A short story about two men and a dead body.

Goodwin entered the room with a feigned sense of uncertainty.  It had been several weeks since he last used this interview room, but the gameplan he had established over the years remained firmly in place.

He closed the door behind him with his leather portfolio under his arm, juggling a ballpoint pen and a cup of hot tea in the other hand.  He extended a finger to flip up the red plastic switch on the wall, as he had done many times before.

But while the physical aspects of Goodwin’s routine were carried out with exacting sameness, his thoughts wandered back to the last suspect he interviewed in this room.  How his rigid certainty traumatized a young man and knocked his life sideways.  Goodwin knew that he was the proximate cause of a person’s suffering and, despite what he told his well-meaning colleagues, didn’t intend to let himself off the hook.

Goodwin crossed to the table where sat John Holloway, a man in his early thirties.  Holloway sat at the table with an upright posture, his hands folded in front of him.  His eyes met Goodwin’s as the man sat down across from him.

“Mr. Holloway, thank you for waiting,” Goodwin said.

Holloway reflexively lowered his hands to his lap.  From his background check, Goodwin knew that Holloway had spent time in the military.  He couldn’t help but see remnants of that experience in the man’s mannerisms.

“We appreciate you coming down to talk to us.  You understand we’re just trying to locate your roommate.”

“Of course,” said Holloway.  “I’m happy to help as best as I can.”

Holloway spoke with a measured tone, articulating his words with precision.

“But like I said on the phone,” Holloway said, “I haven’t heard from him in over a week.”

The first hint of defensiveness, Goodwin thought.  The degree to which Holloway actually volunteers details would support Goodwin’s suspicions.

“Did that alarm you,” Goodwin said, “that you hadn’t heard from him for so long?”

“No, not particularly.”

Goodwin opened his folder flat on the table.  Holloway glanced at the pad of notes it contained, but made no attempt to look closer.

“Your neighbors said they’ve overheard some loud arguments between you two,” Goodwin said.

“Yeah, well, Jason is a very difficult person to get along with,” Holloway said.

The suspect’s restraint was noted.

Jason Ulrich’s girlfriend had reported him missing on a Friday after he failed to show for their date the night before.  She told the police that his car was parked in front of his house, but that nobody answered the door.  Three days later, she persuaded them to run his phone and bank records and they found that Jason had been digitally invisible since the previous Tuesday.  No friends or co-workers had heard from him in days.

A patrol unit was dispatched to the neighborhood to canvas the residents.  The middle-aged couple living next door reported that they often overheard loud voices emanating from the house and that Jason Ulrich had earned a reputation for being a disruptive neighbor.  The wife noted that she had once seen Ulrich walking around in his backyard, talking loudly to himself.  The husband thought that Ulrich took phone calls outside, but in retrospect couldn’t be sure that Ulrich ever had a phone.  That guy is crazy, the wife said.

The widower living across the street said he remembered hearing a particularly loud argument on Tuesday the 5th.  He knew that it was a Tuesday because he had noticed that their garbage cans were missing from the curb the following day.  Ulrich always took out his trash Wednesday morning, he said.

While privately uncertain that there was any proof that a crime had even been committed, the police still succeeded in gathering enough circumstantial evidence to acquire a search warrant for the property and the vehicle parked out front.

Goodwin tilted his head forward to look at Holloway from the tops of his eyes.  Knowing that his suspect had military experience gave him pause.  Though he had not served himself, Goodwin knew several cops who were military veterans and found that they didn’t always bear the experience well.

“Your neighbors say they heard a particularly loud argument on Tuesday the 5th,” Goodwin said.

Holloway drew his brows together, as he parsed the information.  His voice took a rising, indifferent tone.

“Okay.”

“A violent argument,” Goodwin added.  “They heard loud voices and the sound of objects breaking.”

Goodwin glanced down at his notes, though he already knew the facts well.  He wanted to convey that he wasn’t being overtly accusatory so early in the conversation.

“And yet, you say that you haven’t seen him in over a week,” he said.

“That is correct, said Holloway.  “I left town Saturday the 2nd.”

“Are you sure that you are remembering that correctly?

“Yes, I am quite certain.”

Goodwin paused for a moment, a tactic he typically employed deliberately.  But this time he applied it to himself, assuring that he didn’t become accusatory too fast.  He spoke facts.

“Mr. Holloway, you should know that we have secured a search warrant for the premises,’ he said.

“I drove by the house on my way here,” Holloway said..  “I saw your cars parked outside.”

Goodwin knew that Holloway knew.

“We have deployed our cadaver dogs to the location,” Goodwin said.

A bemused grin escaped from Holloway’s mouth.  Holloway knew that Goodwin knew that Holloway knew.

“Cadaver dogs?” Holloway said.

“And the cadaver dogs have detected the presence of human remains in your backyard,” Goodwin stated.

Holloway leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Human remains,”  Holloway said.  “Well, I definitely wouldn’t know anything about that.”

