…
Do you have surveillance cameras? The manager smiled.
Detective, this is a $50 a night roadside motel, not the Hilton.
We don’t have cameras.
Winslow nodded and wrote down the statement.
Before leaving, he asked, “When the couple checked in, did you check their IDs?” “Of course.
” The woman’s passport and the man’s driver’s license.
“Did you notice anything unusual about those documents?” Jenkins thought for a second.
“Now that you ask, the woman’s passport looked very new.
I even thought that maybe she had recently obtained it or replaced it.
” Winslow thanked the manager and returned to the crime scene.
He carefully examined the room again, trying to reconstruct the events of the previous night.
A married couple checks into a motel.
Everything seems normal.
Then something happens.
Perhaps the husband finds pills or some documents.
An argument ensues, escalating into a violent attack.
Multiple stab wounds indicate extreme rage.
After the murder, Lan Geyser leaves the motel and disappears in an unknown direction.
Lieutenant Baxter, I need to contact our office in Dodge City.
I want them to check the victim’s registered address and start searching for Lacwan Geyser.
Of course, use our equipment.
At the Witchah Police Station, Winslow contacted Captain Morris.
I need information on two addresses.
27 Prairie Avenue, where the victim was registered, and Lacwan Geyser’s address.
Also run him through the database.
He may have a criminal record or outstanding warrants.
We’ll do.
How soon do you plan to return? As soon as the forensic team is done with the crime scene.
I think I’ll be there in 3 or 4 hours.
While the experts were finishing their work, Winslow looked through the victim’s personal belongings again.
In one of the inside pockets of the purse, he found a rolledup piece of paper.
Unfolding it, the detective saw a medical prescription for Shaun Parnell from a clinic in Kansas City written 5 years ago.
The prescription was for hormone medication.
Sha Parnell.
Winslow looked at the victim’s body, then back at the prescription.
Suddenly, the puzzle began to come together.
A new passport, hormonal drugs, and the name Shawn, too similar to Chenille.
Winslow’s phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.
Detective, this is Morris.
We have information on your request.
Chenille Parnell has indeed lived at the address you provided for the past 3 years.
She worked as a stylist at the Diva Beauty Salon on Main Street.
As for Lwan Geyser, he is a mechanic at the Fast Wheels Auto Repair Shop on Industrial Highway.
He lives at 15 Oak Street.
He has several arrests for bar fights and one assault charge, but the case was closed after the parties reached a settlement.
Excellent.
Send patrol officers to both addresses.
Have them check if Geyser has returned and gather information from the neighbors.
Already done.
And one more thing, detective.
We checked the marriage records.
Lwan and Chenille were indeed married on May 10th at St Michael’s Church.
Thanks, Captain.
I’ll be there in a few hours.
After ending the call, Winslow returned to the medical examiner who was preparing to transport the body.
Doctor, I have an unusual question for you.
Could you determine whether the victim had undergone sex reassignment surgery? The expert looked at the detective with surprise, then shifted his gaze to the body.
I didn’t notice it during my initial examination, but now that you mention it, yes, there are signs of surgical intervention characteristic of transgender transition, but for an accurate conclusion, a full examination is necessary.
Winslow thanked the doctor and left the room for some fresh air.
The picture was beginning to emerge, and it was not a pleasant one.
Perhaps Luan Geyser did not know about his wife’s past before the wedding, and when he found out, he reacted with extreme cruelty.
The detective glanced again at the map with the route marked on it.
They had left Dodge City 3 days ago, right after the wedding.
Witchita was their first stop on their planned trip across America, a trip that ended in tragedy for Chenille in a cheap roadside motel.
Winslow got in his car and headed back to Dodge City.
He had to get to the bottom of this story and find the killer, who had probably already crossed the state line in an attempt to evade justice.
Arriving in Dodge City in the early evening, Detective Shamon Winslow felt the fatigue of the long drive mixed with professional excitement.
