The Death Of Jackson Harris

Chapter 3

"Esme Patel?"

"Esme Romero now. Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Henry Miller. May I come in? I have a few questions regarding an incident that you called in."

"I haven't called in anything," she said with a look of confusion.

"It was called in twelve years ago."

I saw her entire demeanor drop, and she became serious. She moved the door so it was covering more of the inside of her house, and the look in her eyes told me that she didn't want me inside and she definitely didn't want to talk to me about anything. Then slowly, her eyes showed anger. I was expecting this; from her point of view, it looks like we are barely doing anything for her brother. Why should she trust us if we didn't help before? That's a question I find hard to answer whenever it is asked of me. 

"I'm sorry, but I am busy."

"Ma'am, I know this must be hard. I understand, but I promise all I want to do is bring justice for your brother."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, her hold on the door becoming tighter as she said, "Oh really? Why now? Why do you care now? It's been twelve years! You can't just show up and say now you are ready to help my brother! I was fifteen! I am now twenty-seven!"

"Ma'am, I know, and all that you're saying is true. I cannot blame you for hating us. But I wasn't on the case before; I am now, though. All I want is to bring in the man that did this to your brother and give you the opportunity to grieve properly."

"You want to bring the man in? And what about Jackson Harris? His name was written on the wall in my brother's blood! He-"

"Honey, what's going on?"

The door was opened more widely to reveal a man who looked in his late twenties. His appearance screamed businessman, and by the looks of how nice the house was, I'd say he did business somewhere in law. He extended his hand out to me, and I shook it with a tight smile. 

"Detective Henry Miller."

"Micah Romero, it's nice to meet you. Is everything okay?" he asked and glanced at his distressed wife, who wiped an angry tear away.

"I was just hoping to talk to your wife about a case that happened twelve years ago."

"Come on in; it's freezing outside," he said, much to his wife's complaints.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me, taking a deep breath as the warm air calmed my body down. They led me to the living room, where some toys were scattered around. However, the place still looked clean, considering that they had two kids. I sat on the couch opposite them and stayed silent as Micah handed his wife a box of tissues.

"If I may ask, this case happened twelve years ago. Why bring it up now?"

"I am reviewing every case involving Jackson Harris. The detective that worked on this case before me claimed it to be a cold case file. I am just trying to bring in the man that did this."

"Wasn't the man's name at the crime scene?"

"While a name was provided, no one was found to take that name. Please, I only want to ask some questions; anything will help."

Micah looked down at his wife in question, but she still looked like she didn't want to budge. I couldn't blame her; I'd be angry too. No, I'd be furious. But as the husband gave her hand a squeeze of encouragement, she slowly lost her anger, and instead, misery overcame her features. She slowly nodded her head with tears in her eyes and sat up. 

"What would you like to know?" she asked in a shaky tone.

"Could you just tell me everything that happened that day? And I know you were fifteen then, but do you remember if Kai behaved strangely? Did you know all his friends? Did anyone new hang out around with him? Where did he usually stay at?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as more tears wanted to escape. Micah handed her another tissue which she took gratefully and wiped her eyes. She took a sip of water from a water bottle that was already at the coffee table before she cleared her throat and looked at me again.

"Kai spent a lot of his time in his dorm room. He'd visit every weekend during his first year, but from his second to his last year, there was no clear schedule. He'd show up if he had time. He'd still make time to call and check up on us, but his last year was when he was super busy, so we didn't have much contact. He behaved normally around us, but now that I think about it, he became really closed off. He kept his life private, and while he didn't act cold toward us, his answers to our questions about his life were limited. I didn't meet any of his friends from college. Only some went to his funeral; it was mostly old friends from high school."

"And what about that day?"

She took a deep breath and wiped away a few more tears before she spoke and said, "It was a Sunday. I stayed home from church, but my parents still went. Kai texted me that he was going to be able to stay for dinner but not to tell the parents so it could be a surprise. I was excited; we hadn't seen Kai in about a month, so it was going to be a happy dinner. When he got home, he took a nap in his room because he was tired from the drive. I was in my room doing homework, and about an hour later, I heard Kai yelling. I went to check on him, and his room door was slightly open. He was on the phone and trying to keep his voice down, but he sounded so angry. I never heard him so angry before. He cursed the person before he ended the call and saw me. He told me that everything was okay and to go to my room. I obeyed and fell asleep. I woke up to the screams of my brother. Whoever was there put something in my door because I couldn't get out."

A hard sob escaped past her lips, and her husband wrapped his arm around her. Her body shook with each sob, and no amount of tissues could soak up all the tears flowing down her eyes and cheeks. Still, she tried to wipe them away but secretly knew it was not going to work. She was mourning her brother's death all over again; each memory she tried to bury deep away was making an appearance all over again. I felt guilty that I caused this, but this was necessary to bring her brother justice.

"Whoever killed my brother went into my room and took out any form of communication because my phone, laptop, even the house phone was gone! He was in my room! I heard each cry and scream! No one was there to call the cops because everyone was at church! I couldn't do anything!"

She got up and ran to her room, slamming the door, and the only thing left to hear were her sobs. Her husband sighed and stood up, grabbing the tissues that she already used and throwing them away in the kitchen. I stood up, grabbing my things as I felt it was time to leave. I wasn't going to get any more information out of her, and quite frankly, I wasn't going to push her past her limits. I was lucky enough to get her to tell me the entire story.

"I'm sorry, she doesn't talk about it. I do hope that the information she gave you helps."

"Don't worry about it; I don't blame her at all. Please, keep this card; it has my number. Don't hesitate to call if anything else occurs or you have questions."

"Will do," he said with a sad but friendly smile and followed me out to close the door. "Please, don't let her down. She has never fully recovered."

"I can't imagine the pain she's been through and is in. I promise to do my absolute best."

I just hope I don't let her or anyone else down. God, help me.