A/N: Think of this as a detective/crime drama with a little twist. This is a ten-chapter story. Over the next several days I'll try to post at least one chapter per day. Consider each day between updates as a really long commercial break...lol. This first chapter lays the foundation on which this entire story is built. Please enjoy...Thank you.
Chapter 1 – Out of Focus
"Rick…" she whispered his name; her voice laced with the intense pleasure that was brought out when they made love. His hands were magical in the way they could arouse every cell in her body with the slightest touch.
The only time that name fell from her lips was when they were physically and intimately intertwined. She always said it quietly; spoken directly into his ear. An extra surge of blood rushed to his manhood. The one-word declaration always turned him on. He had a steely erection that became even more rigid. He increased his speed. He was so deep...so deep she could only moan.
"I love you so much baby...dammit you feel so good," his confession was hoarse and passionate.
He ran his hands down her soft skin. Her sweaty soft curves exciting him as much as they did the very first time he tasted her. His body moved slowly; each stroke measured and determined.
"Ahhh…R-Rick," she moaned as his hands sent electricity through her body. Sweat dripped onto her face from his hair. He gripped her tighter.
Iridescent light from the full moon drifted into the bedroom through a small window. He stared at her; watching the expressions of ecstasy on her face sent. He was too overcome to do anything other than kiss her neck and taste the salty sweet perspiration.
"Baby…" she wrapped her arms around him. Both of their bodies were hot and slick. Her hands slid down to his back.
"You're m-my world..." he declared, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck; sinking deeper into the depths of her.
It was typical for most people, especially younger people, to dismiss him. He was an older man with thinning white hair, polyester pants, and a shirt that didn't generally match the outdated pants. Yes, most would just dismiss the old-school detective.
Hershel Greene stopped caring about what others thought of him when he reached age fifty. He was now seventy-one years old. What he'd forgotten about detective work could fill a book; what he remembered could fill ten. Neither up-and-coming detectives nor more seasoned detectives could match his attention to detail and natural intuition.
It was true that sometimes he forgot which level he parked his car on. Sometimes he forgot the last names of previous work colleagues. Sometimes he even forgot that he wasn't supposed to smoke his favorite cigar – which was more a case of stubbornness than it was forgetfulness. Sometimes he had aches in parts of his body that he didn't even know existed a few years ago – pain like a son-of-a-gun at times.
Despite the ever-progressing ailments brought on by aging, he knew detective work better than a room full of the best criminologists in the world.
Detective Greene retired from the Atlanta Police Department nearly ten years ago. The department called it a compassionate separation of service. The intuitive investigator called it forced retirement. His age was never mentioned during the discussions he had with his bosses. They glossed over what they were doing; wrapping it around a gold watch and lively party. The distraction didn't work. He was clear that the action was akin to being fired.
The newly retired law man spent the first year of his forced-freedom traveling. Dale, his best friend for fifty years, bought a two-room mobile home and convinced him to travel the countryside. The two retirees, along with their wives, managed to make it to thirty-two states before they were all ready to kill each other; thus ending their tour of the United States.
The next half-year was spent binge watching old television shows and daytime court dramas. He'd become a true couch potato. Were it not for his continuous arguments with the defendants on his favorite TV legal dramas, it would've been difficult to tell the difference between him and an actual potato.
After doing nothing loudly for months, both his wife and best friend convinced him to start his own agency. It didn't take much convincing. Detective work was his life. It made perfect sense. He had a natural ability to dissect clues and then assemble them into a coherent picture. Every coworker he'd ever had called it his superhero power.
The perks to having his own private investigation agency were limitless - Almost.
When he made the decision to start the Greene Private Investigation Agency he took a lot into consideration – his experience, his connections and the changing times.
Hershel Greene was by no means an arrogant man. There was no consternation in his admission that times had changed. The rules of being a successful gumshoe detective had changed.
