Ground Zero, page 11
part #1 of Zero Hour Series
“Knock it off before you hurt yourself worse,” Sawyer bit out. “I have a first aid kit in the trunk, and I’m going to clean you up before we take you in.”
By this point, Carl had started to sob so mucus mixed with the blood still oozing from his nose. “I’m sorry.”
“I said you had a right to remain silent, and I highly suggest you abide by that until we get to the station.”
Carl nodded and didn’t say a word while Sawyer slid on latex gloves, gently inserted cotton plugs up his nose to staunch the bleeding, and washed the blood off his face. Sawyer sealed the gloves and bloody wipes inside a hazmat bag and tossed it in his trunk until he could properly dispose of it later. Then he marched Carl back to where Locke stood on the sidewalk.
A cruiser pulled up seconds after he reached Locke and two uniforms got out of the car. “Evening, Detectives.”
“This is Carl Hanover. He’s confessed to murdering Roland Putzinski.” Ambulance sirens sounded in the distance. “I called for an EMT because he fell and hit his nose while fleeing.”
“I think you tackled him,” Shirley Hanover yelled from the porch.
“No, he didn’t,” a woman yelled from across the street. “Don’t even try to pull that shit, Shirley. Right, girls?” A chorus of agreement followed her question.
Sawyer and Locke turned and saw five ladies dressed in their bathrobes standing across the street. It was nice to have witnesses, but he hoped they wouldn’t be needed.
“You cleaned me up and plugged up my nose, so why do I need an ambulance?” Carl asked nasally.
“You hit the ground hard, I just want to make sure you didn’t give yourself a concussion, Mr. Hanover.”
“Why do you need us then, Detectives?” one of the officers said.
“We only have our personal vehicles,” Locke said. “I’m not putting Hanover on the back of my Harley.”
“Why did you bring personal vehicles to a stakeout?” the other asked.
“It’s not really your job to question us, is it?” Locke countered.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment hunch,” Sawyer said, playing nice detective to Locke’s dickhead detective. The ambulance sirens grew louder as it neared the neighborhood, but luckily, they shut them off once they turned onto the street. “After the paramedics clear Mr. Hanover, I need you to escort him back to the precinct while Locke and I collect evidence.”
“Let me get Carl a change of clothes. It’s inhumane to let him sit in his own urine,” Shirley yelled from the porch.
“Are you freaking kidding me right now?” one of the officers said, realizing the real reason Sawyer called for a cruiser. Locke pinned the cop with a malicious glare, and he backed off.
While the EMTs checked Carl over, Locke unzipped his jacket to reveal his shoulder holster and badge hanging from the chain around his neck. “I’ll escort Mrs. Hanover inside to get Carl’s change of clothes while you collect the evidence on your collar.”
Sawyer tipped his head to the side, gesturing for Locke to follow him. “That’s not what this is. It’s not my collar; it’s our collar.”
“It sure doesn’t look like it from where I stand.”
Ignoring Locke’s blatant attempt to pick a fight, Sawyer asked, “How’d you even know I was here?”
“Dispatch called me after you requested the squad car because I’m your partner.”
Sawyer snorted. “So now you want to be partners?”
Locke took his sweet time raking his eyes over Sawyer’s threadbare, old university T-shirt, which was a size or two too small, and his worn, holey jeans. When Locke’s gray eyes finally met Sawyer’s again, his lips tilted up in a sneer. “I didn’t say I wanted to be your partner, but neither of us can help the hand we were dealt. Let’s get on with our tasks so we can wrap this up. Dispatch interrupted me at a particularly bad moment, and I’m hoping the lady will forgive me and welcome me back with open arms.” Sawyer fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Locke didn’t smell like sex but maybe he hadn’t reached that pivotal moment yet. A devilish smile spread across his face as a plan formed in his mind. Locke was eager to get back to his lady friend, and Sawyer was suddenly determined to cross every T and dot every I before they questioned Carl at the precinct. A confession alone wasn’t enough to convict in Georgia; Sawyer needed to collect corroborating evidence to ensure Hanover went to prison for his crime.
