed there for a while before leaving. Didn’t even have a lot of laundry, that was what was really weird about it.”

“Dale,” I clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s not just funny. That’s downright hilarious.” I stood up and frowned. Now something really didn’t make sense. 

Malachi emerged from the store with a frown of his own.

“The cameras haven’t worked here for a long time according to the owner.” His frowned deepened. “We should go turn the wallet in. It’s evidence after all.”

We headed off in heavy silence, both of us trying to untie this impossible knot.

***

“Didn’t I tell you two knuckleheads to stay out of this?” Chief Banks closed his door as we sat down in his too-small office. He squeezed behind his desk and sat up tall, making himself look bigger than he was.

“Chief, the wallet has all the cards and all the cash. Your people think it’s some thieves, but no thief would kill a man, steal the wallet and keys, and not take any of the money.” I said.

“Punks probably panicked. Knew they couldn’t use the cards and we’d be looking for the car.”

“But they left 500 dollars in cash?” I asked.

“Kids these days don’t even know how to count money. Probably didn’t even know it was that much.” He tried to lean back in his chair.

“But you can admit that this is strange at least?” Malachi said.

“Sure, but you two aren’t from here. You didn’t know the vic. He wasn’t an upstanding man. He stole things. Made trouble. Maybe we should be asking why he had that much cash on him? You two detectives wonder that?”

Malachi kept talking, but it was like a fuse popped in my head. I hadn’t thought to ask why he had that much on him. Oh, I had been so stupid. I stood up and left, ignoring the shocked protests I heard behind me. I was halfway out of the station when Malachi caught me. 

“What was that? What’d you figure out?”

“We need to go back to the beach.”

“Alright. Let’s go.” 

We got to the beach as quickly as we could. The section where we’d found Benji was still taped off. We ran through the scatterings of tourists, and the minute I got past the tape I fell to my knees and began shifting through the sand. Malachi hovered just out of my line of sight, undoubtedly confused.

“We’re looking for something shiny,” I said.

He grunted and followed suit. We must have looked like a couple of kids. After 10 fruitless minutes, I leapt to my feet and bounced around the crime scene hoping to see any kind of glint, when finally I saw it! The twinkle in the sand. I lunged to the ground and viciously dug until I pulled out the buried treasure—a thin ring with the tiniest diamond I ever did see. The haze cleared, and I could finally see the solution uninterrupted.

I slammed the ring on Chief Banks’ desk, and Malachi closed the door behind us. The chief looked peeved, which might just be how he looked every time he saw us. 

“We solved it,” I said.

“What? Where did you find this?”

“At the crime scene. I saw it this morning, but I found it maybe 30 minutes ago. It’s the lynchpin. The key. It makes it all make sense.”

“Alright, and what sense did it make?”

“Do you wanna tell him or should I, dear Swanson?”

“Let’s tell it as a play-by-play. Really set the scene.” Malachi grinned.

“We only knew Benji for maybe 30 minutes before we found his body the next day, and in those 30 minutes we learned these key things about him. He loved Violet. Violet loved him. He was a bit of a womanizer. Violet was jealous. Violet was going to Dartmouth. And Benji was going nowhere fast. Skip to the beach. We find the kid face down with a crater in the back of the dome. Clearly someone had hit him really hard, because there were flecks of rock in the hole. He was probably killed with a rock someone found nearby. So, what happened, Malachi?”

“Well, the first thing we know is that Benji was with a girl when he died. The woman in the house close to the beach said that around 1:12 she heard a woman scream like she was in a horror movie. So, who is this mystery girl?”

“I thought it was Violet so that’s where we went next,” I answered to continue our story. “According to her dad, Gus of Gus’ Grouper Shack fame, she had just left before we arrived, but then their neighbor said he hadn't seen her leave this morning. The neighbor did see her leave last night on her bike, and we know she recently went to the beach because her tires were dusted with sand.”

