Chapter 23
Erickson and Faulkner joined us at the country club. They parked the cruiser beside us, and we shot the breeze through open windows.
When Grant and his foursome approached the green, we hopped out of the car and walked toward the suspect. Grant was sitting pretty about a foot from the pin. But he wouldn’t be sitting pretty for long.
The four of us waited on the cart path.
Grant’s concerned eyes narrowed, and his face tightened.
JD and I smiled and waved.
Grant hopped out of the cart and approached with a concerned face. Uniformed deputies standing around with purposeful looks on their faces was never a good thing. "Is there some kind of problem?"
"You could say that. You're under arrest for the murder of your ex-wife,” I said. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
"What!?"
"You heard me.”
"I didn't kill my wife. Ex-wife. Whatever.”
His friends looked on with wide eyes and uncertain faces.
"Are you going to comply, or are we gonna have to do this the hard way?”
He muttered a few obscenities but complied. Jack slapped the cuffs around his wrists. I read him his rights, and escorted him back to the parking lot, and stuffed him in the squad car.
We followed Erickson and Faulkner to the station where Grant was processed, printed, and put into an interrogation room.
We filled out reports and let Grant cook in the tiny room for a while. By the time we got to him, his brow was slick with sweat, and he fidgeted with nerves.
"I don't understand what's going on.”
"I thought I made that abundantly clear at the time of your arrest.”
"Haven't you been listening? I didn't kill Hannah. I have an alibi. It's not possible.”
"Well, we never actually got to speak with your girlfriend. But even if she vouches for you, you’ve still got a lot of explaining to do.”
His brow wrinkled with confusion. "What are you talking about?”
"I'm talking about the bloody sneakers found in your closet.”
His brow knitted even tighter. "You searched my apartment?”
"A tactical team is there right now going through things.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“Didn’t need one.”
His brow wrinkled. “How did you get access to my sneakers?”
“I’d be more concerned about the fact they’ve got your wife's blood on them.” I may have taken a little liberty with that one. It wasn't conclusive just yet. Bluffing wasn’t against the law.
"Ex-wife.” He stared me down. "How did you get my shoes without a warrant?”
"Your kids found them. They called Carolyn. Carolyn called us.”
"Is that even admissible?”
"I'm afraid it is.”
Grant’s mind raced as he processed everything.
"You’ve got one opportunity to come clean. Cop a plea, and maybe you get a reduced sentence. Maybe you'll actually get out of jail in time to see your kids when they’re hitting 40. I mean, you’ll miss graduations, weddings, grandchildren, but maybe you’ll get to hold them one day.”
Grant didn't like the sound of that. The thought of living behind bars for that long made him lose his color. "There's a perfectly logical explanation for why Hannah's blood is on my shoes.”
"Oh, I'm listening.”