Chapter 27 #2
The phrase true killer is intentional, to get Charlie’s curiosity running.
For him to angrily burst out that the true killer is caught, or to agree and say there is another suspect, or to maybe confirm that he knows the cabdriver didn’t do it, because maybe he, Charlie, did.
You know, just like it happens in soap operas, I think, realizing Charlie’s confession is just as legitimately plausible as a character from Ammi’s favorite daytime television show coming back to life for the fourth time.
“Got nothing, don’t care,” Charlie replies so gruffly and quickly that I wonder why we were even invited in.
“You don’t care if your friend is dead?” Amaya is poking the bear intentionally.
She isn’t getting anywhere with polite questions.
True crime rule number eight: Switch tactics if a witness is reluctant to talk.
Be adaptable. You may come in with a set of questions, but you may not be able to follow them exactly.
Charlie clearly doesn’t consider James a friend. I gulp and prepare myself.
“No, he is not my friend. And no, I don’t care,” Charlie responds, now looking bored.
“May I ask why?” I ask. Amaya can get mad at me later for butting in.
“Well, James abandoned us. He was my best friend.” Charlie’s pale skin starts to grow red, as if the sparks of a fire are starting to rage.
I can tell this man is waiting for an opportunity to yell dramatically, to retell his complaints about James to someone who hasn’t yet heard them.
I think of a fight I had with Alex over something I don’t even remember now.
I was so angry with him that I said that he was just a finance bro wannabe with bad taste.
Did he think he was unique when he said he liked to travel and eat pizza on those dating apps?
I was being a total asshole by accusing Alex of being basic, but people always say more than they intend to when angry.
Luckily, Alex always forgives me, even if that time I had bribe him with birria tacos that I had to travel to Brooklyn for and help him revamp his Raya profile.
The first thing I did was help him get rid of those shirtless photos…
“We started Green World together. Decades ago. We knew as PhD students, long before the rest of the world took interest, that we were killing this beautiful planet that feeds us, that houses us, that gives us air to live and breathe. Trillions of pounds of ice are melting every single year, did you know that?” This sounds like the start of a commercial telling me to donate now to save the planet with the backdrop of the 1-800 number being some polar bears stranded on a block of ice.
Climate change gives me palpable fear for the future. As much as I want to dismiss Charlie as extreme, I do understand his panic. Suddenly, viewing him as a murderer becomes harder.
“How were you abandoned?” Amaya asks, her tone less accusatory and more conversational, following my lead.
“Well, I won’t lie, James was the brains of the operation.
He was really good at planning, and keeping track of our money, and doing certain things so we wouldn’t get caught, which I know sounds sort of bad.
When we’re taking on these Goliath corporations, we have to be savvy.
Green World was started because other so-called environmental organizations barely do shit.
They don’t shake things up. They’re fine with the status quo.
Drastic results only come by drastic action.
” Now a vein is bulging in Charlie’s head.
He looks like he is gonna go full Joe Rogan on us.
In a sudden reversal of my previous position, his anger makes me wonder if he could have done this.
Why is it so hard to read people? Charlie pauses and takes a swig of whatever is in his carton.
I wish I had coffee—I’d even take the coffee that resembles toxic sludge from that bodega on Houston Street to get through this conversation.
All cabdrivers flock there for the legal stimulant that is too much caffeine.
“And he sold out because he moved to New Frontier?” I ask, hoping he’ll continue.
“YES! And, look, even before that, he was scaling back. He was saying that we don’t have to shut down businesses entirely, because that takes away jobs, blah blah blah.
Well, you know what else takes away jobs?
Killing the environment and all of us along with it.
He was making Green World less radical. He wanted to work with these companies to create environmentally sustainable solutions, and I wanted to gas bomb and protest.” Charlie takes a deep breath before continuing.
“I realize I may sound crazy to you. I wanted to glue my hands to roads and the fronts of buildings.” The thought of how painful it must be to unglue a hand makes me shudder.
