Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

This story is by Marge Sells and was part of our 2019 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

29

Marge Sells: Writing Contests

Member since May 28, 2019

It’s not my first time being interrogated by the cops and if I keep my cool, they will have to let me go. The big guy trying to be all “good cop” and his partner trying to scare me, what a joke! I have to answer their questions and they’ll have to let me go. There is no motive or proof. I met her at a bar on Christmas Eve. We drank too much. Like today at the cookout. We bet on who was the best at horseshoes and I was determined to win bragging rights. They said they’d get me something to eat, we’ve been here a couple of hours. This room has no TV, no radio, no clock, just a table and a chair screwed into the floor. The detectives’ chairs are on wheels. The bare walls look like they were painted with watered down ceiling paint. The big cop is O.K., but I don’t like the “bad cop”.

Detective Waters came back with a can of soda and crackers and asked, “This alright , Frank?”

“Yeah.”

Waters sat down, turned on his recorder and asked, “Tell me exactly how you two met, Frank?”

“Well, like I said, me and some friends from work at the pulp mill stopped at the Crow Bar in Brunswick on Christmas Eve. We played shuffleboard and darts, shot pool and the jukebox was playing, so, we’re having a good time.”

“So, Frank, Christmas Eve, that’s 15 days ago, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, this gal comes home with you and stayed in the camper with you for a week?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess she talked about her family or her job?”

“I don’t remember, we drank a lot.”

“Her kids, Frank, did she say she missed her kids, or needed to get home?”

“She might have, the truth is, I don’t remember much when I drink.”

“Frank, can you help us with her name?”

“I don’t remember, unhhh… maybe Katy or Kathy or something like that.”

“That might help. I’ll be back in a few, you ought to eat something, Frank, we’ve been at this for a while.”

I can’t remember the last time I drank a Cheerwine, and these crackers and cheese ain’t bad. Those marks on the floor and the baseboard, look like shoe scuffs.

When Waters returned, he turned on the recorder and placed a ripe banana on the table saying, “Here, not much to find this hour of the night, Frank. So, Brunswick P.D. has a missing person, Kayla Garcia didn’t come home to her kids Christmas Day. She’s a regular at the Crow Bar and left after a scuffle with blood running down her forehead, according to the bartender. Ring any bells, Frank?”

“Unnhhhh… sorta, drinking in that hot sun today…”

Waters, “Frank, you all went through several cases of beer today. That why you didn’t recognize the victim, Kayla Garcia?”

“When I saw her, I almost passed out, my knees buckled. I couldn’t spit or swallow. She was dirty gray, black, blue, soggy skin and eat up. I swear, I went blank!”

“Well, Frank, now you’re over the initial shock, do you remember the last time you spoke to Kayla?”

“We went into town New Year’s Eve. I honestly don’t remember coming home. She wasn’t there when Joe woke me to watch football. I thought she caught a ride home.”

Waters, “I have to report to my captain and check the coroner’s preliminary. The victim could have had a subdural hematoma for a couple of days, became confused and fell into the canal and died. Water and decomp give us less evidence. We rely on witnesses and you, Frank, have helped. Bear with us a little longer and we can wrap this up.”

“This is tiresome, but whatever helps.”

Waters picked up the can and wrapper and left. There’s no trash can in the room. “Bad cop” is still texting. A fruit fly from the ripe banana! Great, just what I need, buzzing in my face.. I don’t know which is worse, “bad cop” or this annoying bug. I would like to kill either one or both. “Bad cop stays quiet. Waters is in charge. Waters is smarter and he believes me. I think this room is getting smaller. Solitary at Brown Creek Correctional was bigger than this, big enough for a cot, a sink and a toilet. The name Frank Brown will not lead Waters to the truth and my record. I can say that I’m a different Frank Brown because I am. I don’t have a record under that name. I didn’t notice that loose ceiling tile over the doorway. I wonder if it leads to an escape route. Maybe that’s why “bad cop” has to stay in this cubicle, so I don’t break out. Hah!

Then Detective Waters returned holding a manila folder with a stack of typed pages and photos. He flipped through the stack and slid out a sheet. He raised one eyebrow as he read the contents. Then he placed it back into the folder. After a minute or two he asks, “Frank, how long have you lived in Darien?”