Shaniel Parnell’s body remained in the Witchita morg for further examination, but all the evidence and preliminary conclusions formed the basis of the case, which was now entirely under his control.
Winslow’s first stop was the police station to report to Captain Morris on the results of his trip and discuss the next steps in the investigation.
“What do we have on the addresses?” Winslow asked as he entered the chief’s office.
Captain Morris, a heavy set man with a militarybearing and perpetually tired eyes, handed the detective a folder with reports.
The patrol officers checked both addresses.
The victim’s apartment on Prairie Avenue is clean.
No signs of the suspect’s return.
Neighbors confirmed seeing the couple leave 3 days ago in a black Impala.
According to a neighbor, they looked happy as love birds.
And Geyser’s house also empty.
We’ve left surveillance in place, but honestly, I don’t think he’s stupid enough to return.
Winslow nodded as he looked through the reports.
What about the wanted notice? The information about Geyser in his car is already in the database.
I contacted the highway patrol in Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas.
If he’s traveling on the main highways, there’s a chance we can intercept him.
Good.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll start interviewing people who knew both of them.
the beauty salon where Chenille worked.
GGser’s auto repair shop.
Neighbors.
Any theories about a motive? Morris asked, leaning back in his chair.
Winslow thought for a second, weighing whether to share his suspicions.
There’s something, but I want to check it out first.
If I’m right, we’re looking at a hate crime.
The next morning, Winslow’s first stop was the Deina Beauty Salon on Main Street.
It was a small space with a bright pink sign and display windows through which several workstations and a waiting area were visible.
Despite the early hour, the salon was already open for business with two women bustling around a client.
A bell rang when Winslow opened the door.
All three women turned their heads toward him at once.
“Good morning, ladies,” said the detective, showing his badge.
“Detective Shaman Winslow, Dodge City Police.
I need to talk about Shaunie Parnell.
There was a heavy pause.
Then one of the women, an older one with dyed red hair, stepped forward.
I’m Gloria, the owner of the salon.
What happened to Chenille? She went on her honeymoon and was supposed to be back in 2 weeks.
Winslow sighed.
This part of the job was always the hardest.
I’m afraid I have bad news.
Chenille was found dead yesterday morning in a motel in Witchah.
A deathly silence fell over the salon, broken only by the quiet hum of the air conditioner.
My god.
Gloria finally managed, clutching her heart.
What happened? We’re investigating a murder.
I need to ask you some questions about Chenille and her husband.
The customer quickly paid and left, leaving the detective with two salon employees.
How long had Chenille been working here? Winslow asked, taking out his notebook.
3 years, Gloria replied, still pale from shock.
She came here when she first moved to Dodge City.
She was an excellent stylist, and the clients loved her.
What do you know about her past? Gloria and the second woman, who introduced herself as Jasmine, exchanged quick glances.
“Not much,” Gloria said cautiously.
“She was quite secretive.
I know she used to live in Kansas City, but she never gave any details.
What about her husband, Laquan Geyser? How long had they known each other? About a year, Jasmine replied.
He came here to get a haircut, and that’s how they met.
Then he started picking her up after work and giving her flowers.
What was their relationship like? At first glance, it seemed perfect, Gloria said.
Laquan seemed enchanted by her.
But, but, Winslow prompted her.
He had a reputation.
How should I put it? As a hot-headed guy.
Once when Chenille was delayed by a client, he made a scene right here.
He yelled that she must be cheating on him with other men.
Yes, Jasmine agreed.
And he was obsessed with how others viewed his relationship.
He constantly talked about real men and real women.
It was as if he was trying to prove something.
Winslow made a note in his notebook.
Did Chenille have any close friends? Tamika, Gloria replied immediately.
Tamika Diggs.
They were very close.
Tamika works as a nurse at the city hospital.
Does she know anything about Chenille’s past? Again, there was a quick exchange of glances between the women.