When crime scene investigators first entered the house on Fallen Timbers Road there was an initial sense that they were viewing a home quickly evacuated for a real estate viewing.  Clean, but not particularly neat, the gently-used furnishings and idiosyncratic decorations gave the impression that they were chosen randomly, without the discernment of a thoughtful adult.  It was only after they examined the bedrooms of Ulrich and Holloway that they gained a fuller appreciation for their living dynamic.

Ulrich’s room contained the detritus of a chaotic lifestyle, the belongings of seemingly five different people scattered about recklessly.  Holloway, on the other hand, was a tidy man with rigidly organized belongings, not a single item out of place.  If one got the impression that he had few possessions, it was simply because his closets and drawers were used for their intended purpose.

The investigators saw no visible signs of violence, no broken objects, no hastily cleaned-up crime scenes.  After spending two hours inspecting the premises, the supervisor ordered his crew to inspect the sinks for blood and seized the laptop computer sitting on the dining room table.

It was only when they sought out the laundry machines at the rear of the house that they noticed that the backyard was in disarray.  Ancient yard furniture and odd gardening tools lay about and large swatches of dirt where no horticulture appeared to be planned.  One cop said to another that it looked as though somebody could’ve been buried back there and a K-9 unit was ordered forthwith.

Goodwin turned in his seat and leaned forward.  He gazed at Holloway intently.  His guardrails were starting to recede.

“You wouldn’t know how a human body could end up buried in your backyard?” Goodwin asked.

“I never go back there,” Holloway said.  “I haven’t set foot in the backyard since I moved in six months ago.”

“And you’ve never heard any commotion back there?  Never heard anybody digging a grave?”

“Heard anybody digging a grave?” Holloway parroted, his eyes squinting in disdain.  He struggled to find an objective tone.  “My room is in the front of the house.  How much noise would one make when digging a grave?”

“And how long ago was this grave dug?  Can your dogs tell you that?”  Holloway retorted.  His discipline was failing.

Goodwin turned to a blank page in his notebook and clicked the top of his pen.

“Why don’t you account for your whereabouts for the past two weeks,” Goodwin said.  He added a sing-song tone to encourage his suspect’s haughtiness.

“My whereabouts?” Holloway repeated.

Holloway shifted forward in his seat as if catching himself from falling over.  He took a moment before answering.

“My army buddy has a cabin up north.  We meet up there to go fishing.”

Goodwin focused on the details, having already gleaned the general facts.

“I went up on the 2nd, got back into town last night,” Holloway finished.

“It’s peaceful up there?” asked Goodwin.

“Very,” said Holloway.

Goodwin flipped back a few pages and read from his notes.

“A remote, lakeside wonderland,” Goodwin said.  “According to the real estate listing.”  Goodwin allowed a moment for Holloway to appreciate that he had done his homework.

“Sounds like a good place for destroying evidence,” said Goodwin.

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about destroying evidence,” said Holloway.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Well, if I did, there wouldn’t be any evidence of that.”

Holloway couldn’t help but to allow the slightest grin.  He’s pleased with himself, Goodwin observed.

Goodwin continued.  “The search history on your computer is filled with questions about removing blood stains.  And disposing of human bodies.”

“I don’t own a computer,” said Holloway.  “The only computer in the house belongs to Jason.”

“You don’t have access to it?”

“He has a password on it.”

“The password was Jason’s birthday.”

“April something?”

“November.”

“I would’ve thought he was an Aries.”

Both Holloway and his army buddy were aware that the security system at the friend’s cabin would accurately record the time of Holloway’s arrival.  There would be no reason to hide that fact when the police called.

Similarly, they both knew that the motion-activated camera facing the gravel driveway would document the comings and goings of Holloway’s personal vehicle.  Whether the local police would have easy access to freeway traffic cameras, or security cameras affixed to businesses in town, was unknown.

However, it was clearly known that no surveillance systems were installed near the dock adjacent to the cabin, where the friend’s fishing boat was typically left afloat as long as weather allowed.  There would be no physical evidence proving or disproving that Holloway didn’t spend the entirety of his vacation in the cabin or on the lake.

And so for some time, Holloway understood that he had a drastic solution available to him, if he should ever need it.  If, for example, he would ever need to make his disruptive housemate disappear, if the incessant chaos ever became too much for him to handle, Holloway knew how it could be done. He had a ready-made alibi with a secret backdoor that allowed him to walk away whenever he chose.

The door to the interview room opened and another man entered, wearing a polo shirt tucked into pressed khakis.  He carried a folded piece of paper over to Goodwin with a stern look on his face.  Goodwin took the note and read it, as his colleague turned and left.

Holloway watched carefully, looking for clues that this was an orchestrated tactic, or if the detective had actually obtained new information.

Goodwin flipped to a page in his folder, read the folded note again, then tucked it away.  He took a moment to pick the right words.

“How tall is your roommate?” Goodwin asked.

“Probably about five foot ten,” said Holloway.

“His driver’s license says he’s six foot.  Brown hair, blue eyes,” said Goodwin.

Holloway waited.  Nothing to confirm nor deny.

“The body we recovered from your backyard is six foot four,” Goodwin said.  “African American.”

Goodwin finally knew what Holloway knew.  Jason Ulrich was not buried in his backyard.