“Six, seven months.”

“And before that?”

“Florida, picking oranges twice a year and fertilizer plants in Polk County.”

“Ever work in North or South Carolina? How about Virginia?”

“No, I don’t know anybody there. If I move, I need a place to stay until I get paid. Virginia Beach, I visited there in my teens. Easter Sunday the ocean was forty-five degrees and they were pulling the tourists out and sending them to the hospital with hypothermia. I know less about North or South Carolina, truth be told. No, Florida and Georgia have milder winters and if I have to live in the woods until I get paid regular, at least I won’t catch pneumonia. How much longer you gonna ask me all these questions? I know my rights. I’ve been cooperating truthfully and I could really use a cigarette right about now. So, if we’re done, I’ll call Sam or Joe for a ride home…”

Waters interrupted, “More likely you need a drink. It’s nearly 10:00 p.m.. The coroner said Kayla was shackled and beaten inside the camper. He made the team go back again. He said to tear the place apart if you have to, they have to be there. Sam and Joe never saw Kayla. They left the Crow Bar before you met Kayla. They said you were alone New Year’s Eve. We found the shackles under the carpet, under the floorboards, under the bed, with trace amounts of blood on the shackles. We’ll match Kayla’s DNA. Before we found the shackles, we almost let you go. She came willingly but you never intended for her to leave. You shackled, raped, starved and beat her to a pulp, repeatedly. She lost enough weight to get out of the shackles while you slept. She was so disoriented that she climbed the fence next door and stumbled down into the canal and died when she was only two hundred yards from the neighbor’s house. We ran your DNA off a can, and we know who you are and that you acted alone. Sam and Joe hadn’t been inside the camper since you moved in. Sam gave permission to search the camper. When you realized she was gone, you did a thorough job of getting rid of any trace of Kayla. After a few days I bet you thought that you were in the clear. We almost let you go. We didn’t expect DNA results for days but you’re in CODIS. You stayed under the radar since your escape from Brown Creek Correctional on your way to court. Just a stroke of luck that we got results as fast as we did, in time for the eleven o’clock news. We almost let you go. It was close, “Frank”, but you know what they say, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

.

29

Marge Sells: Writing Contests

Member since May 28, 2019

It’s not my first time being interrogated by the cops and if I keep my cool, they will have to let me go. The big guy trying to be all “good cop” and his partner trying to scare me, what a joke! I have to answer their questions and they’ll have to let me go. There is no motive or proof. I met her at a bar on Christmas Eve. We drank too much. Like today at the cookout. We bet on who was the best at horseshoes and I was determined to win bragging rights. They said they’d get me something to eat, we’ve been here a couple of hours. This room has no TV, no radio, no clock, just a table and a chair screwed into the floor. The detectives’ chairs are on wheels. The bare walls look like they were painted with watered down ceiling paint. The big cop is O.K., but I don’t like the “bad cop”.

Detective Waters came back with a can of soda and crackers and asked, “This alright , Frank?”

“Yeah.”

Waters sat down, turned on his recorder and asked, “Tell me exactly how you two met, Frank?”

“Well, like I said, me and some friends from work at the pulp mill stopped at the Crow Bar in Brunswick on Christmas Eve. We played shuffleboard and darts, shot pool and the jukebox was playing, so, we’re having a good time.”

“So, Frank, Christmas Eve, that’s 15 days ago, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, this gal comes home with you and stayed in the camper with you for a week?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess she talked about her family or her job?”

“I don’t remember, we drank a lot.”

“Her kids, Frank, did she say she missed her kids, or needed to get home?”

“She might have, the truth is, I don’t remember much when I drink.”

“Frank, can you help us with her name?”

“I don’t remember, unhhh… maybe Katy or Kathy or something like that.”

“That might help. I’ll be back in a few, you ought to eat something, Frank, we’ve been at this for a while.”

I can’t remember the last time I drank a Cheerwine, and these crackers and cheese ain’t bad. Those marks on the floor and the baseboard, look like shoe scuffs.

When Waters returned, he turned on the recorder and placed a ripe banana on the table saying, “Here, not much to find this hour of the night, Frank. So, Brunswick P.D. has a missing person, Kayla Garcia didn’t come home to her kids Christmas Day. She’s a regular at the Crow Bar and left after a scuffle with blood running down her forehead, according to the bartender. Ring any bells, Frank?”

