The Only Good Cop
Rick sucked on his teeth for a long moment, slowly shifting his thoughtful gaze from Daryl to Beth. She tensed beneath his deep blue stare, squirming uncomfortably in her seat.
"So what did ya see, Beth?" He drawled, breaking the drawn-out silence. "I'm hopin' you at least figured out this Governor guy's motive for murder."
Beth cleared her throat and avoided meeting Rick's eyes. This wasn't her place—she couldn't explain everything she'd seen without revealing the truth about Will Dixon's death. She wanted to lay it all out for Rick, just like she'd done with everything else. But she couldn't. That wasn't her family. It wasn't her story to tell.
Instead, she turned her head and looked at Daryl. He met her gaze with a sidelong glance, chewing on his thumbnail nervously once again.
He seemed to interpret the silent message she was sending because his back stiffened and he sat up a little straighter, placing his hands in his lap and raising his eyes to meet the sheriff's from across the desk that separated them. Rick sat in silence with a patient look on his face, shifting his focus from Beth to Daryl.
"That's… the thing," Daryl started hesitantly, his voice no more than a hoarse growl. "We think Merle was killed over some money."
"Oh," Rick perked up. "That's not so bad—I mean, it's bad, but money is always a pretty simple motive ta figure out. What was it, a loan shark? A rival dealer?"
Daryl and Beth shook their heads in unison. Beth kept her mouth tightly shut, watching Daryl as he hesitated, his gaze flicking away from the sheriff's every few seconds.
"Nah," he said. "Not exactly."
"No?" Rick furrowed his brow. "What else could it be?"
Daryl frowned. Beth could see him picking at his fingernails desperately, and his right leg began to jiggle like a restless habit. He grunted and cleared his throat, looking away from Rick almost in shame.
"It's okay," she whispered, attempting to offer her support by speaking directly to him. She reached out a hand and gave his upper arm a brief squeeze of reassurance before pulling it back. "He has ta know—it's the only way he can help us."
Daryl nodded curtly without looking over at her and his leg stilled. He raised his head slowly and met Rick's expectant gaze.
"Y'know how my mom died in that fire when I was a kid?" He started. "An' my dad moved out to that cabin—the one he left fer Merle?"
Rick nodded solemnly. "Yeah. From my understanding, he bought that property with the insurance money from the fire. What about it?"
Daryl quickly looked away again, casting his eyes down toward his boots. Though he continued speaking directly to Rick as he added, "An' y'know how that prick died… and we never figured out who did it?"
Rick shifted uncomfortably but tried not to let it show. He frowned and said, "Well, we had some probable suspects, but there wasn't enough evidence ta make a solid case…"
"Yeah," Daryl said, eyes glued to the floor. "'Cause y'all never even had the right suspects. Merle did it. He slit our pa's throat an' stole his drugs."
At first, Rick didn't react. He kept frowning, a deep crease in his brow, his eyes set on Daryl. Beth didn't even realize she was holding her breath until her lungs began to ache. She slowly let it out, and still, Rick's expression didn't change.
Then he simply hmphed and shook his head, unclasping his hands from one another to place them lazily in his lap, leaning back in his chair. "Well I'll be damned," he muttered. Though he didn't sound anywhere near as baffled as Beth had expected.
Clearly, Daryl had expected more of a reaction too, because he grunted and asked, "Y'really had no idea?"
Rick's mouth twitched and he glanced away from Daryl for a second, clearing his throat. "I had my hunches. But Merle had a solid alibi."
Daryl appeared a bit confused. "That why ya didn't question 'im?"
Rick shrugged nonchalantly. "I did question him. Briefly. Jus' long enough ta ask about his alibi. And it checked out, so I wrote him off."
Daryl's eyes narrowed. "You wrote 'im off?"
Rick's mouth twitched again but he kept frowning. "Yeah. I was put in charge of buildin' a list of suspects. Merle said he was at a woman's house that night. I tracked that woman down, asked her to corroborate. She did. Neither one of 'em gave me any reason ta be suspicious. I mean—to Merle's credit, his choice of a booty call turned out to be a pretty damn reliable source."
