Cause to Kill

The bolt unlocked.

“You really do have a way with people,” Ramirez realized.

George appeared in a tank top and sweatpants, extremely muscular and toned. He was about 5’6”, the same height Avery associated with the killer based on Cindy’s records. Despite the look of someone that was either on drugs or who hadn’t slept in days, a fearlessness burned in his stare. Avery wondered if he’d been bullied for years and had finally decided to strike back.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Can we come in?” she asked.

“No, we can do this right here.”

Ramirez put his foot inside the room.

“Actually,” he said, “we’d rather come in.”

George looked from Avery to Ramirez – to the foot holding the door open. Resolved, he shrugged and backed away.

“Come on in,” he said. “I have nothing to hide.”

The room was large for a double occupancy, with a living space, terrace, two beds on opposite sides of the room, and a kitchen area. One bed was neatly made and piled with clothing and electronic equipment; the other one was a mess.

George sat on the messy bed. Hands beside him, he gripped the mattress. He appeared ready to lurch forward at any moment.

Ramirez stood by the terrace window and admired the view.

“This is some place,” he said. “Only a studio, but grand. Look at this view. Wow. You must love looking out at the river.”

“Let’s get this over with,” George said.

Avery pulled a chair and sat down facing George.

“We’re looking into the murder of Cindy Jenkins,” she said. “We thought you might be able to help us, seeing as you were one of the last people to see her alive.”

“A lot of people saw her alive.”

The words were meant to sound tough, but there was pain in his eyes.

“We were under the impression you liked her.”

“I loved her,” he said. “What does that matter? She’s gone now. No one can help me.”

Ramirez and Avery shared a look.

“What does that mean?” Ramirez asked.

“The way I understand it,” Avery said, “you left the party right after her.”

“I didn’t kill her,” he declared, “if that’s what you mean. I left the party because she practically stumbled out of the door. I was worried about her. I couldn’t find her when I got downstairs. I had to say goodbye to a few people. Ask around. That’s the truth.”

“Why would you need to say goodbye to anyone?” Ramirez asked. “If you were in love with her, and worried, why wouldn’t you just help?”

“Talk to my lawyer.”

“You’re hiding something,” Ramirez pointed out.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Prove it.”

George lowered his gaze and shook his head.

“She ruined my life,” he said. “She ruined my life and now you’re trying to ruin my life too. You think you’re so important.”

Ramirez gave Avery a look as if to say this kid is loco! and moved out to admire the spectacular view from the terrace.

Avery knew better. She’d seen his type before, both as an attorney and a cop. There was something damaged about him, and powerful. Coiled and ready to strike, she thought, just like some of the gang members she’d interviewed: an innocence mixed with indignation that quickly turned to violence. A hand went to her belt. Her fingers slid close to her holster without actually making a move toward the gun.

“What did you mean by that, George?” she asked.

When he looked up, his body was flexed. A wild grimace marred his features. Eyes were wide and lips pulled in. He cringed. On the verge of tears, he sucked it back.

“I matter,” he cried.

A cocky swagger took over. He stood up and extended his arms wide. Tears came and surprised him, and he then he gave in to the tears.

“I matter,” he sobbed and squatted down.

Avery stood up and moved away, hand close to her gun.

“What’s this all about?” Ramirez asked.

“Leave him alone,” Avery said.

Oblivious to the desperation that reeked out of their broken suspect, Ramirez squatted down beside George and said: “Hey, man, it’s OK. If you did it, just admit it. Maybe you’re crazy or something. We can get you help. That’s why we’re here.”

George stiffened and went still.

A whisper came from his lips.

“I’m not crazy,” he said, “I’m just sick of you people.”

As deftly as a trained soldier, a hand went behind his back and pulled a hidden blade. In the next instant, he spun around Ramirez and clinched his neck. He quickly stabbed his right side, just below his chest, and as Ramirez screamed out, George sank back into a sitting position, using Ramirez as a shield.

Avery drew her weapon.

“Don’t move!” she called.

George held the blade to Ramirez’s temple.