Motive

Summary: When Binky finds himself inside an interrogation room at the Elwood City Police Department, he plays it cool. The cops know what happened but what they’re looking to find out is the Motive. Can also be found here on ff.net.

WARNINGS: Graphic violence, some minor language, but namely the graphic thing. I’m rating this T because this is similar content that you would find in a show rated TV-14. If anyone wants me to up this to M, please let me know and I’d be glad to do so.

The room was small and sparsely furnished. Three folding chairs were placed around the room, none of them matching, and a small fold-out table was pushed against the wall. The only thing in the room was a heavy-set young man in his early twenties. A camera in the top corner of the room recorded his every movement, but there were none. He looked stoically towards the wall without doing anything. He didn’t tap his fingers or twitch his feet. He just sat there in silence.

In the next room, a female sat among the same furnishings—four fold-out chairs (two were matching), a fold-out chair, and a camera at the top of the room. She was twitching, sliding around on her seat as she crossed her legs one way and then the other. She tapped her finger and rocked in her seat, jerking whichever foot was on top and bouncing whatever foot was on the bottom. She was sweating slightly in the air conditioned room, but it was mid-October—her sweating was from nervousness, not the humidity.

Detectives went to the male first. They approached him by introducing themselves and shaking his hand. Then they sat in the other fold-out chairs after putting a cassette recorder on the table. They joked about how ancient that technology was now, but the cops told him it was all they had. Besides, there was a more taxing matter to discuss.

The first detective cleared his throat, “I’m Detective Murray James, and this is my partner Detective Andy Fuller. You’ve been brought in today because of the death of your boss, Randy House. He was found deceased at approximately eight this morning when a delivery man came with the morning truck. We want to know what you know about his death.”

“I just work there,” the guy said, looking up as the detectives stopped him. “What did I do wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Detective Fuller smiled, “but we forgot to identify you in the tape. This is suspect Binky Barnes, aged twenty-two. Okay, now you can continue.”

Binky shifted and kept going, “Like I said, I just work there. I don’t know if the place was robbed in the night or anything like that. I went home around ten last night, and I drove Molly home.”

“Molly MacDonald, your coworker?” Detective Fuller questioned. Binky nodded. Detective Fuller continued, “Well, we have her in the other room. What about her? What about you? Did either of you want to see harm come to Randy House?”

“Molly? She couldn’t kill a man like Randy even if she wanted to. She’s been dealing with anorexia and isn’t that strong anymore. I don’t know how she’s even alive, but she refuses to eat and refuses to get treatment. She’s been doing limited hours for about a month now. Yesterday was the first day she worked in two weeks,” Binky explained.

Detective James made some notes on a yellow legal pad before looking up, “You seem to know her pretty well if you know she’s anorexic. Do you know why she’s like that?”

Binky nodded, “Yeah, I know why. I know a lot about her because we went to school together. She started skipping meals in high school because some low-life called her fat. I tried to tell her she was beautiful as she was, and my friends and I were able to keep her in control of her situation. She even went to see a counselor, but they got to be too expensive once she became an adult. Her mother stopped paying for the visits because she was doing better, and Molly let her stop them because she was doing better.”

“But when did this change?” Detective James asked, trying to push Binky further.

Binky sighed, “Something about work. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but I think you’re withholding information here,” Detective Fuller said, shifting in his seat so he could look directly at Binky, whose eyes were still locked on the opposite wall. Detective Fuller gestured towards him and Binky’s eyes flickered as they briefly met his before gazing back to the wall. Detective Fuller sat back, “Come on, Binky. We need to know everything so we can understand what happened.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with what happened to our boss. She told me someone touched her, but I thought it was a party thing. She met some girlfriends at her last job before this one. They go clubbing from time to time. They’d just been out when she changed,” Binky explained gruffly. He then repeated the most important phrase, “I don’t think that has anything to do with what happened to our boss.”

The detectives exchanged glances before pulling a large orange envelope from within the legal pad. Detective Fuller pulled out the pictures and handed them to Detective James, who arranged them on the tabletop and explained them:

“These are photographs from the crime scene itself. There was a spray of blood behind the counter covering most of the wall. There were bloody footprints leading to the screwdriver display because the killer’s first weapon, a hammer, broke after repeated blows to this man’s skull, a skull whose pieces are buried in his brain. The medical examiner fears they won’t find them all because they were washed down the employee sink when the killer went back to wash themselves off.”