"What booty call?" Daryl asked. "What was 'is alibi?"
This time, Rick glanced away and the discomfort was obvious on his face and in his posture. He hesitated, clearing his throat and drawing out the silence. Then he dragged his eyes up and met Daryl's once more.
His voice was deeper, more solemn, and he spoke directly to Daryl to the point that Beth almost felt like she shouldn't be here to witness this conversation. But she knew she had to be. She had to know everything Daryl knew, and vise versa.
"Look, Daryl," the sheriff said, pausing and sighing before he went on. He spoke apologetically, yet firm and self-assured at the same time. "Will was notorious around here fer a lotta shit. Some of it was just hearsay, but the majority of it was the truth. Yer pa got away with a helluva lot more'an you'll ever know about. More'an even I'll ever know about. But the fire that killed your mother… that's a well-known secret. Everybody in Senoia knows Will Dixon killed his wife for the insurance money and got away with it."
Daryl frowned but he didn't say anything. He was focused on Rick, eyes still narrowed like…
Well, Beth reckoned it was like finding out that every fucking person in town had known for the last thirty years that your daddy killed your mama.
He bristled and she could sense the pain radiating off of him in waves. The shame. The embarrassment. Her heart ached for him, but she kept her hands to herself, resisting the urge to reach out and offer him support.
Rick continued, "I didn't come into the department till fifteen years after the fire, and it was still the first thing I heard about whenever Will's name came up. It's common knowledge that your dad was a no-good, abusive, murderin' piece of shit. I don't think I have ta tell you that much…"
Daryl grunted, but his expression didn't change. His jaw tensed.
"But I'll give him this," Rick said, slightly begrudging. "He was smart. Not real smart, but smart enough to cover his tracks and go off the grid afterwards—"
"So what's that gotta do with Merle's alibi?" Daryl interjected, his voice edged with impatience.
Rick's face turned to stone and he looked Daryl dead in the eyes. "I didn't know Merle killed him… but I knew."
Beth's breath caught in her throat. She could hear Daryl's teeth grinding together in the silence of the room. She could see the sheriff swallowing hard, forcing the confession forward from the depths of his throat.
Rick explained, stern and matter-of-factly, "Will Dixon had every bit a what he got comin' to to him for years. None of us could do a goddamn thing about your mama's murder. We couldn't make him pay, couldn't get you an' yer brother the justice y'all deserved." He paused and took a deep breath, tongue flicking out to swipe across his chapped lips. He lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper as he explained, "Merle didn't have a totally solid alibi. But I made it solid…"
"Christ," Daryl huffed out. But all traces of anger had completely disappeared from his expression.
"Listen, I don't go makin' exceptions," Rick quickly explained. "If it was anybody else, I'd've done it by the book. But it was Merle—an' as much as I never cared fer the guy, I made my decision. I picked my battles. An' puttin' yer brother behind bars for doin' what somebody shoulda done thirty fuckin' years ago? I couldn't do it, Daryl. I couldn't put y'all through that. Everybody was better off 'cause a what Merle did. God forgive me fer sayin' that, but it's true."
"Ain't arguin'," Daryl mumbled, jaw still tensed, voice low and hoarse.
"As it turns out," Rick went on, his tone lightening, though his voice remained hushed as if someone might be eavesdropping. "The woman Merle slept with before he killed Will was a judge. His judge, to be exact. He already had a pending case an' he managed to seduce her into givin' him a lighter sentence once the court date came up. She told me what time he left her house—she told me everything. If I'd've put it in the report, it would've made Merle the top suspect. And she woulda lost her job." He shrugged with finality and crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised. "As far as I know, your brother was spendin' the night with some woman he met at the bar when Will Dixon got his throat slit. Can't say anybody gave it much of a second thought… We've all been sleepin' a little easier since we found out Will was dead."
