Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Nov 1, 2017 19:14:14 GMT
November 2, 2017 - 10:00 AM
One week after the October Revolution promo podcast...
"Good morning. I'm Abby Faulkner, Corpus Christi Police Department CSI unit."
James Gilmore sat nervously in a chair inside an CCPD interrogation room, looking around at the armed guards and surveillance gadgets that were wired all around. It was the last place he had ever expected to find himself in, a quiet, chilling aura perked up all around him as his mind tried to comprehend the legal situation he'd found himself in.
The Islander alum had found himself in some tight pickles before.
This, however, was the worst he'd ever been in.
"Good mornin' ma'am," James said to the veteran detective of eleven years. In spite of being in her mid-30s, Abby was a bit of a Goth girl at heart with a stately black-sequined dress with black stiletto heels. Her work wasn't exactly the most celebrated career choice, but deep in her soul she loved her job with a passion. Yet what set her apart from most detectives in her field was that she had the unique ability to make people she had interrogated feel at ease; by comforting a terrified "person of interest" rather than being such a hard-nose, she could get people to spout the truth from their lips in record time.
Gilmore breathed heavily in his seat across from Abby's desk, his mind not thinking about who won Game 7 of the Astros-Dodgers World Series but, rather, the horrific image of himself kneeling over the guy who targeted him because of his political views, blood on his hands and on his jersey.
"Mr. Gilmore," Abby intoned. "I understand you're still traumatized by the whole ordeal on October 26th. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like being in your shoes as a former Mayoral candidate. In fact...I don't know if you know this or not, but I voted for you in the mayor's race."
Faulkner gave off a warm vibe that James couldn't help but appreciate. Even in a state of fear and confusion, James saw the goodness in his interrogator's heart. "I can't imagine what it's like to be a detective," he intoned. "Always watchin' your six, prayin' somethin' doesn't go wrong, havin' to I.D. someone who died and find out what caused that person to die....it's a dirty job I'll say, but I heard you're the best one in the department."
"It's a shame," Abby said, sitting behind her desk and pulling out a red spiral notebook to take notes in. "We have to live in a society where politically-motivated attacks can and do occur, but with that said...you have to cooperate with us so we can make sure everything's accurate, okay?"
James closed his eyes, trembling at the very prospect of going to jail for yesterday's incident. "You're not gonna go to jail but we do need to get a statement in from you," Abby reasoned to the contrary. "That way we can present your testimony to a grand jury--"
"Whoa...grand jury?," he shot off, eyes wide open and bloodshot.
"That's just standard procedure for a case like yours when it involves the death of a person. This case looks like it could fall under 'stand your ground' but we need everything you know in the matter," Faulkner reiterated, trying to calm the former mayoral candidate's tension. "To be fair, I don't think any prosecutor, in his or her right frame of mind, would want to try this case given the circumstances."
James' trembling slowly subsided, and he let out a relaxing sigh as he tried to feel at ease. In Texas, "stand your ground" meant exactly as the law in question says--that a defendant has the right to use force, without engaging in a retreat, against potential and perceived threats in order to defend themselves or others against said threats.
"But with that in mind, I want you to tell me, step by step, what happened on the day in question," Abby said after clearing her throat. James Gilmore took a deep breath as he tried to recall the events of that fateful day.
"I was on my private beach filmin' my bodyguard Mikhail as he was workin' on a sculpture," he said, watching as the detective rapidly took down notes. "Some guy wearin' a Price is Right shirt walks in lookin' lost, and he asks 'are you that Republican...?'."
"Okay," she chimed in as she looked up at James. "Just to clarify...did he say 'the Republican' or 'THAT Republican?' This way I can help get a motive," Abby added. "He said 'THAT Republican,'" Gilmore stated, remembering what he had filmed on his camera on the day in question. "It's on my video camera ma'am."
"Alright we'll play the footage," she said before pressing a button on her office phone. "Bring in the Sony Handycam found at the crime scene," she ordered to one of her assistants. Within thirty seconds, a gentleman in a white labcoat and gloves walked in, holding onto a large plastic baggie that contained James' camera. Carefully taking it out of the baggie, the fresh-faced assistant played the last video recordings taken during the incident.