By the time Locke and Key returned to the precinct, word had gotten out about their arrest. Media outlet vans and their crews were back in front of the station, which was expected with any sensational homicide and subsequent arrests. Chief Rigby and the district attorney, Gillian Babineaux, were also waiting for Sawyer and Locke in the chief’s office.
“Motive?” Gillian asked.
The African American woman in her mid-thirties was dressed immaculately in a lavender tailored suit, which she’d paired with stilettos in a darker purple shade. Since it was close to midnight, Sawyer assumed someone interrupted her at home, and she dressed for the possibility of facing cameras after the interview was over. Then again, for all he knew, this was casual wear for Babineaux. She was newer to Savannah but had made a big name for herself as she worked her way up from rookie counselor in the district attorney’s office to the one the people of Chatham County elected as their top lawyer. Brilliant. Relentless. Honest. Sawyer figured she had her eyes set on becoming a federal judge someday, but her ambitions never seemed to detract from her current position.
“He said he killed the son of a bitch for what he did to his wife,” Sawyer told the DA.
“Could it be that simple?” Babineaux asked, her dark, shrewd gaze made Sawyer feel like she was trying to read his mind.
“It seems so on the surface,” Sawyer replied.
A dark brow shot up. “‘On the surface.’ What do you mean?”
“It seems like an open-shut case, but we won’t know more until we interview the suspect.”
“What kind of corroborating evidence did you collect at the scene?”
“Bloody clothes and latex gloves he tried to throw away in the trash can. The lab will compare samples to match the blood to Putz’s,” Locke said. Rigby grimaced over Locke’s nickname for Putzinski while Babineaux struggled to keep her twitching lips from becoming a full-blown smile. “We’re having his car towed in so our crime scene techs can go over it. Putzinski’s blood should be found in the car even if Hanover attempted to clean it this morning. Finding fingerprints or other proof Carl Hanover was in Putz’s house won’t do us any good since he likely visited the property with his wife. Explaining Putz’s blood in Hanover’s car will be much harder to do if he recants his confession.”
“I’ll do my best to expedite those tests. I have some contacts at the local GBI lab, and I won’t hesitate to call in some favors.” The Georgia Bureau of Investigation could be a detective’s best friend or worst enemy. Sawyer hoped this interaction fell into the former category. “Let’s get on with the interview, shall we?” Babineaux asked.
“I’ll watch from the interview room,” Chief Rigby said. “We don’t need to overwhelm him by cramming unfamiliar faces in the room. Maybe Locke should come with me too since Sawyer was the one who initially made contact.”
Sawyer could feel his partner’s tension rising, and with their partnership already strained, he thought it would be in his best interest if Locke participated also. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I would prefer to include my partner in the interview.”
“As you wish,” Chief Rigby said, gesturing to the door.
Sawyer held back, allowing the ladies to walk out of the room first so he could speak to Locke. “Look, I—”
“I’m not sure whose ass you’re trying to kiss, but you can knock it off. If you’d wanted my participation, you would’ve called me,” Locke snarled. His body was coiled with tension and ready to spring into a fight at the slightest trigger. “You can try to show Rigby you’re team Locke and Key, but I know better.”
“There’s just one big flaw in your little poor-pitiful-me tirade, Locke. You didn’t give me your personal cell number nor is your police-issued number programmed into the phone IT gave me. Yeah, I could’ve called dispatch and asked them to put me through to you, but I couldn’t justify doing it on a hunch.” Sawyer loosened his shoulders and tried a less combative tone. “You made it clear how you felt about my arrival on the force. Was I going to risk every gain I’d made today by pulling you away from a night with your girl?”
Locke released a sharp breath then turned his back to Sawyer, scrubbing his hands over his face. After a few seconds, Locke turned around and met his partner’s gaze. “It’s pretty fucking arrogant of you to think you made any gains with me today, asshole.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and Sawyer knew their sorta-truce was back on. “Let’s go nail this guy’s balls to the wall so I can get back to my babysitting duties.”