Rick Grimes stared across the desk at Daryl with an expression that Beth could only describe as justified.
She couldn't help but feel a little floored by this revelation. She had no idea Sheriff Grimes was capable of such a thing. He'd always seemed like such a by-the-book, right-from-wrong, lawful kind of man. But now she was seeing that he had an innate need to do what was really right. Just like she did. She could see the spark in his eyes: the satisfaction of knowing that he'd done his tiny part to make the world a slightly better place.
That's what it was after all, wasn't it? The desperate urge to help, to do something, that led people like her and Rick to these kinds of lengths. The insatiable passion for helping people—for helping good people, like Daryl. Even if it meant doing things a little… differently. Even if it meant fudging an alibi, or fulfilling a deal with a demon.
If anything, she respected him even more now than ever before. And she could already tell that Daryl was experiencing a similar revelation.
Daryl was worrying his lower lip, looking at his friend in a new light. There was a tense silence for several long seconds. Then he finally cleared his throat, and his hand moved up to stroke the hairs on his chin, half-nervous and half-thoughtful.
"Did'ja know I was s'posed ta be part of that insurance plan?"
Rick blinked, furrowing his brow. "There was a rumor that it was s'posed ta be you and yer mama, but it was just a rumor… We knew yer pa was a child abuser, but nobody really thought he'd stoop all the way down to child killer."
"Attempted child killer," Daryl corrected, almost void of emotion. "Didn't work. Obviously. But Merle knew—he knew I was s'posed ta die in the fire."
"I stand by my decision," Rick said flatly. "Yer dad had it comin'. Wasn't no point in wastin' money or manpower on solving his murder. He wasn't worth the shit I scraped off my boots."
"Agreed," Daryl said, sitting up a little straighter. "Ya ever hear how much that prick got outta the insurance scam?"
Rick shrugged. "Nah. Nobody I ever talked to had details. Knew it was enough ta buy a place out in the holler an' start bootleggin' 'shine. Figured he blew the rest on weapons an' dope."
Daryl snorted. "So did I. But didn't y'all ever wonder how he could afford an insurance plan that paid out so much in the first place?"
Rick blinked and frowned deeply. He suddenly appeared deflated. "Shit… y'don't mean…?"
"He wasn't the only one in on it," Daryl concluded, speaking aloud the realization that had just crossed the sheriff's face.
Rick squinted, huffing out a breath of disbelief. "This Governor guy—he was the accomplice?"
Daryl only had to give a brief nod before Rick was following up with, "An' Will fucked him over, didn't he? Broke whatever deal they had an' went off the grid once the dirty work was done? Made himself a lifelong enemy?"
At that, both Beth and Daryl nodded. Rick's eyes flicked over to her for a second and she could see all the pieces clicking together in his head. When he looked back to Daryl, he was smirking. Not out of amusement, though. It was just dumbfounded disbelief.
"Well," the sheriff proclaimed, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward in his seat. "Looks like y'all lied when ya said this paranormal stuff wasn't gonna make things any easier."
Beth scoffed, a bit taken aback. "It's not, though. We still have no idea who this guy actually is. Just a stupid nickname."
Rick flashed a smug smirk in her direction. "I beg to differ, Miss Greene. We might not have a birth name, but we have an alias. We have a motive. A face. And y'all got the best damn sheriff in King County on yer side."
Daryl grunted with amusement. "Yer the only sheriff in King County."
Rick barked out a laugh. "And why d'ya think that is, smartass? Y'all came to the right place. We're gonna find this guy, and we're gonna get justice for Merle."
He paused and chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
"Christ," he muttered, shooting Daryl a crooked smile. "Never thought I'd hear myself say that out loud."
"It's been a week of firsts for all of us," Beth chimed in.
Daryl merely smirked in agreement.
Beth and Daryl admittedly had no idea where to start when it came to tracking down The Governor's real identity. Thankfully, Rick did.
Well, kind of.
