“Marvin Bivins?”
“Yes.”
“Please come with us.”
“For what reason?”
“You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at no cost. Things that you don’t say may also be used against you. In fact, seeing as how you are … you know, your guilt is presumed, so that attorney thing is immaterial. During questioning, you may be tortured as per the addendum to California Penal Code 645-31.3. You will have the choice of being beaten with a rubber mallet, hanging by your toes while scorpions tap dance in your skivvies, or listening to Bob Dylan do Whitney Houston covers. Do you have a preference?”
“The Constitution of the United States does not permit torture.”
The arresting deputy laughed in that sarcastic, condescending tone of the self-righteous sneering at the naïve. “We don’t follow the Constitution in California.”
“I’ll take the last one, then,” Country said.
“Hmm,” the deputy said to himself. “No one’s ever taken that option before.”
He spun Country around and shoved him against the wall. Cold steel slapped on Country’s wrists. A sound like a ratchet ratcheting came from behind his back. The deputy came up close and pressed his face to Country’s ears.
“You better get used to this. After what you’ve done, you’re never seeing freedom again.”
“And what have I done?” Country asked.
A disgusted smirk crossed the deputy’s lips and formed themselves into the letter M for, “Murrrderrr.”
“Oh,” was Country’s only response.
The deputy shoved Country into the back of the car, sat down in the front seat, and popped in some earplugs. A few seconds later, an off-key rendition of ‘I Will Always Love You’ warbled out of the speakers. Country’s body shook, starting as barely noticeable tremors and rising into full out spasms.
“Keep calm,” he thought. “You’ve been in worse situations.” His stomach churned. “Like the time you fell down that hill and broke your ankle. You had to hop back to the main road, two miles as the crow flies or five point six miles as the flamingo lollygags, before someone picked you up and drove you to the hospital.” His left kidney sang a dirge. “Actually, this is worse. Much, much worse. But you know what to do. Take a deep breath. Relax. Ahh. That’s better.”
“… will always love youuuuuuuuu.”
“AAAAAAGGGGGHHH!!!”
A pair of unmanacled feet reached up and sort of covered Country’s ears.
“Make it stop!!”
The deputy snickered and twisted the volume knob clockwise. Muted screams drowned out the sirens as the deputy raced down the road.
“Sounds like they’re torturing that young man,” a bystander observed.
“Probably deserved it,” another one offered. “He is … well, you know.”
“At least it’s not me,” a devoted socialist stated and buried his head in the sand.
Overhead, a swarm of butterflies plotted their next move.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The cold metal of the chair seeped upwards. Country shifted his weight to try and get a little more comfortable. Deputy Jones watched through the one-way mirror.
“Looks like it’s time,” he said.
Sheriff Jeremiah nodded in agreement. “What approach are you going to take?”
“I’m going to play it cool, make him think I’m on his side. When I give the signal, bring in the file with all the evidence we collected.”
“We don’t have any direct evidence against him, so it’s going to be a small file.” Sheriff Jeremiah said. “The only circumstantial evidence we have is the one low quality video and the argument he had with … what was the director’s name again?”
“Paolo Medeiros.”
“Right. Paolo.”
“He’s our strongest case,” Deputy Jones said. “I’ll start with that one and see if I can get him to confess to the others.”
“You’re expecting a confession?” Sheriff Jeremiah asked.
Deputy Jones glanced inside. “He doesn’t look too smart. Besides, I went to Harvard, in case I haven’t told you.”
Sheriff Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “You’ve told me once or twice.”
“Just do me a favor and stuff some blank pages in the file to make it look like we’ve got more than we do.”
“Sure, boss,” Sheriff Jeremiah said.
A sheepish grin crossed the deputy’s face. He brushed the sheep aside. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? I couldn’t hear with Dolly climbing over me.”
“It wasn’t important,” Sheriff Jeremiah said.
“OK.” Deputy Jones seemed confused. “Well, then, I’ll just be going in there. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Sheriff Jeremiah said.
“Baaahhh,” said Dolly.
Country watched with casual interest as Deputy Jones walked in and sat in the chair across from the table. His bum was immediately caressed by space foam wrapped in Tuscan leather. Country shifted again.
“My name is Deputy Davy Jones. I’ll be conducting the interview. Before we start, is there anything I can get you? A soda perhaps.”
“I’d like a lawyer,” Country said.
“One will be coming soon. Unfortunately, there’s a shortage right now what with the wildfire burning out of control. They’re in the foothills hoping the flames cross into the city proper and cause a few accidents. You can borrow Pete if you want. He’s not a good lawyer, but he’s all we got right now.”
“Sure. I’ll take Pete. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Deputy Jones nodded and a minute later, Pete the lawyer entered. Country gripped his extended hand. It felt like fresh cheese. Country wiped his hand on the desk. Pete brushed the string of hair out of his eyes and back over the bald spot.