“Babysitting?” Sawyer asked. “What about the lady who will forgive you with open arms?”
“She’s six months old, so there’s no accounting for her taste,” Locke said. When Sawyer stood there staring at him as if they’d fallen into The Twilight Zone, Locke said, “I was watching Candi’s kids for her so she could pick up an extra shift at the hospital. Her sister usually is the one she calls, but Crystal has stayed the past three nights while Candi worked over the weekend.” Candi, as in Candace Wilkes, Marcus Wilkes’s widow. “Marc is seven, Daniel is five, and baby Bailey is just six months old. I’m their godfather, so who else would she call when she needed an extra hand? The kids were also the personal business I had to take care of this afternoon. Marc had a dentist appointment, and Candi needed to get some sleep for her shift. I can’t let Candi down. She’s been through enough.”
Sawyer didn’t want to think about the relief spreading through his body after learning Locke wasn’t out getting fucked during their shift or before he arrived at the Hanovers’ house. “Who’s with the kids now?”
“Candi’s mom came over to relieve me until I can get back. Adele is a sweet woman, and she means well, but she drives Candi a little crazy with her unsolicited advice. Her solution to Candi’s problem is to marry the first nice guy who comes along.”
“A new man isn’t always the solution,” Sawyer quipped.
Locke smirked then headed toward the door. “I’ll have to take your word on that one. Personally, I know I’m not the solution to anyone’s problem unless they’re looking for strings-free sex. Then maybe,” Locke tossed over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.
Sold. Sawyer mentally shook his head, scattering the fragmented images taking shape in his brain before a complete picture of Locke stretched out on his bed could form.
When they reached the interrogation room, Babineaux was waiting for them in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest. Rigby was nowhere in sight, so Sawyer assumed she was already in the observation room. “Thought maybe you got lost,” Babineaux murmured wryly. “Ready to do this?”
“Our apologies for keeping you waiting, ma’am,” Locke said. He held open the door and gestured for her to precede before falling into step behind her, leaving Sawyer to catch the door for himself. He was so distracted by the way Locke’s ass looked in his tight jeans the door nearly hit him in the face.
Locke glanced over his shoulder and smirked at his partner. Was he grinning because he knew Sawyer was thinking about sinking his teeth into his taut globes or because he nearly went face-first into the door?
Sawyer took a seat across the table from Hanover, and Locke dropped into the chair beside him. Babineaux remained standing in the corner of the room looking in charge and imposing. Carl kept nervously glancing at her like she was his judge, jury, and executioner. “Do you need anything before we begin, Mr. Hanover?” Sawyer asked. “Something to drink?”
“A cigarette. I gave them up two decades ago, but I’d kill for one right about now.” Realizing what he said, Carl seemed to shrink tighter inside himself.
“This is a non-smoking facility, Mr. Hanover,” Babineaux said.
Carl shook his head. “I wasn’t serious anyway. Go ahead and ask your questions. I haven’t changed my mind about waiving my rights to an attorney, and I’m not recanting my confession.”
“I appreciate your cooperation, sir. I want to inform you this interview is being recorded. My name is Gillian Babineaux, and I’m the district attorney for Chatham County.”
“I know who you are,” Carl said, averting his gaze from her.
“I’m going to reread your rights for the recording to document that you fully understand them before we continue.” Carl nodded but kept his eyes glued on the table in front of him while Gillian read him his Miranda rights. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”
Carl lifted his head and met her gaze head-on. “I do, and I’m waiving my right to an attorney.”
“Okay,” Gillian said. They all knew he could recant his statement and revoke his waiver at any time. It happened a lot once people had time to think about it. “Walk us through the events of June fourteenth from the moment you arrived at Roland Putzinski’s house.”
“His back door was unlocked like it usually is, so I entered his house without him knowing it. I knew from speaking to Shirley that Roland would be recording his show between nine thirty and ten thirty, so I waited until I was sure he’d be in his booth so I could take him by surprise. I yanked open the sound booth door, startling Roland, then I hit him in the head with the bat I brought with me.”