“So, someone saw her go to the beach and no one saw her come back. Well, no one who wasn’t related to her.” Malachi said. “At this point,” he continued, “I was starting to build an idea. Jealous girlfriend, a too-open boyfriend. Different witnesses see things that suggest she may have been at the scene of the crime. Could she have been the one who killed him? Maybe that’s why her father was so antsy this morning. He knew his daughter was a murderer and he needed to cover it up. Maybe he helped her escape town and that’s why she really wasn’t at home.”

“And see, Malachi’s theory would have made a lot of sense if I didn’t have the help of my friend Dale who saw something pretty strange early this morning. He said he saw a big guy at the laundromat dripping wet, without much clothes to wash. Now tell me, Chief, does that sound strange to you?”

The chief begrudgingly nodded. I barreled on.

“At first, this looks like it could fall in line with Malachi’s theory. Gus is a big guy. A very big guy. He wants to protect his daughter, because she’s the one with a bright, ivy-covered future. If she bashed her boyfriend over the head, her clothes would surely be covered in blood and DNA and they’d need to be washed. Dad takes her home or she skips town, and he gets rid of the evidence in a washing machine that isn’t even his. That, plus the fact that we found the missing wallet and keys in a trash can across the street, that’d be a pretty good plan. But that didn’t get rid of all my questions. After all, why would she kill him then? A murder via rock certainly wasn’t premeditated, so it had to be a crime of passion, but why would she be passionate? Maybe she caught him with another girl and that pushed her over the edge. But if that was true, where was this other girl? Why was there only one girl screaming? Wouldn’t she want to get rid of any witnesses? If that was true, where was the other body? It didn’t make sense until I found this.” I pointed to the ring on his desk. “It’s an engagement ring.”

The chief gingerly picked up the ring and turned it over, the diamond catching the sunlight and casting a rainbow over the desk.

“They were getting hitched?”

“Looks like,” Malachi said. “Maybe that explains why he had so much cash on him too—to ride off and stop at the Justice of the Peace when it opened later that day.”

“Okay,” the chief said slowly, “so, if it wasn’t her, who did it?”

“Like I said, it was a crime of passion. Violet was going somewhere in life and Benji wasn’t, that was what Gus said. His house paint is chipping and his business is small, but he managed to get his kid into a good school. She’s gonna be something special, but then she meets this guy who job hops and steals and just isn’t a good fit. So, when she leaves the house in the dead of night on her squeaky bike, maybe he hears it and takes his car out of the back garage and follows her. Maybe he sees her at the beach with that boy and then the boy gets down on one knee, and then Gus loses it. He storms down there and they start arguing. Then Gus just can’t take it. He picks up a rock and just hits him and hits him and hits him, and his daughter screams, and then he has to stop and figure out how to hide what he’s done. He leaves the body, tosses the rock, takes the girl and the bike back home. Locks the girl up in the house so she can’t get out and tell everyone what he did. But Gus is a smart man, so he also remembers to take the wallet to make it look like thieves, but he knows he can’t get caught with it so he tosses it somewhere. There’s a trash can across from the laundromat where he’s going to get the boy’s DNA off his clothes, that’s as good a place to throw the evidence as any, and the homeless guy’s asleep and the cameras don’t work anyway. No witnesses. Honestly, I’m a little impressed. Of course, that’s just a theory, but hey,” I shrugged, “if you guys have something better I’d love to hear it.”

“What she means to say,” Malachi chimes in, “is that although the evidence is circumstantial, it is suggestive, and we think it’d be wise to further investigate this particular thread.”

The chief was quiet for a long moment before he put the ring back down. He glared at Malachi for a second before he turned to me. “We will take it under serious consideration.”

“What? No, thank you?”

“My thank you is not arresting you for tampering with a crime scene.”

“Well, I guess that’s as good a thanks as anything.” I stood and Malachi followed. “Now, I do believe me and my best friend are due for a little fishing.”