The longtime detective was honest and humble enough to recognize that he was not up to date on all the new lingo that existed. He needed associates who were good with technical surveillance; among other things. What used to take him weeks of beating the pavement to find, could now be retrieved in minutes. It was with that mindset that he decided to bring on a couple of partners.
His daughter Margaret – which no one called her but him – had gotten her Bachelor's Degree in Journalism and her Master's Degree in Criminology. Like many millennials she was unsure of what direction she wanted to go. She found herself in the same career quagmire that many college graduates find themselves in.
Maggie had, however, inherited her father's abilities to spot BS from a mile away. As a kid she was the one who pointed out the secrets behind the magician's tricks or the punchline before the comedian could reveal it. The backlash from her obnoxiousness was that she became the kid no one wanted at their birthday party.
As an adult, she knew her way around social media and microcomputer manipulation in a way that would make both Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg proud. Hershel convinced her to work with him until she decided what she wanted to do. That was eight years ago.
The third and final member of the agency was Noah Horvath, Dale's genius grandson. The young man was plucked out of college by the FBI at the ripe-old-age of fifteen. He assisted them with computer mapping, creating new algorithms that were unbreakable, and hacking into the networks of some of the government's biggest adversaries. His work alone led to the imprisonment of hundreds.
Noah's proudest accomplishment was helping the agency dissolve a few of the biggest human trafficking rings in the country. When he turned twenty-one years old he quit the agency. His explanation for the drastic move was that he wanted to just 'max and relax' for a while. He agreed to work with the Greene's on a part-time basis when he wasn't chillin.'
Over the past few years the Greene Private Investigation Agency had become a force to be reckoned with in the industry.
The agency worked with not just the police department and surrounding sheriff's departments, they also worked with major corporations throughout the country; locating not just people but missing items such as bank accounts and jewelry.
The Greene Agency sat in the very eclectic downtown Atlanta area.
Inside their spacious office were two inner offices. The large common outer office had a large oak reception desk and two antique style chairs picked out by Mrs. Greene. She insisted that the office needed to feel warm and welcoming. Hershel in turn insisted that every detective should have a brown Naugahyde couch. The worn piece of furniture sat proudly amongst its more fashionable and upscale brethren in the middle of the office.
The older Greene had a very utilitarian design for his personal office. A simple metal desk, file cabinet, and two not so comfortable chairs for clients made up the décor of the room. He refused to allow his wife to insert her 'girly' style into his private space.
Maggie was more than fine with her step-mother's decorating flair. Her private office had an overly embellished look replete with hydrangea plants, an overstuffed dark blue couch and colorful portraits on the wall.
When Hershel's daughter Beth was not at school, generally during the summer months, she would handle the receptionist duties. The rest of the year Hershel and Maggie tended to rely on Talent Tree. It was a company where businesses could get temporary help.
The Agency had just finished one of their biggest cases. It was a misappropriation of funds case. A top executive from a Fortune 500 Company had stolen over five million dollars. Though under indictment, the man had skipped bail and was on the run. The skilled sleuth with Blood Hound like abilities followed the trail of bread crumbs. It took him less than two weeks to locate the physical whereabouts of the white-collar criminal. Maggie and Noah were, in turn, able to locate the hidden bank account in the Caymans. It was a major win for The Greene Agency.
Beth was filing the last bits of information on the monumental case when she heard the door open. She turned around to see a thin woman with dark shoulder-length hair standing there nervously clutching her purse.
Beth groaned internally at the thought of yet another person coming in to hire her father and sister. The Mercantile case had just ended, and she really needed a break. Thinking about spending time at the beach with her friends had put a smile on her face for the past couple of hours. The goal was to get through the mornings tedious chores with as little stress as possible.
Beth walked back to her desk and politely smiled at the newcomer.
"May I help you?" The youngest member of the Greene family asked.
The apprehensive woman looked around the office, clearly unsure as to whether she wanted to be there. She hesitated before answering.