Abby listened intently to the audio coming from the built-in speaker. "Okie-dokie...," she said with a nod, quickly putting pen on paper. "Now...looks as if we've got the evidence crystal clear save for one thing. Your footage does show the attacker pulling out his .45 and pointing it at you, that much is certain. However...I was only able to hear audio of the altercation that took place shortly after. So I need juuuust a little more information from you and we'll be set. Now...after the first shots rang out, what did you do?"
"I dropped my camera and tried to find a place to take cover at first. Couldn't find any place to hide," James said as the whiteshirt took his leave. "I looked back and saw Mikhail tacklin' the guy to the ground. He started screamin'....so I came back and did all I could to help him."
Abby nodded, taking a sip from a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper while jotting her information down as fast as she could.
"I reached in and tried to help Mikhail disarm the guy, and...," Gilmore paused, his voice turning into a frightened stammer. "I...I-I-I....w-w-went for the gun..." he paused, then froze.
"It's gonna be okay, Mr. Gilmore. Slow down, you're getting there. What happened when you jumped in to help and tried to grab the gun...," Faulkner reassured. James closed his eyes, sweat pouring from his brow as the last moments crawled into his mind like a nightmare.
"A-a-a-and...heard a b-b-bang, then....nothin'..."
Right after James spoke, the room fell into silence.
Pure, unadulterated silence--reminiscent of what had taken place on his private beachhead one week ago. Abby stopped writing for a moment, looking up at the terrified man sitting on the other side of the oakwood desk, in her sparsely-decorated office.
"That was when the final shot rang out...," she concluded, to which Gilmore could only nod. After taking another sip from her drink, she added. "Okay...there's one more thing. In the audio, during the altercation and just before the final shot, your attacker shouted out something on the lines of 'for Katherine.' Can you tell me who she is?"
Gilmore sighed...then froze once more. He had prided himself as being an honest, God-loving, all-American man, and the last thing he wanted to do was to lie about the person who had, inconceivably, set the whole ordeal into motion. "You don't have to tell me right now you can wait 'til later, I won't hold that against you," Abby softly spoke before placing her spiral on the desk. "It seems like what we've got here was that a man targeted you for your political beliefs, and in the struggle to disarm the man, you pulled the trigger by accident," she deduced.
And James Gilmore broke down in tears, leading Faulker to walk up to him. "Hey," she soothed. "You did great. You cooperated, gave us all the info we needed for now. You were just caught up in the classic case of 'wrong place, wrong time,' that's all." She continued as she opened up her mini-fridge, taking out a second bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper and handing it to James, trying to cheer him up. "I'm no lawyer, but I seriously doubt that there's gonna be an indictment over this case. The grand jury process should take a week or two to run its course," she added.
One week after the October Revolution promo podcast...
"Good morning. I'm Abby Faulkner, Corpus Christi Police Department CSI unit."
James Gilmore sat nervously in a chair inside an CCPD interrogation room, looking around at the armed guards and surveillance gadgets that were wired all around. It was the last place he had ever expected to find himself in, a quiet, chilling aura perked up all around him as his mind tried to comprehend the legal situation he'd found himself in.
The Islander alum had found himself in some tight pickles before.
This, however, was the worst he'd ever been in.
"Good mornin' ma'am," James said to the veteran detective of eleven years. In spite of being in her mid-30s, Abby was a bit of a Goth girl at heart with a stately black-sequined dress with black stiletto heels. Her work wasn't exactly the most celebrated career choice, but deep in her soul she loved her job with a passion. Yet what set her apart from most detectives in her field was that she had the unique ability to make people she had interrogated feel at ease; by comforting a terrified "person of interest" rather than being such a hard-nose, she could get people to spout the truth from their lips in record time.
Gilmore breathed heavily in his seat across from Abby's desk, his mind not thinking about who won Game 7 of the Astros-Dodgers World Series but, rather, the horrific image of himself kneeling over the guy who targeted him because of his political views, blood on his hands and on his jersey.