Binky swallowed but wouldn’t look at the pictures. He took the detective’s word for it that they were gruesome. He shook his head, “I don’t see what this has to do with me or Molly.”

“Because robbery wasn’t the motive,” Detective Fuller said firmly. “This was a killing fueled by emotion. It may or may not have been premeditated, but that’s not what we’re trying to figure out. We’re trying to figure out why someone would bludgeon this man to death, and who would do such a thing. That’s why we’re talking to you. You might just work there, but you have to know something.”

“But I don’t,” Binky said with an argumentative tone, “and I don’t see how showing a clueless person a bunch of nasty photos is going to trigger any new information for you guys. You’ve got the wrong man.”

“We know that,” Detective James whispered. The words were so intense they filled the room. Detective James leaned forward, “Molly MacDonald bludgeoned your boss to death. She is the perfect height, the perfect build. But more importantly, we have the whole thing on tape. We just need to know why she’d take a hammer, then six different screwdrivers to rid the world of someone that you’ve said was just your boss.”

Binky shook his head, “Talk to her then. I don’t know what to tell you, but I hope she’ll be okay. You’ll make sure she gets treatment for her anorexia in prison?”

“Of course. That would be cruel and unusual punishment to let her starve, not that Randy House’s family is going to care,” Detective Fuller said, standing and moving into the hallway with his partner. He sighed and leaned against the wall, “I thought he’d speak. He knows something. I can feel it.”

“He wants her to tell us. I have a feeling she will,” Detective James replied, putting the photos back into the envelope and sliding the envelope back into the legal pad. They marched into Molly’s interrogation room and set it up just as Binky’s was. They began with introductions, and they remembered to add Molly’s name to the mix so they wouldn’t have to interrupt her. Then they asked the million dollar question: “Why did you kill Randy House?”

“That bastard deserved it,” Molly spat, wiggling in her seat before crossing her bony arms and staring back at them, “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I think I’d eat first though, just to have plenty of strength. I’m starving right now. Who knew killing the man who has tormented you for months would make one so damn hungry?”

“We’ll arrange to get you fed, but we need to know what brought this on. You didn’t steal anything from the shop, and you didn’t start an argument with him that turned ugly,” Detective Fuller said.

Molly smirked, “He would’ve killed me if he saw me coming, and as for the robbery, that place has nothing I would ever want, money included. I killed him because he deserved it for what he’s done to me, what he’s done to the others.”

“You’ll have to explain what you mean,” Detective James said after a long pause.

Molly sighed, “I doubted anyone would know, especially cops. Randy House was a molester, not a child molester but a man who touched women. He liked to control women, and if he couldn’t wear them down through traditional means, he’d use his power to get them alone. Then he’d shove his nasty fingers where they didn’t belong and beg you not to tell. And most didn’t. They just found other jobs and left. One girl is trying to pay her way through med school, and you know what she’s doing now? Cleaning toilets at night, alone, at Crosswire Motors, because she’s afraid to work with other people and Ed Crosswire was nice enough to let her work alone with a gun strapped to her side.”

“Why didn’t anyone come forward? The law covers that sort of touching. He could’ve been arrested and charged,” Detective Fuller said firmly.

Molly shook her head, “No, he’d find a way out. Randy House, son of a congressman, brother of a CEO. His family would pay off the jury, sweet talk the judge. He’d do community service with more vulnerable women, just to show how much he cares about the female race, and all the while he’d be back at that stupid hardware store touching his subordinates. Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? I had to kill him so he could never do it again, and so I could get my life back.”

“When did he first touch you?” Detective James questioned.

“Not long after his last favorite left,” Molly replied, continuing, “Binky and I talked about the high turnover of females. He always wanted a few in the shop to work with the gardening section, so he said, because most of the gardeners in the city were women who wanted advice for women. Turns out he needed to get himself off by pushing girls around. He told the last girl to clean the floor with a toothbrush in the women’s restroom because it was filthy, then he watched her do it. She didn’t come back the next day, so I was moved from Binky’s section in power tools and to gardening, and bathroom duties. He yelled at me at first. The touching didn’t start until he thought I’d defied him with a customer. He grabbed my breast, and when I pulled away, he made sure he got my bra and broke it. He refused to let me wear one ever since. The next time he thought I defied him, he got me in the bathroom to clean the floor, then he put his foot between my legs, without shoes and socks. I wanted to kill him then, but I was weak. I had to get my strength up.”

“Why last night? What did he do to push you over the edge?” Detective Fuller asked.