His first suggestion was a little off-the-wall: he eagerly offered to take them back into the evidence room so Beth could touch everything they'd filed away from the scene of Merle's murder. "'Cause if you saw that whole scene from touching a bullet hole in a wall, it's only logical that you'd see more from touching other stuff pertaining to the crime," Rick claimed. He backed up his theory with references to some of his favorite TV shows.
Daryl scoffed and Beth rolled her eyes and they both convinced the sheriff that the logical first step would be revisiting the files from Will's fire and searching for mentions of an accomplice or a potential suspect. Because after three decades, they surmised, there was bound to be something that had been overlooked by foggier eyes.
However, when they dug out the very small and dusty box from one of the back shelves in the Sheriff's Department filing room, they found a sparse record of events. A serious lack of logged evidence. Absolutely zero information on any outside parties. It had been determined "accidental," so no one had bothered filing away a list of possible suspects or anything else that could've been any help.
They uncovered a copy of the paperwork that had been filed for the insurance claim, but for some reason, the agent's name was absent. The only information it provided was the contact details for an insurance company that had been bought out over fifteen years ago.
The three of them resolved that it wouldn't hurt anything to reach out to the insurance office, just at the off chance that someone who used to work with The Governor was still around. Or maybe someone had heard of him, or maybe their office held old employee records somewhere. Probably not, but they'd never know unless they tried.
Rick Googled the new company and found a list of currently employed agents, but no titles to their positions. He also found a phone number for the Senoia office, which he called. Of course, there was no one in the office since it was past their operating hours, so he left a very professional sounding voicemail requesting that a supervisor return his call at the earliest possible convenience. He made sure to mention that he was Sheriff Rick Grimes, and that he had some important questions.
After he hung up, Beth and Daryl went back to squinting down at the array of old documents that had given them very few answers, as if there might be something new that would suddenly pop up. But then Rick sighed and glanced at his watch.
"I gotta get home an' relieve the babysitter here pretty soon," he declared. "But ya know, there's still time ta visit the evidence room…"
Beth gathered up the papers in front of her and began stacking them together, turning her head and catching Daryl's eye. They exchanged a brief look that said, Might as well. She was feeling doubtful that touching evidence would give her any sort of new visions, especially after she'd been allowed to see so much at the cabin. But there was still that niggle of curiosity. And she could see the same curiosity in Daryl's eyes.
They were already here. Even if it didn't do anything, what could it hurt to try?
Besides… she was getting more powerful every moment. Learning more about her Gift and how to utilize it to her advantage. She'd have to be stupid to turn down an opportunity like this, even if it amounted to nothing. She'd come too far and learned too much to allow any kind of skepticism to sway her decisions.
"What kinda evidence d'you have?" She asked, shoving a fat stack of papers back into its designated box and turning to face Rick.
The sheriff raised his eyebrows. "Everythin' we collected from the scene. Weapons, clothing, paraphernalia…"
Beth scrunched up her nose and blurted out the first thought that popped into her head, "I'm not touchin' Merle's dirty old boxers. I don't care what they might show me."
Daryl barked out a laugh and Rick chuckled, shaking his head.
"Nah, I wouldn't expect ya to," he said. Then he gestured towards the box of paperwork and began to turn towards the door. "Leave that there, I'll put it away in the mornin'. Let's head back to the evidence room an' see if we can kick those psychic powers inta gear."
Beth and Daryl followed Rick down a long set of stairs to the basement of the Sheriff's Department, through a dimly lit corridor that ended in a locked gate and an empty desk. He pulled out a heavy set of keys and unlocked the gate, sliding it open and stepping aside to let them enter first. Once they were all through the gate, he walked over to the wall and flipped on a switch that lit up the expansive room.
Dozens of fluorescent bulbs flickered to life, revealing a vast basement room that held rows and rows of shelving. Beth thought it resembled a library, though a lot more ominous.
Rick gestured for her and Daryl to follow and began leading them through a maze of shelves and metal racks, past hundreds of age-worn labels and thousands upon thousands of boxes. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust past the first couple rows of shelving.
