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Following Through (1/1)
Steve and Danny slipped quietly into Interrogation Room 5 at HPD just as Duke was wrapping up his instructions to the prisoner.
"We'll head down to intake in a few minutes and get your fingerprints and booking photo," Duke explained.
The man was sitting ramrod straight with his hands cuffed in front of him and secured to a hook in the center of the table. He was tanned and well-built, with the look of a man who worked outside. He wore a neatly pressed white shirt and khaki colored shorts. He had deep lines around his eyes and appeared older than his 63 years.
And yet, neither Steve nor Danny could remember ever seeing any person look more serene and at peace.
Especially someone currently under arrest for first-degree murder.
Duke was matching the prisoner's calm energy as he continued. "Once you're booked you'll be able to make a phone call."
"There's no one to call," the man replied with a tone of voice that told its own story.
As if he'd just noticed Steve and Danny, the prisoner looked up with a small, almost-smile.
"I was hoping you boys would come and see me before they take me to prison," he said.
He looked around the small room and shook his head. Memories of a long ago night hung in the air.
"Sargeant Lukela was kind enough to bring me back to this room. Number 5. For old time's sake I guess. Things are a lot different this time around though."
August 5, 2011
After two hours of questioning the suspect dropped his head to his hands. This wasn't going at all the way he'd planned. He was prepared to deal with HPD. His father had been a cop for many years. So was his father-in-law. He knew the procedures. Figured people would just believe what he said because he was a cop's kid. He'd heard there was a new task force on the island but wasn't prepared for the likes of the two men sitting across the table from him.
McGarrett and Williams.
These two were relentless.
He needed some time alone to think. To come up with answers for all the things they called "inconsistencies in his story".
His father, who had been there to meet him when he arrived at the station, had counseled him to "just tell the truth". The quicker he did that the quicker they could get the monster that killed his family. No need for a lawyer. You did nothing wrong.
He'd never forget the look of total faith in his father's eyes. Love and support. Just as it had been for his entire life. Good foundation. Loving family.
What were they gonna think when they learned the truth?
He'd just have to find a way to make them see that he had no choice. That he found married life suffocating. That he missed the days when he had no responsibilities.
That he just wanted to be free.
His hands fidgeted nervously. His upper lip was covered in sweat.
His family had connections. They'd help him find a way out of this.
Steve watched the wheels turn in the man's head and knew they were close to getting a confession.
Scotty Boyle was tall and built like a man who visited the gym regularly. Handsome and clean cut. Still wearing the navy blue he'd had on when, according to his story, he came home from work to find his family dead. His three children, ages 2, 5 & 7 all with bruises on their little necks that made it clear they'd died by manual strangulation. His wife, Carissa, had suffered multiple stab wounds to the head, neck and face.
Her blood covered the floor and walls.
All four lifeless bodies had then been piled in the middle of the living room floor.
He told the first patrol officers to arrive that he'd seen three men fleeing from the back of the house, however they'd been too far away to get a good look.
The officers took note of the fact there was no blood on Boyle at all. Judging by the position of the bodies he'd made no effort to even check and see if his wife and children might still be alive.
He repeated the same narrative to the first detectives to arrive on scene. He'd been at work all day. Arrived home at a little after five to find his family slaughtered. Three mysterious men ran out the back door.
They worked with his father.
They wanted to believe him.
But cracks started to form in his story right from the start.
One neighbor, who lived directly next door, had been out working in his back garden for at least an hour before the bodies were discovered and hadn't seen anyone exit the house.
Boyle claimed he'd been on the other side of the island making sales calls for his job until 5:00 pm, yet another neighbor reported seeing his car parked around the corner when she left to go shopping right around noon. She recognized not only the make and model but several distinctive bumper stickers. When she returned around 5:30 pm the street was full of emergency vehicles and Boyle's car was in his driveway.
Within the first hour police ascertained that not only had there been no forced entry, someone had actually accessed the garage by keying in the alarm code just before 1:00 pm.