"Mr. Gilmore," Abby intoned. "I understand you're still traumatized by the whole ordeal on October 26th. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like being in your shoes as a former Mayoral candidate. In fact...I don't know if you know this or not, but I voted for you in the mayor's race."
Faulkner gave off a warm vibe that James couldn't help but appreciate. Even in a state of fear and confusion, James saw the goodness in his interrogator's heart. "I can't imagine what it's like to be a detective," he intoned. "Always watchin' your six, prayin' somethin' doesn't go wrong, havin' to I.D. someone who died and find out what caused that person to die....it's a dirty job I'll say, but I heard you're the best one in the department."
"It's a shame," Abby said, sitting behind her desk and pulling out a red spiral notebook to take notes in. "We have to live in a society where politically-motivated attacks can and do occur, but with that said...you have to cooperate with us so we can make sure everything's accurate, okay?"
James closed his eyes, trembling at the very prospect of going to jail for yesterday's incident. "You're not gonna go to jail but we do need to get a statement in from you," Abby reasoned to the contrary. "That way we can present your testimony to a grand jury--"
"Whoa...grand jury?," he shot off, eyes wide open and bloodshot.
"That's just standard procedure for a case like yours when it involves the death of a person. This case looks like it could fall under 'stand your ground' but we need everything you know in the matter," Faulkner reiterated, trying to calm the former mayoral candidate's tension. "To be fair, I don't think any prosecutor, in his or her right frame of mind, would want to try this case given the circumstances."
James' trembling slowly subsided, and he let out a relaxing sigh as he tried to feel at ease. In Texas, "stand your ground" meant exactly as the law in question says--that a defendant has the right to use force, without engaging in a retreat, against potential and perceived threats in order to defend themselves or others against said threats.
"But with that in mind, I want you to tell me, step by step, what happened on the day in question," Abby said after clearing her throat. James Gilmore took a deep breath as he tried to recall the events of that fateful day.
"I was on my private beach filmin' my bodyguard Mikhail as he was workin' on a sculpture," he said, watching as the detective rapidly took down notes. "Some guy wearin' a Price is Right shirt walks in lookin' lost, and he asks 'are you that Republican...?'."
"Okay," she chimed in as she looked up at James. "Just to clarify...did he say 'the Republican' or 'THAT Republican?' This way I can help get a motive," Abby added. "He said 'THAT Republican,'" Gilmore stated, remembering what he had filmed on his camera on the day in question. "It's on my video camera ma'am."
"Alright we'll play the footage," she said before pressing a button on her office phone. "Bring in the Sony Handycam found at the crime scene," she ordered to one of her assistants. Within thirty seconds, a gentleman in a white labcoat and gloves walked in, holding onto a large plastic baggie that contained James' camera. Carefully taking it out of the baggie, the fresh-faced assistant played the last video recordings taken during the incident.
Abby listened intently to the audio coming from the built-in speaker. "Okie-dokie...," she said with a nod, quickly putting pen on paper. "Now...looks as if we've got the evidence crystal clear save for one thing. Your footage does show the attacker pulling out his .45 and pointing it at you, that much is certain. However...I was only able to hear audio of the altercation that took place shortly after. So I need juuuust a little more information from you and we'll be set. Now...after the first shots rang out, what did you do?"
"I dropped my camera and tried to find a place to take cover at first. Couldn't find any place to hide," James said as the whiteshirt took his leave. "I looked back and saw Mikhail tacklin' the guy to the ground. He started screamin'....so I came back and did all I could to help him."
Abby nodded, taking a sip from a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper while jotting her information down as fast as she could.
"I reached in and tried to help Mikhail disarm the guy, and...," Gilmore paused, his voice turning into a frightened stammer. "I...I-I-I....w-w-went for the gun..." he paused, then froze.
"It's gonna be okay, Mr. Gilmore. Slow down, you're getting there. What happened when you jumped in to help and tried to grab the gun...," Faulkner reassured. James closed his eyes, sweat pouring from his brow as the last moments crawled into his mind like a nightmare.
"A-a-a-and...heard a b-b-bang, then....nothin'..."
Right after James spoke, the room fell into silence.