“Let me stop you there. The bat used to kill Mr. Putzinski was yours? You brought it from home?” Babineaux asked.
“I got the bat from the sporting goods store earlier that day. I stored it in my trunk until it was time to rid the world of someone like him,” Hanover said. Someone like him. Those three words could mean a host of different things.
Sawyer had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping, and beside him, Locke tensed, bumping his leg against Sawyer’s beneath the table. Carl Hanover didn’t just admit to murdering Roland Putzinski; he confessed to premeditated murder, which was a capital offense, making the death penalty a possibility. Sawyer wasn’t sure what stunned him most: Carl’s boldness or Locke not removing his leg the moment they touched.
“You’re admitting to planning and carrying out the murder of Roland Putzinski?” Babineaux confirmed.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” Carl asked. “Why haven’t you asked me why? Isn’t motive important?”
“It’s more important to confirm you committed the crime you confessed to by having you explain in great detail what happened when you arrived at Roland Putzinski’s home with the intent to kill him.”
Carl’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Confirm my confession? I thought you’d be happy to wrap this case up quickly.”
“While expediency is nice, I prefer we lock up the right person, sir.”
“I am the right person,” Carl said, raising his voice. “Why would I lie?”
“To protect someone else who might have committed the crime,” Babineaux replied.
“False confessions happen a lot,” Sawyer said to the older man, whose face was turning an alarming shade of red. Hanover was either working up toward rage, a heart attack, or a stroke. “What happened after you hit Roland?”
“He fell out of the chair.”
“Did he fall forward, backward, to the left or right?” Locke asked.
Carl pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes like he was replaying the sequence of events. “He fell back and to the left. His head landed near my feet.” That was exactly how Putzinski fell out of the chair, so either Carl had been the one who struck Putz, or he helped cover up the crime for the one who did.
“How many times did you strike Mr. Putzinski?” Sawyer asked.
Carl met his gaze with an unflinching stare. “Until his head looked like a smashed watermelon and my rage was gone.” His voice was remorseless, and his eyes were as cold as a shark’s. Breaking eye contact with Sawyer, Carl turned his head to look at Babineaux. “Is that close enough to the murder scene to please you, ma’am? The clothes and shoes the detectives confiscated were mine and much too large to fit my wife, which is who you think I’m covering for. I did protect her but not until it was too late.”
“Explain,” Babineaux said, ready to hear the motive.
“I suspect you already know the truth about Roland Putzinski, don’t you?” Carl asked then chuckled when none of us took the bait. “He was a closeted gay man whose betrayal was going to ruin my wife’s reputation. People would assume Shirley wasn’t a good judge of character if she couldn’t see the truth about Roland, and what good is an agent without their reputation? How could her clients trust her to have their best interests at heart when she’d been blinded by Roland all these years? If word got out that he liked to suck cock and take it up the ass, Shirley’s career would’ve been over.” Carl took a deep breath and released it slowly. “It would’ve broken her heart.”
Sawyer recalled the comments Melody had made about Shirley’s personal feelings for Putz. Had Roland been aware of them too and used this as an opportunity to get Putz out of the picture? Sawyer knew he might be poking the bear but decided the truth needed to come out. “It would’ve broken her heart how? I can understand disappointment if a client turns out to be someone other than they led you to believe, but brokenhearted sounds more personal than I’d expect from a professional relationship. What makes you say that?”
Carl’s face turned even redder. Beneath the table, Locke’s leg bumped Sawyer’s again. It felt like a what-the-hell-are-you-doing nudge, but Sawyer wasn’t backing down. He liked his confessions tied up with a pretty bow. “Are you asking if my wife was having sexual relations with Roland?”
“I’m asking if your wife wanted to have sexual relations with him?”
All the fight left Carl, and he slumped back against his chair. “Probably, but that wasn’t what I meant.” He shook his head, and it looked like he’d had enough. Carl released a long sigh. “Roland was going to fire Shirley and replace her with a young gay dude from Atlanta. It would’ve broken her heart.”