At least the person doing the ungluing doesn’t need to worry about being swatted away…
“You have to take bold actions if you want people to pay attention. If you’re not taking drastic measures, then you might as well give up completely.
I never wanted to hurt anyone physically, but if that’s an unfortunate consequence, then so be it.
Billions will be dead if we don’t reverse climate change now.
” Charlie finishes his carton, which says something about recycled water on the label, in a final loud slurp.
He tosses it at the wastepaper basket, missing it and causing the carton to go crashing to the ground by Amaya’s feet with a smack.
I appreciate the irony of the single-use item.
“What do you mean you never wanted to hurt someone physically?” Amaya asks. Was a confession coming? Could it be this easy?
“Well, the last rally that James and I participated in, I tried to organize. Because I wanted to prove to myself, to James, and to the entire organization that I wasn’t some idiot piece of shit.
Unfortunately, it went badly. One of our guys inhaled too much smoke and was trampled on by people trying to flee the building.
His family is suing us, and they’re still deciding whether to charge us for criminally negligent manslaughter. ”
I know from my true crime podcast that manslaughter is when someone dies but you didn’t necessarily intend for it to happen. Under Charlie’s watch, at least one person was killed. He is already involved in someone’s death. Is it a stretch to conclude he’s involved in another?
I want to ask more questions about that incident. Did Charlie set fire to a building? How exactly did the man die? Before I can ask, Charlie continues to speak, as if in a much-needed therapy session. I’m waiting for a comfortable-looking chaise to materialize.
“If that wasn’t bad enough, we’re also in the hole money-wise.
It’s why my office is now headquartered here, where a bunch of us live.
We have no money and so many bills to pay.
” Charlie covers his face with his hands.
I don’t particularly care for Charlie. His thoughtless planning has resulted in at least one death, but I understand the stress that money problems can bring and the pain of feeling like your life is falling apart.
“I’m really sorry that you’re dealing with all of this.” Amaya nods sympathetically. She is used to seeing people after they’ve done horrible things but she still needs to find the basic humanity in them too.
“I’m sorry too,” Charlie says. “All our troubles started when James left us. He abandoned us for the very thing we had literally spent our entire lives hell-bent on destroying. I hope neither of you ever have to experience that kind of intense betrayal. And last I saw he was in business with his girlfriend, who runs a PLASTICS COMPANY.” He screams the last two words.
“Girlfriend?” I ask.
“Yep. Shirley Lee.” I’ve heard that name before. She was the woman in the newspaper I saw at Curry in a Hurry. She was his girlfriend?
“To be frank with you, I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
The sentence hangs in the air for a few seconds before Charlie continues.
“Actually, I am sorry he’s dead, because you can’t sue a dead person for damages.
Honestly, a part of me thinks he deserved what came to him.
” Hearing it the second time around, Charlie’s ill wishes for his former friend are no less jarring.
“Did you kill him?” Amaya asks, her voice a whisper, so thin and soft it almost doesn’t make it to my ears.
Charlie takes a deep breath and wipes his brow. I close my eyes, steeling myself for a confession that I’ve waited what’s felt like an eternity for. Everything we have done has led up to this moment.
“No, but I wish I had,” Charlie says. A confession from him would not, it seems, be that easy.
Amaya and I get up to leave, and Amaya drops her pen. I look at Charlie for a second, trying to discern the truth from his appearance alone, but he gives nothing away.
—
I am glad we are finally out of that crowded and claustrophobic place.
As the kids on the internet would say, “The vibe was bad.” I learned the phrase from shuttling some teenagers who were filming themselves detailing the top ten things Gen Zers shouldn’t do.
Number one: Don’t wear skinny jeans. Number two: Don’t wear ankle socks.
Number three: Don’t put your hair in a side part…
So far, I’m three for three in being a loser.
The children are our future, but they are also a little annoying.
The sun shines brightly and I squint, my eyes still adjusting from the darkness of the house.
“Well, he undoubtedly has a motive,” Amaya says. “He seemed very angry.”