"Is Mr. Greene available?" She reticently inquired.
"Was he expecting you?" Beth asked the question, though she already knew the answer. Among other things, her job entailed setting up the daily calendar for both Maggie and Hershel. The lead investigator had no one on the schedule for the day.
"No, um, I don't have an appointment...but I would like to speak with him...if he has some time," she made no attempt to hide her crestfallen expression.
Beth took a seat at her desk. The two offices behind her were presently empty. Neither her dad nor sister had made it to the office yet. She was hoping that both of her bosses would take the morning off after the successful completion of the case that garnered them so much notoriety. There was a lot of filing that she wanted to do, and she wanted to do it in peace.
"He actually hasn't gotten to the office yet, so if you'd like to leave your name and number...and what this is regarding, I can give him the message," she said.
The woman stood looking around the brightly lit office. It was much nicer than your average run-of-the-mill private detective office. She should. This was the third one she'd gone to. She lived in North Carolina and she'd already been to one detective there and another in Jacksonville; which is where the new man in her life lives.
She read an article about the Greene's on the Internet. They seemed like the perfect agency for what she needed. Hershel Greene reminded her of Barnaby Jones; she grew up watching old episodes of the dogged private eye. The fact that he lived in Atlanta was a bonus.
"Do you have any idea what time he'll be in?" She asked the friendly young blonde.
"Not really. It could be anytime to be honest with you."
The young woman watched the wary visitor. Beth was able to tell from her body language that she was tired and stressed. Much like her father and sister, she had an innate ability to see beyond prepared facial expressions and polite façades.
When the unscheduled guest did not respond Beth asked, "Would you like some water? I know it's pretty hot out there."
"Yes…thank you," the woman responded with a forced smile, "Is it okay if I have a seat?" She asked stepping further into the office and glancing ever so cautiously at the brown leather-like couch, "...It's just that I've been driving for the last few hours and I'm really tired."
"Oh, sure. Please have a seat and I'll grab you a bottle of water," Beth's southern hospitality was on full display.
The young Ms. Greene walked into Maggie's office where they kept a small refrigerator. She retrieved a bottle of water for the yet to be named visitor. The woman was rummaging through her large purse when Beth returned with the bottle. She looked up when the saw the young blonde approach with the water.
"Thank you so much," the unexpected visitor said while taking the bottle from the young receptionists' hand.
Just as the thin brunette twisted off the top of her water bottle and began to drink, the door to the office opened. In strolled Hershel Greene. Before he could greet his daughter he immediately noticed the visitor.
"Mornin' Beth," his smile was welcoming as he greeted his daughter and part-time employee. He strolled further into the room and glanced towards the visitor, "Who do we have here," he asked walking closer.
"Hey daddy," Beth greeted. The woman stood and stepped closer to the older man whom she'd driven several miles to see.
"She's here to see you and..." the young receptionist turned, realizing that she never properly introduced herself, "...I'm sorry I never got your name."
"I'm Lori Grimes," she said offering her hand to the older gentleman, "I know I don't have an appointment...I was just hoping that you could give me a moment of your time." She said, her eyes glancing around the office almost as if she was expecting someone else to show up.
"Well Mrs. Grimes, if you could give me one moment to get settled, I'd be happy to meet with you."
The instant release of nerves in the body language of the visitor was unmistakable.
Hershel walked into his office, sat his briefcase down, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Beth always had the coffee ready for him no matter what time he was due to arrive; even if she had no clue what time he was going to show up.
He walked back out to the reception area and invited Mrs. Grimes to follow him in.
"So, how can I help you ma'am?" He asked once they'd both taken a seat.
The anxious visitor didn't speak right away. He watched as she gathered her thoughts. She adjusted and readjusted herself in the uncomfortable chair. It didn't require his skills as a decorated retired detective to see that she was apprehensive.
"Um, Mr. Greene, I'm here because I was hoping that you could help me."