“Hi. I’m Pete. I’ll be working with you … Marvin Bivins. Is that correct?”
Country nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Turning to the deputy, he said, “And what are the charges?”
“Eleven counts of murder.”
“Murder? Is that what you said?”
“Uh huh.”
“Eleven counts?”
“Yep.”
“I see.” Pete mopped his head and replaced the handkerchief in the breast pocket. Quietly, he closed his briefcase and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me.”
The air made a sucking sound as he ran out the door. Country felt strangely relieved.
“I guess it’s just us two, then,” Deputy Jones said. He gave a quick flip of his chin towards the one-way mirror.
“I guess so,” Country said, “if you don’t count the person behind the glass.”
“There’s no one back there,” Deputy Jones said.
“Yes, there is. I can see him.”
“It’s your reflection,” the deputy said.
“I’m a white guy wearing a sheriff’s uniform?” Country said.
“Uh … yeah.”
“You’ve got the glass in backwards.”
Sheriff Jeremiah quickly changed rooms with Country and the deputy.
“Now, we’re alone,” Deputy Jones said.
Country sighed deeply. Deputy Jones perched himself on the edge of the table.
“I’m just going to be blunt about this. It’s not looking good for you. Eleven counts of murder. That we know of. You might as well confess. Pretending you didn’t do it will only prolong your suffering and make you look bad to a jury.”
“I didn’t do it,” Country said. “I’m completely innocent of all charges.”
“That’s what the guilty say.”
“That’s also what the innocent say.”
“Don’t try to outsmart me,” the deputy said.
Country wondered how that came up.
“I went to Harvard,” the deputy continued.
“Ohhh,” Country thought. “That explains it.”
“So, there’s no way you’ll be able to outsmart me,” the deputy finished, “seeing as my Harvard education makes that an impossibility.”
“Not even if I went to Harvard?” Country asked.
The deputy became lost in thought. His face held the same expression Richard Dawkins’ might have the moment he passed to the other side. Country decided to whistle a tune while he waited. For some reason, the only thing that would come out was a folk version of ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody.’
Eventually, the deputy came back to reality. “That’s not important. What is important is that I am clearly cleverer than you, so there’s really no point trying to match wits with me. I recommend a full confession before my brilliance turns your mind to mush.”
“I think it’s already begun to do that,” Country said.
Deputy Jones beamed with pride. “Then, you’re ready to confess?”
“Not even close.”
Deputy Jones’ beam turned to scorn. “You think you’re smarter than me, don’t you?”
Country nodded.
The deputy’s teeth grit. “The last person to make that mistake ended up regretting it.”
“Can I go now?” Country said.
“Sure,” the deputy said and undid the handcuff. “Wait. No!” The handcuff slapped back down. “Aha! You are a clever one. But not clever enough.”
“You’re right,” Country said. “You beat me. Care to make it two out of three?”
Deputy Jones’ face scrunched into the universally recognized shape of ‘easy peasy’.
“Great,” Country said. “This time, you wear the handcuffs and I’ll play the interrogator.”
Steel bracelets unlocked and reshackled the deputy.
“Why did you kill those people?” Country asked.
“I … I didn’t mean to. It was an acci … hey! Wait a minute.”
Chains rattled violently and curses filled the room. Country waited until the deputy spent his energy before removing the handcuffs and placing them on his own wrists. The deputy’s confidence turned to spite.
“We’ll call it even,” he hissed.
Country shrugged. “Now, what were you saying about the eleven murders I didn’t commit.”
“That’s the story you’re sticking with?” He pulled out his service weapon and shot the one-way mirror.
“What are you doing!!!” Sheriff Jeremiah screamed.
“I was giving you the signal,” the deputy replied.
“I thought we had decided on the double sneeze. We can’t afford any more mirrors.”
“Oh … right. Well, as long as you’re here, can you hand me the files? You know. The ones that show Mr. Bivins is guilty beyond all reasonable doubt.” Wink, wink.
Sheriff Jeremiah handed him a manilla folder the thickness of War and Peace. Newspaper clippings, fresh (we can only hope) toilet paper, and a shoe hung out the side. Country began to like his chances.
“I’ll just go back over there,” the sheriff said. He tucked his body as best he could behind the broken shards. One moderately dusty sock stuck out.
Deputy Jones slammed the folder on the table. “We’ve got you deaf to rights,” he said.
“I think it’s dead to rights,” Country corrected.
“I don’t think so.”
Country watched as Deputy Jones circled the table and came up behind him. He rested one arm on the back of the chair. Country felt his hot breath.
“Why did you do it?” the deputy asked. “I mean, I know why you killed Mr. Medeiros. I would have been angry enough to kill him if he had said the same to me.”
Country furled his brow. “I’m sorry. Mr. Medeiros? You mean, Paolo? He’s dead?”