“The description matches a man who went missing six months ago,” said Goodwin.  “A man named Marcus Williams.”

Holloway leaned in, thoughts flashing rapidly behind his eyes.  The detective knew he was smart enough to connect the dots.

“That’s Jason’s old roommate,” Holloway said.  “We still get his mail at the house.”

While the shores of Neumann Lake were largely occupied by private dwellings, many with their own private boat docks, the lake remained accessible to the general public by a pair of municipal boat ramps where any person could launch or load their boat.  Utilized by locals and tourists alike, the sight of John Holloway anchoring his friend’s fishing boat near either of these ramps would not have attracted anybody’s attention.

Likewise, no reasonable person would notice Holloway walking 1.7 miles down Neumann Road to rent a truck and trailer with his friend’s company credit card.  Just another weekend warrior with few reasons to interact with potential witnesses.  There simply would be no reason to think that he was carrying out a complex plan to rid the world of Jason Ulrich.

Were he ever made aware of such a plan, Jason Ulrich most certainly would have been proud to have inspired it.  A powderkeg of manic energy, Ulrich demanded attention in every room he entered, particularly in those into which he was not invited.  A histrionic personality paired with a shallow intelligence, he was prone to making grand pronouncements on topics for which he could demonstrate no real understanding.  His false brilliance and matching arrogance was an unavoidable disruption to every path that he crossed.

Whether Ulrich actually believed any of the esoteric ramblings that he continually spouted was of no concern to Holloway, just as he had no interest in determining what sort of arcane rituals Ulrich was conducting in the backyard.  Were Holloway to learn at a later date that Ulrich was somehow involved in the disappearance of his previous housemate, beyond simply driving away yet another reasonable person, well, that would confirm in Holloway’s mind that Ulrich was a menace to be disposed of.

So while the neighbors back at Fallen Timbers Road are keen to observe loud arguments or unkempt lawns, they are unlikely to notice when their quiet neighbor John briefly parked a fishing boat on their street at 11:24 p.m.  Likewise, they would pay no mind to the sound of that respectable, clean-cut man pushing a 96-gallon municipal garbage can to the curb the night before their weekly trash pickup.

They also would have no reason to suspect the garbage bin contained the remains of their least favorite neighbor, Jason Ulrich.

Goodwin re-entered the room, reading from an open file folder.

“Marcus Williams was reported missing last July,” Goodwin volunteered.  “An investigation at the time revealed no evidence of foul play.”

Goodwin glanced at the table, finding his chair, but not at his suspect.  Holloway saw the change of focus, the shift in concentration.

“Det. Sanders interviewed your roommate and found him to be less than helpful.”  Goodwin resumed his place at the table and finally looked up at Holloway. “He wouldn’t consent to a search of your home,” Goodwin said.

Holloway nodded with a solemn expression on his face.  He sensed that the detective had lost his professional guile.

“I’m not surprised that Jason wouldn’t cooperate with your investigation,” Holloway said slowly.

Goodwin closed the file folder and tucked it under his leather portfolio.  He turned his gaze back to his notes.

“Your army buddy says his security system shows that you arrived at the cabin at 6:24 p.m. on Saturday the second,” Goodwin said.

Goodwin’s words were stilted, his rhythm no longer smooth.  Holloway listened for details, already knowing the facts.

“Cameras in the area show your car driving through town on 3 occasions:  when you arrived on the 2nd, when you went to the grocery store on the 6th, and when you left town on the 14th,” Goodwin said.

The detective was selling himself on his suspicions more than expecting a response from Holloway.  Holloway let the man talk.

“But we have no record of your cell phone pinging any towers in the area,” Goodwin finally added.

“I don’t use a cell phone when I go fishing,” Holloway said.  “That would defeat the purpose of going fishing.”

Goodwin straightened in his seat and placed his hands flat on the tabletop.  Holloway watched him intently, waiting for his next words.

“You don’t know anything about how the body of Marcus Williams ended up in your backyard,” Goodwin said.

“I never met Marcus Williams,” said Holloway.

“You moved in after he disappeared,” Goodwin noted.

“I had only been in town a few weeks before I moved in,” Holloway said.  “It sounds like Marcus Williams went missing when I was stationed out-of-state.”

Goodwin nodded unconsciously.  The military could easily confirm Holloway’s location at the time.

Holloway titled his head towards the detective. “It seems to me,” Holloway said, “that the person you should be talking to is my roommate Jason.  He has a much stronger connection to Marcus Williams.”

“Your neighbors told us that Jason has a long history of disruptive behavior,” said Goodwin.

“He’s a very difficult person to get along with,” said Holloway.

“And yet you continue to live with him,” said the detective.

“Sometimes life doesn’t give you many options,” said Holloway.  “That’s why I go fishing.” Goodwin offered a polite grin, having nothing left to say.  Holloway waited for the formal declaration.  It never came. Holloway pushed his chair back from the table and stood.

“Perhaps after you’ve located Jason you’ll have an opportunity to go fishing yourself,” said Holloway.

“I’m just sorry that I couldn’t help you find him.”