I pulled into the Sunshine Retirement Home and marveled at what a dump it was. The landscaping was overgrown and weeds had taken over. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven, old roots trying to make their way into the light.
I checked my watch and reminded myself I only had two hours before The Mad Bomber lit off another explosion. I just needed Grissom to tell me what the hell was missing in his report. Every intern I could pull was looking for page 7 in the records department in case it got mislabeled, misfiled, or misplaced. No dice so far.
I walked in and the smell of the antiseptic hit me like a punch, nearly making my eyes water. I heard someone shuffling down the hall and the filthy fluorescent lights flickered a bit. A group of residents wore ratty bathrobes and sat around watching a rerun on a black and white television with the sound as loud as it could go. Nurse Mary was at the front desk to greet me with a glare and huff.
“Can I help you?” She was already tired of me.
“I need to talk to Andy Grissom.”
“Are you family?”
“We spoke on the phone. I’m Detective Bauer with the NYPD.” I showed her my badge, and she barely glanced at it and folded her thick arms.
“Only family can see Mr. Grissom. It’s in his chart.” She didn’t look at his chart.
“I get that—but I need to ask him something. Two minutes.”
“You’ll need a warrant.” She shot me a look. “Like I told you on the phone.”
“How about you just give me the room number?” I returned fire with my own glare. “Or I just make a call and wait outside.”
“A call?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I pointed around the place, pointing out cracks in the paint and the mess of paperwork behind her. “Just one call.”
She scowled at me, but I could see the fear behind her eyes.
“Room one-thirty-four. Fifteen minutes. His wife visits soon.” She pointed to her left with little effort she could.
I slapped the counter hard just to give her a jolt and made my way down the hall. I checked my watch and found the room.
Grissom was sitting in a chair looking out the window. His hair was combed and I could smell his aftershave. The walls were gray and blue, colors not seen this century. I made a note to check my pension and maybe start another retirement account. Maybe invest in real estate. Anything not to wind up in a room like this. Poor Grissom gambled away most of what he had on the ponies and Las Vegas—won him a first-class ticket here.
I sat down next to him.
“Hello.” He said with no recognition behind his eyes. I wouldn’t have called Grissom a friend. He was on his way out when I was coming up, but we knew of each other, small talk over a couple of drinks.
“Andy. It’s me—Charlie Bauer. We worked together in Major Crimes for a second.”
He stared at me and I could see from his eyes he was trying to find me in his memory, but the library upstairs must be a fucking mess like Nurse Mary’s desk.
“We worked the Lombok case together. The one where the guy drowned his wife in the bathtub when he found she was banging his brother.”
His eyes came alive. “Lombok. You asked him why he didn’t kill his brother and he said—“
“Cause he was family.” We both said in unison and a smile. His countenance changed in front of me, like he woke up from a coma. I wanted to reminisce about all of those cases like we were at O’Malley’s, but I could hear the ticking grow louder and louder.
“I gotta ask you about Robert Miller. You caught him back in 1975.” It was his biggest case. You couldn’t get a paper without seeing Andy’s face on it.
He drifted a bit. “I’m tired. Can I rest for a second?”
I didn’t have a second. I patted him on the hand, “Everyone loved how you got him to talk. You were the best interrogator we ever saw.” He came back a bit, eyes lighting up. “But there’s a page missing from the interrogation—the one with Robert Miller. Every copy is missing page seven. Even the original file is gone.”
“I hated that motherfucker.” Andy said. “He killed all those kids on the bus. All those parents broken” Rage was holding him here. I’m fucking sorry, Andy. I really am.
“He’s back. That asshole is back, Andy.”
His eyes went wide and tears started to form. “I think you should go. I’m no good right now.”
“I can’t go until you tell me what the hell is on page seven. I’m trying to find him. He’s going to do it again. Come on man. I just need you to remember. Page seven. What the hell was on that transcript?”
“Just go. Leave me alone.” He turned and looked for a nurse, anyone to get me out of the room. I didn’t want to play hardball with this guy. He’d been through enough, but the ticking wasn’t going to slow down if I played nice.
I grabbed his arm and pinched, and I pinched hard and with my other hand I covered his mouth.
I got up close to him and winced at how he stunk underneath the aftershave. “What was so fucking bad you tore out goddamn evidence against this monster? You know he got out on appeal because of that? The evidence looked tampered with and it was. Cough it up, Grissom. This is on you.” I took his skin and twisted as hard as I could.
His eyes watered and he let out a whimper, “Bottom drawer.” I let him go.
I pulled open his bedside drawer and found a massive, pristine, untouched file on Robert Miller. I opened the file on his bed while he wept behind me.
(Page Seven)
Grissom: So what, you think you’re tough. Blowing up kids. Jesus Christ, the hell that is going to be designed for you.
Miller: I’m saving them. Don’t you get that? I’m saving them all.
Grissom: From what?
Miller: From monsters like you Grissom. I see you. I see what you do in the dark on your computer when your family is asleep. BigBigMan43. You always have the freshest pictures. You are so popular. Everyone says how delicious they are.
I’m making sure none of you demons can touch those angels. So I send them away. Don’t you feel shame about it, Detective? Or are you just mad that I took your playthings away?
—Interview ends.— 1:34 AM.
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