They stopped somewhere in the middle of the huge room, surrounded by looming structures. Rick squinted at the rows of shelves before him, looking up and down very slowly. Then he spotted what he was searching for and let out an "ah-ha" of triumph, squatting down and reaching forward to carefully pull out a large box from its space.
Beth caught a glimpse of the label: Dixon, Merle/L-333.
"That it?" Daryl asked, his low voice echoing off the walls of boxes around them.
Rick set the box in his hands down on the floor and began lifting the lid. "Yep, this is everythin' we collected." He continued squatting down, setting the lid aside and dunking his hand into the contents of the box.
He began pulling out what looked like large Ziploc bags and setting them down on the floor beside him, each one holding a different object. He lay them out beside one another wordlessly and Beth stared down, watching the evidence appear at her feet, already categorized and labelled and safely preserved within plastic. She recognized each and every object from her vision.
Merle's cell phone. His Desert Eagle. The other two guns that The Governor had stashed under the bed. The rope and noose. And of course, the boxers—the only piece of clothing Merle had been wearing when he died.
"The Governor used that phone," she blurted out, pointing down to the cell phone and looking at Rick with wide eyes. "Did y'all dust it for prints or whatever?"
Rick's eyebrows rose in surprise, but only briefly. He sighed and stood up, waving a hand lazily towards the bags of evidence lying on the floor. "Along with testin' fer gunpowder residue an' all that good stuff, yeah. Durin' the initial investigation. But all we found was Merle's prints. Everything else was wiped clean. This Governor guy was thorough. He didn't leave anything we coulda caught, even if we'd done a full-scale investigation."
"He called me," Daryl chimed in.
Beth and Rick turned to the living Dixon with surprise. He cleared his throat and stroked his chin hair nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Merle?" Rick asked.
"Nah. The Governor," Daryl clarified.
Rick furrowed his brow and Beth interjected to explain, "I saw it. He found Merle's phone and tried to call Daryl. To see if Daryl would answer. He didn't, but The Governor took his number down. And the other number saved in the phone."
The confusion on Rick's face deepened. "What other number? We went through that phone and the only number he had saved was Daryl. No call logs. All the text messages we dug up were either Daryl or random women Merle had slept with."
Beth blinked and looked over at Daryl to find him just as visibly baffled as she was. She shook her head and turned back to Rick.
"No, he had his dealer's number, too," she said.
Rick put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side, eyes squinted. "His dealer? Who was his dealer?"
"Some guy named Jesse," she replied.
"I 'member him," Daryl said. "Li'l tweaker guy. Sold crystal. Got a real bad temper."
"What was 'is last name?" Rick asked.
Beth and Daryl both shrugged, clueless.
The sheriff shook his head and glanced away for a second, thoughtful. Then he sighed and gestured with one hand towards the bags on the ground. "Alright, well—let's focus on openin' one can of worms at a time. G'on, Beth. Open 'em up, hold 'em, whatever ya gotta do."
She glanced over at Daryl reflexively and he met her eyes with a brief nod of assurance. She nodded back and bent down to pick up one of the plastic bags.
The first she chose was the cell phone, since they'd been talking about it. She unsealed the bag with careful fingers, then reached inside and grasped the phone like it was made of glass. Nothing happened, as she'd expected. She pulled it out of the bag and turned it over in her palm, looking down at it and silently willing it to do something. To show her something.
But she felt nothing. Saw nothing.
She looked up to find both men staring at her expectantly, practically holding their breaths in anticipation. She frowned and shook her head, returning the phone to its bag and resealing it.
"Nothin' at all?" Rick asked, the disappointment audible in his voice.
"Nothin'," Beth said, taking a half-step forward and returning the first piece of evidence to its box.
She was already grabbing up the next bag—the Desert Eagle—when Rick urged, "Try another one. Maybe a weapon."
"Might as well put them drawers back," Daryl remarked. "She ain't gonna touch those with a ten-foot pole."