Maybe, Gloria replied evasively.
They’ve been friends since Shaunie came to town.
Winslow decided to approach the question from a different angle.
Did Shaunie have any health problems? Was she taking any medication? Both women visibly tensed.
I think you’d better talk to Tama, Gloria said.
We really don’t know the details.
Winslow thanked them for their help and asked them to let him know if they remembered anything else.
As he was leaving the salon, Jasmine caught up with him.
“Detective,” she began uncertainly.
I don’t know if this is important, but about a month ago, Chenille said she was very afraid of how Lacoan would react if he found out a secret of hers.
She didn’t say what it was, but she was very scared.
“Thank you.
That could be important.
” Winslow nodded.
The next stop was the city hospital.
Tamika Diggs turned out to be a short, energetic woman with shortcropped hair and attentive eyes.
When Winslow showed his badge and said he wanted to talk about Chenille, her face instantly fell.
“What happened to her?” Tama asked sharply.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but Chenille was killed at a motel in Witchah.
” Tamika turned pale and grabbed the wall to keep from falling.
“He did it, didn’t he?” “That bastard Laquan.
We’re investigating the case,” Winslow replied cautiously.
“Can we talk in a more private setting?” They moved to an empty staff lounge.
Tamika sat down, clenching her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“I knew something would happen,” she said quietly.
“I warned her not to marry him.
I told her he’d snap if he found out.
” “Found out what, Miss Diggs?” Tamika looked up at the detective.
“You already know, don’t you? Did you find her pills or medical records?” Winslow nodded.
I saw a prescription in the name of Sha Parnell.
Tama took a deep breath.
Chanel used to be Shawn.
She had gender reassignment surgery 5 years ago in Kansas City.
Then she moved here to start a new life and Lwan didn’t know.
No, Chenille was afraid to tell him.
He was so traditional.
He always talked about what real men and women should be like, how much he hated.
She paused.
People who didn’t fit his ideas.
Why did she marry him? She loved him, Tamika replied simply.
And she hoped that someday he would love her so much that he would accept the truth.
Silly, I know.
I told her it was dangerous.
Do you have any documents confirming the surgery? Tamika paused as if making a decision.
I have copies of some medical reports at home.
Chenille asked me to keep them just in case.
I can give them to you.
That would be very helpful for the investigation.
What about her family? They turned their backs on her when she decided to have the surgery.
They haven’t been in contact for many years.
After talking to Tamika, Winslow drove to the address where the newlyweds lived, a small apartment on Prairie Avenue.
A neighbor, an elderly woman with curious eyes, willingly told him about the couple.
They were nice kids.
Especially the girl, Chenille, she always said hello and asked if I needed any help.
But Lwan, she grimaced.
He was too loud.
Sometimes I heard them arguing.
What were the arguments about? The usual things.
Money, household chores.
But once I heard him shouting something about secrets and lies.
That was about a week before the wedding.
Winslow wrote down the testimony and headed to his last stop for the day.
The Fast Wheels auto repair shop on Industrial Highway.
The shop was a typical garage.
Dirty floor, smell of oil and fuel, tools scattered everywhere.
Several mechanics were working on cars.
Winslow approached the man who looked older than the others.
“I’m looking for information about Lwan Geyser,” the detective said, showing his badge.
The man wiped his hands with a rag and gave Winslow an appraising look.
Marcus Thompson, owner.
Lacwan hasn’t been at work since last Friday.
He took two weeks off for his honeymoon.
What can you tell me about him? He’s a good mechanic.
He works conscientiously.
He’s polite to customers as long as they don’t try to tell him how to do his job.
What about his personality? Is he quick-tempered? Marcus chuckled.
Sometimes, especially if you hurt his pride.
Once a customer questioned his professionalism and Lwan almost got into a fight.
How did he treat his wife? He loved her.
Or at least it seemed that way.
He was always showing pictures of her saying how beautiful she was, how lucky he was.