There was a red substance around the edges of the shower drain in the master bathroom that had shown the presence of blood in preliminary tests. There was a damp towel in the laundry hamper and a blow dryer out on the vanity. It seemed doubtful a stranger would have hung around the crime scene long enough to take a shower.
When 5-0 arrived sixty minutes after the initial 911 call, they took note of the fact that Scotty Boyle was leaning on the back of a police cruiser, calmly smoking a cigarette. As Danny and Steve approached they watched his entire demeanor change.
He put on the fake emotion he thought was expected of him. Slumped shoulders. Shuddering breath. The very portrait of the distraught husband. He swiped furiously at his cheeks even though there wasn't a drop of moisture there.
Dry crying as Danny liked to call it. Making all the sounds without any tears.
They asked him to accompany them to HPD to answer a few questions and he readily agreed. Not a word about wanting to stay with his family. Not a suggestion that he didn't feel up to talking after the horror he'd just walked in on. None of the things grieving relatives often said at crime scenes.
Quite the opposite.
He seemed almost eager to leave.
As they were preparing to depart, Carissa's parents arrived on the scene. Their howls of pain when they learned their daughter and grandchildren had been killed were something that no one who heard them would ever forget.
Both Steve and Danny were sure they'd hear that sound in their nightmares.
Scotty Boyle simply snuffed his cigarette with the heel of his shoe and said, "Let's go."
But now, hours later, having been confronted by all the inconsistencies in his story and seeing there was no way out, he was ready to confess. Try a new tactic. He'd make them understand he didn't have a choice. And hope his father's well-sown connections could help him out.
"You wanna tell us what really happened?" Steve asked.
"I just got tired of being a husband and father," Boyle replied matter of factly. "My college buddies are still spending their weekends surfing and taking boys' trips. Me? I'm stuck at home with a wife and three kids. The pressure got to me and I snapped."
"Why didn't you just leave?" Danny growled. "Why did you have to kill them all?"
Boyle shrugged. "She'd have gotten half of everything. And I'd have still been stuck paying for the kids."
When Duke entered the room to hand Steve the latest information from the crime scene, another man pushed in behind him and within seconds had Boyle on the floor, hands around his throat.
Clyde Martin was Carissa Boyle's father.
He was also a 14 year veteran of HPD.
He'd come to the station initially to support his son-in-law.
Scotty Boyle may not have been the perfect husband, but never in his wildest dreams did Clyde think he'd had anything to do with the massacre of his family.
Until he heard the words from Boyle's own mouth from the other side of the two-way glass.
He believed his daughter's marriage had been a happy one. With the same kinds of growing pains a lot of young families have. Not enough money, too little time together. Nothing millions of couples hadn't overcome. Carissa loved being a mom. And she loved Scotty. So Clyde and his wife made an effort to love him as well. They'd welcomed him into their family. Embraced him like one of their own.
It took both Steve and Danny to pull the man off his son-in-law. Given even one minute alone in the room with Boyle he would surely have killed him.
"You are a dead man," Clyde Martin hissed. "You will never walk the streets again. I promise you that. The minute you step foot out of prison I'll kill you myself."
"You wanna be careful what you say, Clyde," Duke cautioned him.
"I don't care who hears me because it's true," Clyde screamed. "I will kill him without a second thought then turn myself in and do the time."
"Get him out of here," Steve said.
"He's crazy!" Boyle yelled after his father in law. "And his daughter was just as bad."
Present Day
"I did exactly what I said I was going to do," Clyde said as Steve and Danny took seats across the table from him. "Thirteen years for killing my daughter and grandchildren. 4,703 days to be exact. It's a travesty."
"I agree," Steve said.
He and Danny had done everything they could to keep Scotty Boyle behind bars, as had Catherine and Lea Kekoa. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.
"He stabbed Carissa 58 times," Clyde said. "Most of those in the head and neck. The coroner said one of the first three most likely killed her. It's a blessing her suffering didn't last through the whole attack. Still, after she was already dead he just didn't stop. He's an animal."