“It’s true.” I think of my true crime podcasts.
This guy would be suspect number one. I pause, remembering the woman.
“This is going to sound crazy. I think I recognized the woman in the house. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s the woman from the intersection, the one I almost hit.
” I pause, taking in Amaya’s look of bewilderment.
I try to look serious for this next part.
“Which would mean…that Charlie staged the whole thing. The woman runs in front of me so I stop, and then I get out of the car, giving Charlie the opportunity to stab James.” The motive, the means, and the opportunity.
I know I sound a little unhinged, but this does make sense.
“Okay, Columbo,” Amaya says with a smile.
I stare at her quizzically.
“Oh god, are you too young to know Columbo? Peter Falk as an LAPD detective. Normally I’m against copaganda, but my parents watched it so much, and then when I was old enough I always watched reruns.” She looks at me expectantly.
“No, I’ve seen it…” It’s an unconvincing lie. Amaya and I are probably close to the same age—but having grown up in Sri Lanka, I don’t always get the same references as some people, especially ones that predate my arrival to the US.
“Okay, sure,” Amaya says, reading me like a book. “I can’t imagine it’s the woman from the intersection. It’s probably someone who looks like her.”
“Maybe…” Now I’m starting to doubt my own memory. I had only seen the woman briefly, both on the street and now. It’s possible it was a different person and my mind is trying to find connections where there aren’t any. But I can’t shake that I’ve seen the woman somewhere before.
“Besides, the footage doesn’t show anything happening at that intersection. No one in or out of your taxi.”
Check and mate. I’m mistaken then. I switch gears.
“How do we catch him if he’s not going to confess?”
Amaya rifles through her bag for just a second before producing a used paper carton. It takes me a moment to register that it is the one that Charlie was drinking out of. It’s been carefully placed in a plastic bag, meaning Amaya wasn’t just grabbing it to recycle it.
“Is that…?”
“Yes, Charlie’s drink carton. Got it when I dropped my pen.” Amaya puts dropped in air quotes.
“You’re going to be able to pull DNA from that, aren’t you?” My eyes light up. Amaya is brilliant.
“A lesson learned from the school of true crime podcasts?”
I nod. “Is it legal?” I ask as I stare at the piece of trash.
“Yes, surreptitious collection is legal when the item is discarded. You can take something someone throws away free and clear. We could have looked in his trash, but I really didn’t want to do that.”
“They probably compost, anyways,” I say with a little laugh. Besides, how would we have known which trash was Charlie’s? Grabbing something that we saw him use was the right move.
“They say there is DNA on the weapon that matches yours, but maybe he happened to leave DNA behind? And did you notice all the scratches on his arms? Maybe they got into a struggle?”
I hadn’t noticed the scratches and am grateful for Amaya’s keen eye.
“If there are scratches, then maybe fingernail scrapings from James will provide a DNA profile consistent with Charlie’s? They almost always take fingernail scrapings from the victims. It’ll be the proof we need,” I say, not sure if I’m stating this or asking a question.
“You’re absolutely correct,” Amaya responds, smiling like a teacher at her best pupil. I’ve never been a teacher’s pet—that was always my brother—so the validation feels especially nice. “Touch DNA could still reveal something.”
“Because when you touch stuff, sometimes you leave your DNA behind in skin cells, for example,” I say like I’ve been called on for an answer in a classroom.
I am privately thrilled I know what this is, even in the most rudimentary sense.
It’s gratifying to see what I assumed was useless knowledge come to the forefront of a conversation.
Amaya smiles. “Damn, Siriwathi. Are you sure you didn’t go to law school?”
Instead of acknowledging the compliment, I ask, “Do you think his girlfriend, Shirley Lee, is somehow connected to this?”
“Maybe.” Amaya shrugs. “She’s worth talking to.”
Amaya grabs her phone to call a taxi, and she gets a text message a few seconds later. We read the message on the screen.
Stop investigating or someone gets hurt. Stay away from Green World and all others.