“Unnhhhh… sorta, drinking in that hot sun today…”

Waters, “Frank, you all went through several cases of beer today. That why you didn’t recognize the victim, Kayla Garcia?”

“When I saw her, I almost passed out, my knees buckled. I couldn’t spit or swallow. She was dirty gray, black, blue, soggy skin and eat up. I swear, I went blank!”

“Well, Frank, now you’re over the initial shock, do you remember the last time you spoke to Kayla?”

“We went into town New Year’s Eve. I honestly don’t remember coming home. She wasn’t there when Joe woke me to watch football. I thought she caught a ride home.”

Waters, “I have to report to my captain and check the coroner’s preliminary. The victim could have had a subdural hematoma for a couple of days, became confused and fell into the canal and died. Water and decomp give us less evidence. We rely on witnesses and you, Frank, have helped. Bear with us a little longer and we can wrap this up.”

“This is tiresome, but whatever helps.”

Waters picked up the can and wrapper and left. There’s no trash can in the room. “Bad cop” is still texting. A fruit fly from the ripe banana! Great, just what I need, buzzing in my face.. I don’t know which is worse, “bad cop” or this annoying bug. I would like to kill either one or both. “Bad cop stays quiet. Waters is in charge. Waters is smarter and he believes me. I think this room is getting smaller. Solitary at Brown Creek Correctional was bigger than this, big enough for a cot, a sink and a toilet. The name Frank Brown will not lead Waters to the truth and my record. I can say that I’m a different Frank Brown because I am. I don’t have a record under that name. I didn’t notice that loose ceiling tile over the doorway. I wonder if it leads to an escape route. Maybe that’s why “bad cop” has to stay in this cubicle, so I don’t break out. Hah!

Then Detective Waters returned holding a manila folder with a stack of typed pages and photos. He flipped through the stack and slid out a sheet. He raised one eyebrow as he read the contents. Then he placed it back into the folder. After a minute or two he asks, “Frank, how long have you lived in Darien?”

“Six, seven months.”

“And before that?”

“Florida, picking oranges twice a year and fertilizer plants in Polk County.”

“Ever work in North or South Carolina? How about Virginia?”

“No, I don’t know anybody there. If I move, I need a place to stay until I get paid. Virginia Beach, I visited there in my teens. Easter Sunday the ocean was forty-five degrees and they were pulling the tourists out and sending them to the hospital with hypothermia. I know less about North or South Carolina, truth be told. No, Florida and Georgia have milder winters and if I have to live in the woods until I get paid regular, at least I won’t catch pneumonia. How much longer you gonna ask me all these questions? I know my rights. I’ve been cooperating truthfully and I could really use a cigarette right about now. So, if we’re done, I’ll call Sam or Joe for a ride home…”

Waters interrupted, “More likely you need a drink. It’s nearly 10:00 p.m.. The coroner said Kayla was shackled and beaten inside the camper. He made the team go back again. He said to tear the place apart if you have to, they have to be there. Sam and Joe never saw Kayla. They left the Crow Bar before you met Kayla. They said you were alone New Year’s Eve. We found the shackles under the carpet, under the floorboards, under the bed, with trace amounts of blood on the shackles. We’ll match Kayla’s DNA. Before we found the shackles, we almost let you go. She came willingly but you never intended for her to leave. You shackled, raped, starved and beat her to a pulp, repeatedly. She lost enough weight to get out of the shackles while you slept. She was so disoriented that she climbed the fence next door and stumbled down into the canal and died when she was only two hundred yards from the neighbor’s house. We ran your DNA off a can, and we know who you are and that you acted alone. Sam and Joe hadn’t been inside the camper since you moved in. Sam gave permission to search the camper. When you realized she was gone, you did a thorough job of getting rid of any trace of Kayla. After a few days I bet you thought that you were in the clear. We almost let you go. We didn’t expect DNA results for days but you’re in CODIS. You stayed under the radar since your escape from Brown Creek Correctional on your way to court. Just a stroke of luck that we got results as fast as we did, in time for the eleven o’clock news. We almost let you go. It was close, “Frank”, but you know what they say, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

.