He took a deep breath trying to stave off the pictures his imagination had conjured up over the years of his daughter's last moments on earth.
He knew she had to have been terrified.
He wondered if she called out for him.
"The funeral home tried their best but she was in such bad shape we had to have a closed casket. Her mother and I never got to kiss her goodbye."
Steve, Danny, and Duke all felt helpless in the face of Clyde Martin's pain. Pain that felt as fresh today as it had thirteen years ago.
All they could do was let him talk.
He clearly had some things he wanted to get off his chest.
"They could tell by the way the handprints were situated on my grandchildren's throats that he strangled all three of them from the front."
Clyde's voice cracked.
"They were the sweetest, most loving kids a person could ever have hoped for. Full of energy. Always smiling. Just like our Carissa when she was young. And the last thing they saw was the daddy they loved choking the life out of them."
The justice system had certainly not worked for Clyde and his wife Sarah. Through legal machinations, repeated technical appeals, strong connections, and credit for good behavior, Scotty Boyle had walked out of prison after serving only 13 years.
He was free for three hours before Clyde Martin caught up with him.
Clyde, who had lost his career at HPD after repeating his threats against his son-in-law to anyone who would listen and had spent the last thirteen years doing landscaping work in the hot sun, walked into the receiving room of the halfway house where Scotty Boyle was scheduled to live for his first six months out of prison, drew a handgun from his pocket, and ordered everyone but Boyle out of the room.
The first officers arrived just in time to hear four shots. One for Carissa and one for each of his grandchildren.
Clyde Martin walked out of the room calmly, arms in the air.
"I killed him," he said. "The weapon is on the floor."
"You need to call an attorney," Danny suggested.
Clyde shook his head. "I'm guilty. I'll take my punishment."
"You might be able to claim …" Danny started, but Clyde cut him off.
"Claim what? I did exactly what I've been saying I would do for the last thirteen years. That's premeditation. There's no way around that."
He sighed deeply.
"Scotty Boyle didn't just kill Carissa and my grandchildren that night. He killed my Sarah too. She held on for 13 years because a broken heart kills you slowly. I think I'd have followed her last year if I didn't know I had to stick around to keep my promise. The one I made to Carissa at her graveside. That I'd see Scotty Boyle dead for what he did."
"We were sorry to hear about Sarah," Steve said.
"Thank you. The flowers you sent were beautiful," Clyde said. "Sarah always loved flowers. We had a beautiful garden while Carissa was still here. She used to tease her mother about having the greenest thumb on the island. But after that night … she never went out to the garden again.
"We had to move out of the home we'd lived in our whole married life. Where we raised our only child. Too many memories. The new apartment had no space for a garden. Sarah would have loved your bouquet if she'd seen them before that night. But after … she never had another happy day on this earth. And she was a wonderful woman. She deserved better."
"You both did," Steve said.
"I did what I had to do today," Clyde said. "I wouldn't say I'm happy, but I fulfilled my promise. Still, I took a life. And no matter how worthless that life was, I have to pay the price."
"You were a cop for 14 years," Danny said. "You can't serve your time in general population. A good attorney can help get you on some kind of segregation unit."
"It doesn't matter where I serve my time. I walked into a morgue one night all those years ago and identified the dead bodies of my daughter, my only child, and my three precious grandchildren," Clyde said. "Nothing that could ever happen to me in prison would be worse than that."
The room was silent as the men contemplated those words.
"What can we do to help you?" Steve asked.
"Go home. Kiss your loved ones. Tell them you love them. Treasure every minute you spend with them," Clyde said. "Never let a minute go by without them knowing they are loved."
"That's good advice," Steve said softly.
"Now get out of here and let me get on with what comes next," Clyde said. "I'm ready."
Just as Steve reached the door, Clyde spoke again.
"Scotty had a girlfriend on the outside," he said. "They met through some kind of prison pen pal program. He was planning to move in with her after the halfway house."
His eyes turned dark.
"She has three kids."
Danny and Steve's jaws clenched.
"Don't worry about me," Clyde said. "I have no regrets."
THE END
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