“Of course, he’s dead.” Deputy Jones’ head bobbled back in forth in childish mockery. “Because you killed him.”
“Uh … I did no such thing.”
“Do you deny getting in an argument with him?”
“No.”
“And having a physical altercation that lasted a good ….” He checked his notes. “… twenty minutes according to at least one witness.”
Country’s internal calm changed to mild panic. “Yeah, but ….”
“… which ended inside his trailer …”
“I can explain.” Although in his mind, he wondered if he really had killed Paolo.
“… where you stabbed him four score and seven times – forty-seven to you non-Harvard grads – until he bled to death.”
Country wasn’t in the mood to correct the math error. He was more concerned with the stabbing error.
“I didn’t do that,” Country said.
“Do what?”
“I didn’t kill him. When I left him, he was perfectly fine, other than perhaps a bloody lip and a bruised ego.”
“So, you’re saying you didn’t have an altercation even though fifty witnesses say you did?”
“I don’t deny that we got in a fight,” Country said. “But it was nothing more than a wrestling match. Well, a judo/jiu-jitsu combo really. Sure, my emotions got the best of me, but I wasn’t trying to kill the guy. Just teach him not to be such a jerk.”
“Duly noted.” Deputy Jones scribbled in his notebook. “Killed Paolo Medeiros because he was a jerk.”
“That’s not what I said,” Country protested. “I said I didn’t kill him.”
“Sure, Stabby,” Deputy Jones said. “So, why ‘didn’t you kill’ Courtney Hutchins and Bill Rilee and Siobhan O’Haggis and … let’s see. Who else didn’t you kill?” Flipping through pages. “That would be ….”
Country stopped paying attention. He knew most of those people, had some sort of association with them. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. There were only two options: either he did it or the frame was on. Faces flashed in his brain. Pierre. But why would he kill one of his own? Sheila. Ken. Elena. None of them made sense. Hillary Clinton? Country filed her under possible.
The last face made him shiver. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it, but still he saw it.
“Why would Genny do that?” he thought. He shook his head. “No. There’s no way it was her.”
“… and Nicole. OK. I just threw that last one in there, but the rest … they’re your handiwork.”
Country stared straight ahead. “I want my phone call,” he said. “And my lawyer. A real one this time.”
Deputy Jones straightened up the papers and the shoe and returned them to the folder. “As you wish.” He called into the hallway. “Deputy Myers. Can you take this fellow for his phone call? And be careful he doesn’t stab you on the way.”
Sheriff Jeremiah waited until Country was out of hearing before entering the room.
“What do you think, boss?” Deputy Jones said.
“I’m not sure about him,” Sheriff Jeremiah answered.
“What’s not to be sure about? There were witnesses this time.”
“Only to the initial confrontation.”
“Who else would have done it?”
“I don’t know.” Sheriff Jeremiah paused for a good long while. “There’s something about this that just doesn’t feel right.”
“You really can’t have any doubt about Mr. Medeiros’ murder,” Deputy Jones said. “And once you connect him to that one, all the rest fall in line. The M.O. The same rage. His connection to each person. What’s not to believe?”
“For starters, there aren’t any wounds on his hands. With an attack as vicious as that one was, there should be cuts, abrasions. But there aren’t any.”
“Maybe he wore gloves,” Deputy Jones offered.
“Maybe.” Sheriff Jeremiah returned to his quiet reflection.
“You’re not going to let him go, are you?” the deputy asked.
Sheriff Jeremiah looked up. “No. Of course not. We’ll book him. We have enough to formally charge him. It’s just … never mind. Oh. By the way, the new badges came in. I have a few here with me. You’re 4668, right?”
“Yep.”
“Great. Here you go. Do you mind passing out the rest of these? I’ve gotta check on something.”
“Can do, boss.”
Sheriff Jeremiah headed back to his office and went through the evidence again. Crime scene photos. Video. Witness statements. Intercepted emails.
If Sheriff Jeremiah felt remorse for spying on Country’s emails without a warrant, he didn’t show it. He flipped through the stack. Most of them had something to do with Genny’s father. Cryptic information from an unknown source. A few were different and related to the murders. Not enough to incriminate Country but enough to cast suspicion on him.
Sheriff Jeremiah pulled out those last emails and scanned them again. The first one, nothing. Second one, the same. Third one.
His eyes followed the lines down the page, lips moving as he read.
“… just as I said, I have him deaf to rights ….”
Sheriff Jeremiah covered his mouth and nose and slid his hands towards his chin. He hoped it was a coincidence even though he knew it wasn’t.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Country dialed the number. The phone rang ten times. Country still didn’t put it down. “I know you’re there, Genny,” he said to himself. He waited until it reached fifteen rings, sighed, and handed the receiver back to the deputy.
“I’m ready,” he said.
The deputy had Country stand up. Together, they walked to the holding cells.