She had a thick manila folder in her hands. Whatever she needed obviously had something to do with the folder. She patted the thick file continuously while gathering her thoughts; holding it between her thumb and index fingers so tight that her cream-colored fingers were red and purple from the stress she was putting on them.
"Almost two years ago," she began after taking a deep breath, "my husband was…killed in a car accident. As you can imagine…it's been a difficult couple of years," her tight squeeze of the water bottle in her left hand caused a crunching sound of plastic to fill the room.
"...But, about a month ago, I saw something online. At first I thought I was seeing a ghost but then I looked closer...I knew without a doubt that the picture I saw was of my husband." She stopped and looked into the eyes of the seasoned detective, expecting to see the immediate dismissal. It was an expression that she'd seen on the face of everyone. Detective Greene's expression remained unchanged.
He didn't speak; offering a gentle smile and nod for her to continue.
"...I've gone to two other detectives and everybody just assumes that I'm crazy or that the person in the photo just looks like my husband," she paused, "but I can assure you Mr. Greene that it is him."
She lifted the folder from her lap and handed it to the detective.
"When you open that you'll see the picture that I saw online. The picture next to it is what my husband looked like. He took that picture about a year before the accident."
Hershel reached over, taking the folder from the determined woman. He opened it and saw that there were indeed two photos. One was of a man in a sheriff's uniform with dark hair, blue eyes, and what could only be considered as classically handsome features. The other photo was somewhat blurred of a man with a beard, dark hair, and features that could not clearly be made out. He took a moment to review both photos before looking back at the anxious woman.
"You believe this is your husband in the photo?" He asked, looking up from the photos to the eager brown eyes before him.
"Yes, Mr. Greene. That is my husband. I was married to Rick for seven years and I know what he looks like."
Hershel didn't respond. He sat the photos to the side and began to look through the papers that made up the rest of the dossier.
"My husband was a part of the King County Sheriff's Department for nearly ten years. It took some doing but I was able to get a friend of mine to give me all the reports regarding my husband's accident...and the medical report. That's what's in the folder." She informed him as he perused the information.
She nervously drank her water while the older man read.
"You say you've already been to a couple of other detectives?" He said in question–statement form.
"Yes," she said, staring at the thinning hair on top of his head; his eyes were focused down on the paperwork in front of him. She sat silently and watched him read.
"Mrs. Grimes...from what I can see, all of this looks very thorough; everything from the witnesses to the medical examiner's report. There doesn't seem to be much question that your husband was the person in the car. And the woman that was in the car with him," he paused, thumbing through the information, "Mrs. Michonne Anthony. Her report looks pretty thorough as well."
He looked up into the woman's eyes, "I'm actually surprised you were able to get her medical report."
She shook her head putting her hand to her temple and rubbing it, "Like I said...I have a friend and I was able to get everything that was involved with the accident."
He kept his eyes on the paper flipping through the different sheets. The small nod of his head was his only acknowledgment of her words.
"I know what all of that says," She was undeterred, "but I know that's my husband in that photo...he can't be dead and alive at the same time."
He continued to review the reports without responding. They sat in silence. The only sounds in the room was the rustling of paper and the humming air conditioner.
"Were you able to reach out to the person who took the picture? How recent is it?" He asked.
"Yes, I did..." she replied animatedly. In that one question he was already asking more than the other private detectives did. They discounted her almost instantly. They treated her as if she was no more than a silly woman guilty of wishful thinking.
"...the woman messaged me that she took the picture when she was on vacation in California. That was a month ago."
"Hmm," he responded, not looking up. She watched him.
After a brief discussion, Hershel informed the widow that he would look over the reports she'd given him and contact her the following day. He wouldn't officially take the case until he'd taken the opportunity to dissect what he'd been given.
Her parents still lived in the area. He would contact her at her family's home within the next few days.
"I'll give you a call before the end of the week and let you know if we're gonna take the case," he'd informed her.
