by Detective Tamara Grimaldi, Homicide, Metro
The first time I met Savannah Martin, she was sitting in an interview room in police headquarters in downtown Nashville, looking like she was about to pass out. One of those perfect Southern Belles with her perfect hair, her perfect make-up, and her perfect clothes. I figured she had a perfect family in a perfect home somewhere, with a perfect boyfriend in the wings.
Except the hair was a little mussed, and the make-up had run. Even the clothes looked a little worse for wear. She was pale, shaky, her complexion almost green. I had to get her a Coke from the machine down the hall to settle her stomach. Little Miss Priss.
She became a little more interesting once I realized she knew the victim and disliked her. But it wasn’t until we started talking about the guy she was with that things started getting good.
Where would a nice girl like that meet a guy like him?
And the worst thing? I’m starting to listen to her. This sweet Southern Belle I thought wouldn’t have a thought in her head beyond clothes and catching a husband, is making me rethink the way I handle my case and the ex-con I know is in it up to his neck. Three months ago, I would have hauled him into interview and kept him there until he confessed, because I’d be convinced he was guilty.
Let’s just say he’s still walking around a free man. Not sure for how long, but I’m giving him enough rope to hang himself. Or not, as the case may be.
I just hope he knows how lucky he is. And that he has enough sense not to do anything to tarnish that shiny trust she has in him. Because if he does, he’ll be answering to me. And he won’t like what I do to him.
Never saw that one coming the first time I met them both.
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