Beth paused and shot Daryl an appreciative smirk.
Rick chuckled, snatching up the bag that contained Merle's underwear and tossing them back into the box. "Yeah, I figured that'd be the case."
She carefully unsealed the Desert Eagle and reached in, barely grazing the handle with her fingertips. No shock of electricity, no sudden visions or enveloping blackness. Just the cold metal of a gun. She went as far as wrapping a hand around it, keeping her finger far away from the trigger.
But still, nothing happened.
"Damn," Rick grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning as he gauged Beth's reactions.
She sighed, beginning to feel a bit defeated as she zipped the bag back up and leaned forward to set it in the box amongst the other two pieces of evidence.
Maybe she wasn't getting as powerful as she'd thought… Maybe that vision at the cabin had been a rare bout of luck. She hadn't particularly expected to learn anything new by trying Rick's cinematic approach, yet she'd gone and gotten her hopes up a little too high all the same. And now she was afraid she'd let them down.
More than anything, she was afraid she'd let Daryl down. What if she wasn't allowed to see anything else after that scene at the cabin? What if she was no good for anything more than talking to his dead brother, who was literally no help in solving his own murder?
Daryl was relying on her now. On her newfound powers. On her mysterious Gift. She couldn't let him down. Not after they'd come this far. She couldn't bear to be the reason that they wound up hitting a dead end.
Beth silently willed herself to do it again; channel this stupid Gift, think like the Swamp Witch and the Witch of Youghal, remember what Maggie had said about being powerful and having a choice, be the medium or psychic or whatever that Rick and Daryl were so convinced she was.
This is my choice, she remembered. I need to help because I want to help. More than I've ever wanted anything before.
She bent down and snatched up both bags that held the other two guns, her expectations low. She wasn't disappointed when she unzipped them one at a time and reached in to hold them for a moment. Nothing happened, but she hadn't expected it to.
Rick let out a quiet groan of defeat. Daryl remained silent, patiently watching, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched.
Once the two guns were resealed and tucked back into the box where they belonged, she reached for the final piece of evidence: the rope and noose.
As soon as her fingers made contact with the plastic that enveloped the noose, she felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She told herself she was just nervous because two pairs of very anxious eyes were set on her, watching and waiting with bated breath, gauging her every movement and interpreting her every expression. But something was churning in her stomach and she knew. She knew this piece of evidence might be the piece of evidence.
Beth slowly unzipped the bag. And she bristled. Her head began to grow light, swimming and airy. She ignored it and pushed forward.
But she knew that Daryl could see the blood slowly draining from her face. She felt him inching closer, saw him taking a sideways step toward her from the corner of her eye. He was tense. And though she wasn't sure why, so was she.
The plastic was like ice against her skin as she reached her hand inside. The second she wrapped her fingers around the thick, frayed rope, a jolt of electricity coursed through her veins.
She'd tried to prepare herself. She'd made a silent inner promise that she wouldn't black out and embarrass herself again like she had at the cabin. She'd be ready this time. If, somehow, Rick's hunch was right, then she'd be more experienced this time around. She'd know what to expect when it came to being thrown into a "psychic" vision. That weird abysmal darkness wouldn't consume her and catch her completely off-guard for a third time. She'd make sure of it.
Then the blackness returned, beginning at the edge of her vision and quickly pooling inward to swallow up everything around her. Daryl and Rick disappeared. The ground fell away beneath her feet. She couldn't feel herself falling, but she knew it was happening.
It was kind of like drifting off to sleep: simultaneously slow and rapid, building for what felt like hours yet dribbling away within milliseconds. There was no edge of consciousness that she could cautiously step across, because it was one long staircase that quickly morphed into a slip 'n slide.
It was more like falling asleep and falling off a cliff in the same moment, in the same half-blink of an eye.
And before she could so much as catch her breath, she was descending beneath the depths of a place that lay somewhere between dreaming and remembering.
Everything went silent.
Oh, goddammit…
So much for being prepared.
to be continued…