Pure, unadulterated silence--reminiscent of what had taken place on his private beachhead one week ago. Abby stopped writing for a moment, looking up at the terrified man sitting on the other side of the oakwood desk, in her sparsely-decorated office.
"That was when the final shot rang out...," she concluded, to which Gilmore could only nod. After taking another sip from her drink, she added. "Okay...there's one more thing. In the audio, during the altercation and just before the final shot, your attacker shouted out something on the lines of 'for Katherine.' Can you tell me who she is?"
Gilmore sighed...then froze once more. He had prided himself as being an honest, God-loving, all-American man, and the last thing he wanted to do was to lie about the person who had, inconceivably, set the whole ordeal into motion. "You don't have to tell me right now you can wait 'til later, I won't hold that against you," Abby softly spoke before placing her spiral on the desk. "It seems like what we've got here was that a man targeted you for your political beliefs, and in the struggle to disarm the man, you pulled the trigger by accident," she deduced.
And James Gilmore broke down in tears, leading Faulker to walk up to him. "Hey," she soothed. "You did great. You cooperated, gave us all the info we needed for now. You were just caught up in the classic case of 'wrong place, wrong time,' that's all." She continued as she opened up her mini-fridge, taking out a second bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper and handing it to James, trying to cheer him up. "I'm no lawyer, but I seriously doubt that there's gonna be an indictment over this case. The grand jury process should take a week or two to run its course," she added.
"I can tell right away...you're a family man who's very honest, yet always winds up a victim of circumstance," the longtime detective spoke while looking Gilmore directly in the eye. Yet he responded, "I ain't got no kids of my own." Abby shook her head before replying, "I'm a single mom..."
That last bit made James chuckle...and Abby smiled, knowing that sometimes the worst parts of a job can bring out the best in anyone. She continued, "...my 8-year-old son's a big wrestling fan and, in fact, considers you his favorite role model. So I know for a fact that you'd never hurt a fly. You've been such an integral part of the Corpus Christi and the Gulf Coast communities ever since Hurricane Harvey, helping those who truly need it the most."
"I appreciate it ma'am," James said, happily accepting the surprise gift.
"Okay. Here's my card," Faulkner announced, handing him a small business card. "If you have ANY questions or concerns, my address and number are on the front. We'll get Mr. Federov in here so he can answer some questions and tie up the loose ends, but in the meantime...do take care of yourself."
The two shook hands before James quietly made his exit. Outside Abby's office, we find Mikhail Federov, his bodyguard, sitting along in a corridor chair. He turned to the big Russian fellow and outstretched his arms, relieved that his interrogation was over.
"Your turn bud...," Gilmore announced softly, patting Mikhail on the shoulder. Yet just as he was about to make his way towards a waiting elevator, the giant spoke.
"You...saved my life."
James Gilmore turned his head, acknowledging his bodyguard, his friend.
"That's what friends do..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
That last bit made James chuckle...and Abby smiled, knowing that sometimes the worst parts of a job can bring out the best in anyone. She continued, "...my 8-year-old son's a big wrestling fan and, in fact, considers you his favorite role model. So I know for a fact that you'd never hurt a fly. You've been such an integral part of the Corpus Christi and the Gulf Coast communities ever since Hurricane Harvey, helping those who truly need it the most."
"I appreciate it ma'am," James said, happily accepting the surprise gift.
"Okay. Here's my card," Faulkner announced, handing him a small business card. "If you have ANY questions or concerns, my address and number are on the front. We'll get Mr. Federov in here so he can answer some questions and tie up the loose ends, but in the meantime...do take care of yourself."
The two shook hands before James quietly made his exit. Outside Abby's office, we find Mikhail Federov, his bodyguard, sitting along in a corridor chair. He turned to the big Russian fellow and outstretched his arms, relieved that his interrogation was over.
"Your turn bud...," Gilmore announced softly, patting Mikhail on the shoulder. Yet just as he was about to make his way towards a waiting elevator, the giant spoke.
"You...saved my life."
James Gilmore turned his head, acknowledging his bodyguard, his friend.
"That's what friends do..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Well howdy there pardner.