Molly smiled, “Not a damn thing. It was my birthday and I wanted to treat myself. I called the girls about clubbing, but they were all busy tomorrow and didn’t want to be out late. I was going to go home with a bottle of something, but he saw it in my purse and took it. That’s what he was doing facing the counter. I saw that hammer and went after him. Remind me to get some paper and send that company a letter. That tool did not live up to expectations.”

She continued, “The screwdrivers were probably a bit much, but I thought I heard him breathing. And once I stabbed him, I liked it. All those times he put something inside of women. I don’t know if he ever out-right raped anyone, but I know he put his fingers and toes where they didn’t belong. So I put those tools where they didn’t belong, and I have not one single regret.”

Detective James nodded and looked up, “We’ve got Binky in the next room. We wanted to know what he had to say in case you didn’t tell us anything. He wouldn’t tell us anything.”

Molly smiled, “He’s a loyal friend, one of the few people I’ll miss when I’m put away. My little brother and Binky, the man who drove me home and didn’t ask about the lingering blood under my fingernails or the streak across my face. I’d told him what was happening and he wanted me to find another job and get treatment for my illness again. I told him I was working on it. Really I was planning on how I could get back at Randy House. I wasn’t going to kill him. I was only going to blackmail him somehow, ruin his entire family’s reputation so he could finally have charges pressed against him. Then he stole my booze and called me a cunt. I couldn’t handle that. Touch me there, fine, but don’t call me one. He earned it, and I believe I’ve earned a meal. Could you get me a burger, probably a small one from McDonald’s so the grease doesn’t pack as much heat?” she requested.

The detectives nodded and granted her request. They brought in a trashcan along with the bag, which contained two small hamburgers, a medium fry, and the straw for a chocolate shake. She smiled and said she preferred strawberry, but she was grateful for their kindness. She ate with a grin on her face, and somehow she kept it all down.

As she ate, Binky was released. He might’ve seen the blood, so he knew what happened, but they didn’t think they had enough evidence to charge him with anything. Molly didn’t try to hide what she did. She knew the body would be discovered, and she knew the cops would come. She was just waiting for everything to fall into place, a blissful grin on her lips.

Molly’s court-appointed attorney was good at what he did. He built a case for Battered Woman’s Syndrome. At first it didn’t seem possible, but Molly had more friends than she realized. Her friends, both Binky and her clubbing girlfriends, came out to support her, and Molly’s family took the stand on her behalf as well. Evidence from the murder itself—how many times she hit him and how she grabbed objects to place inside him to seal the deal—only helped them further. She was sentenced to spend at least five years in a special facility to help her cope, but she would be free as soon as she was deemed well.

The real surprise was that no one came to the defense of Randy House. A woman in a black veil came to the courtroom every day and sat behind the prosecution, but no one knew who she was until a strong breeze lifted her veil outside the courthouse. It was Randy’s wife, a battered woman herself.

Years later when a television film crew would come to the widowed Mrs. House to do a follow-up story on the case, she would tell them the truth: She too had planned to kill her husband because of his abusive ways. She had tried leaving him, but it hadn’t worked, so she’d thought of ways to kill him. She brought up an electronic log of her library activity, and during the time before his death, she’d checked out books on natural pesticides (which could double as poison for that pesky husband of yours) and grisly murders (both fictional and non-fictional). She was grateful for what Molly had done.

The truth about his family’s lack of support was similar. The family knew he’d had a thing for controlling women, and his family had no intention of helping him out of any charges. They realized their clout among the community scared women away from reporting rather quickly, but there was nothing they could do about it without outing their family member themselves, so they kept quiet and said nothing until that same film crew came looking for them.

When the crew came to Molly for an update, they found her sitting in a backyard watching her three kids play while her husband, Binky, grilled on the patio nearby. She told them she couldn’t talk around the children about her past. She felt terrible for what she had done, she said vaguely, but if she had it to do all over, she wouldn’t change a thing.

“I helped the world that day. I’m sure you can find plenty of people to tell you that. If my motive had been different, you’d be filming this inside a penitentiary somewhere. I killed him because I felt I had no choice, and I still feel that way. But I’ve gotten treatment, and…you see that biggest steak over there? That would be mine. I can eat my husband under the table any day of the week, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~End

A/N: Well this got about as graphic as I expected. I don’t know when I wrote this idea, but I found it today (May 30th), and I wanted to go with it. I’m working on my 100 Summer One-Shots challenge right now, so I needed something to go on. I hope you guys liked this.

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