Hershel was deeply immersed in the paperwork surrounding the case when Maggie entered the office.
"Hey daddy," Maggie greeted.
"Hey baby girl," he said. Paper was spread across his desk and his notepad had scribbles all over it.
"Judging by what you have on your desk, I take it we have a new client." She said, taking the seat directly in front of his desk, the seat that had been vacated by Lori Grimes three hours earlier.
"Don't know yet," he said as he continually made notes on his overused pad.
"Give me the skinny on it daddy," she said reaching for some of his discarded notes and the previously scrutinized reports.
"Mrs. Grimes saw a photo online," he pointed to the paper on the desk, "she believes very strongly that it's her husband. A husband who was pronounced dead nearly two years ago."
The insightful young woman sat back in her chair and listened as her mentor read through the reports. This was their normal routine. They talked through current cases; taking apart all the evidence. They determined whether an actual case exists.
On March 15, 2016, while driving along Interstate 285, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia; Deputy Richard Grimes came across a black Lexus sports coupe on the side of the road with its hazard lights on.
The driver, who was later identified as Michonne Anthony, was waiting for roadside assistance. Mrs. Anthony had contacted her husband to let him know that she was waiting for a tow truck.
Upon seeing the stranded driver, Deputy Grimes offered her a ride to the closest gas station; where she could wait for her vehicle. He radioed the station, notifying the dispatcher that he would be driving Mrs. Anthony to a nearby gas station/garage which was 4.5 miles away.
Sheriff's Deputy Richard Grimes also contacted the Road Assistance operator that Mrs. Anthony left the car keys under the vehicle; for them to deliver it to the garage. That was the last contact anyone at the station had with the deputy. There were no calls from either of their phones after leaving the disabled foreign car on the side of the road.
The next report came from the driver of a big rig, Merle Deets. In the report, Mr. Deets stated that while driving along the highway, an animal, he assumed was a deer, crossed his path. He swerved slightly to avoid hitting the animal; momentarily ending up in the lane of an oncoming vehicle. That vehicle was Deputy Grimes' squad car.
The squad car veered towards the shoulder of the small road and went over the embankment. Mr. Deets indicated that he stopped the truck and got to the edge in time to see the vehicle become engulfed in flames. He stated that he saw the two individuals, but it did not appear that they got out.
Their bodies were removed from the vehicle later.
Sheriff's Deputy Shane Walsh, who was also a longtime friend of Deputy Grimes, identified his body at the scene. The identification was based on a slightly charred shoulder tattoo. The victims were otherwise visually unidentifiable.
Both bodies were taken to the town's coroner's office. The medical examiner on staff at the time was Doctor Glenn Rhee. The report stated that both bodies were burned beyond any type of facial recognition or identification.
Dental records were reviewed by the on call Forensic Odonatologist, Carol Peletier. The report confirmed that the victims in the car were - without question - Deputy Richard Grimes and Mrs. Michonne Anthony.
Maggie listened intently to her father summarize the reports.
The skilled and detail-oriented investigator never gave an opinion while he broke down the facts of a case; dissecting the information in front of him only.
"This seems pretty open and shut to me," Maggie said. She looked at her father and could tell that something was off. The wheels were turning.
"What is it daddy? What are your Spidey senses tellin' you?"
"What's the most important part of any investigation?" He asked, glancing back down at the papers in his hands.
The younger investigator sighed, giving him the once over with a forced grin, "Formulating the right question is more important than the answer." She used her most monotone voice. It was his favorite saying; one that she'd heard many times before.
"That's right. I'm not sure but something just feels off to me. I need to figure out the right questions," he said, making notes on his weathered pad.
There was no mistaking a Hershel Greene hunch. He would need to do what he always did - shake all the trees until something fell out.
A/N: Thank you for joining me for this short journey. Please let me know what you think. See ya' tomorrow. Blessings :-)