The Youngest Garza

chapter 22

Chris’s point of view

Silence surrounds me as I’m seated in my house office, looking through Michael’s file to try and see what I’ve missed and honestly nothing is coming to light.

The guy was an asshole who had way too many enemies to count.

Apparently he had an anti-fan club which disliked the shit out of the man. Death threats and all types of profanities are written in this group mail.

One of the threats sticks out to me though. It says ‘I hope you get shit in the head whilst you’re naked so everyone can see your small penis’ and it was sent by a @sexiopath AKA Norman Welsh.

How I didn’t come across this a while back is aggravating, which makes me feel less guilty about the decisions I’ve taken.

I write down his address and decide to head there and have a talk with this guy.

Once I get to the address, I head to the door and pound on it slightly.

“LAPD, open up” I say and wait for a few seconds before the door opens up to an old woman who looks at me sceptically.

“Yes, how may I help you?” she asks out of obligation as the door doesn’t open up further.

“I’m looking for a Norman Welsh, I believe he lives here” I say and don’t miss the look of panic that flashes through her eyes.

“Is she in some kind of trouble?” she asks, surprising me with her term of pronoun.

“No ma’am, I just wish to speak to her” I say, trying not to scare the poor woman, who reluctantly opens the door to allow me entrance.

“Follow me please” she says once she closes the door and leads me up the stairs to the last room “She hasn’t really been well, so excuse any thing she does” she warns as she opens the door to Norman’s room.

What I see is not what I expected. The room is littered with papers and pencils, some pastels and crayons. But that isn’t what throws me of, no. It’s the teenage girl seated on her bed with an amputated left arm and leg that throws me off.

I came here thinking that I might have a lead and instead I’m disturbing people’s peace.

“Yes?” the girl... Norman asks in a small voice.

My voice gets stuck in my throat as I come to the conclusion that she isn’t the killer...but maybe she knows who it is.

“I need to talk to you about something if that’s okay with you?” I ask, trying not to start of on the wrong foot.

She gestures to the bed with her head, allowing me to take a seat.

“Is this about Michael?” she asks, which both surprises me and not.

“Yes it is” I confirmed, seeing as there’s no point beating behind the bush.

“I didn’t kill him but I wish I did” she says, her voice laced with anger.

“Clearly YOU didn’t” I say, emphasising the ‘you’ “but maybe you know who did” I say, being subtle with my statements.

“I honestly don’t know who did it, but whoever they are, I implore them” she says, her honest and unapologetic manner not bothering me one bit.

“Why do you hate him so much?” I ask the question that randomly just pops into my head.

“He called me an abomination” she says “my grandma and I were on our way back home from the hospital where I had an appointment to finally get a prosthetic arm and leg but things didn’t go so well. Anyway, we were in a taxi when a jeep wrangler ran a red light and bumped into us. Luckily no one was hurt” she relays her story, her voice breaking slightly “grandma was so furious that she stepped out of the car and started shouting at the driver and Michael who got out of his car to check on it. He didn’t even pay attention to what she was saying” her voice breaks even more “I got out of the cab to try and get my grandma back inside but then he noticed me and started insulting the both of us. He called me a cripple and abomination” tears fall down her face, her entire body shaking violently.