One of the mechanics, a young guy, stopped working and listened to the conversation.
“Hey, Ry,” Marcus called him.
“You were closest to Lwan.
Come here.
” The guy came over wiping his hands.
“Raymond Johnson,” he introduced himself.
Lacquan and I often hung out together after work.
“Tell us about his relationship with Chenille.
” Raymond shrugged.
He was obsessed with her in a good way and a bad way.
He was always checking her phone and jealous of every guy.
But at the same time, he was proud to have such a beautiful girlfriend.
He said it proved he was a real man.
Did he ever show any aggression towards Chenille? Raymon thought for a moment.
Not in front of me.
But Lwan cared a lot about his reputation.
He wanted everyone to see that he had it all.
A beautiful woman, a good job, a cool car.
Was he obsessed with the image of a real man? Yes, he talked about it all the time.
Once we were watching a game at a bar and he started ranting about how men today have become too soft, that we need to defend traditional values and all that.
How did he feel about transgender people? Raymond and Marcus exchanged glances.
He hated them, Raymond said bluntly.
Once when there was a story on TV about trans activists, he almost smashed the TV.
He said some awful things.
Winslow nodded, making a mental note.
The picture was becoming clearer.
One more question.
Was Lacwan friends with a guy named Darius? Darius Treasure, Raymond replied immediately.
Yes, he’s his best friend.
They’ve been friends since childhood.
Darius works as a security guard at the midnight club on River Street.
Were they close? Like brothers, Darius always covered for Laquan when he got into trouble.
If anyone knows where he is now, it’s Darius.
After thanking the mechanics, Winslow returned to the police station.
He asked them to check Lacoan’s phone calls for the last 24 hours.
An hour later, a report on the phone calls landed on Winslow’s desk.
After the estimated time of the murder, Laquan had called only one person, Darius Treasure.
Three calls, the first at 2:15 am immediately after the murder, then at 3:40 am, and the last at 5:20 am We need to find this Darius, Winslow told Captain Morris.
There’s a chance he’s helping Lacwan hide.
I’ll send people to the Midnight Club, Morris replied.
Have you gathered enough information about the motive? Winslow nodded and recounted his findings.
The hormone pills, the documents in Sha Parnell’s name, the testimony of Tamika and Laquan’s colleagues.
It seems that Chenille was a transgender woman and was hiding it from her husband.
Lwan was obsessed with the image of a real man and openly expressed his hatred of transgender people.
if he found her pills or documents during the trip.
A hate crime, Morris concluded.
Then the feds will want to get involved.
First, we need to find Darius and track down Lacwan, Winslow replied, and get final confirmation from the medical examiner in Witchah.
Winslow checked his phone.
A message had arrived from the officer who had obtained Chenille’s medical records from Tama.
The operation had indeed been performed 5 years ago at a clinic in Kansas City.
Chenille had been taking hormone medication regularly and was being monitored by an endocrinologist.
Another message came from the forensic team.
An analysis of the calls between Lwan and Darius showed that they had spoken for a total of about 30 minutes.
The last call was made from an area close to the Oklahoma border.
It seemed that Lwan was moving south, possibly trying to reach Mexico.
Winslow checked Darius Treasure’s address and decided to pay him a visit that evening.
If he was lucky, he might be able to track down the killer before he left the country.
Darius Treasure’s address led detective Shaman Winslow to a dilapidated apartment building on the outskirts of Dodge City.
The evening twilight painted the gray walls of the building in dull purple tones as Winslow climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor.
Two patrol officers followed him in case Darius resisted or tried to escape.
Apartment 38 was at the end of a long hallway with peeling paint.
Winslow put his ear to the door.
Muted sounds from a television could be heard inside.
He exchanged glances with the officers, then knocked firmly.
Darius Treasure, Dodge City Police, open the door.
Silence fell behind the door and the television turned off.
Then heavy footsteps could be heard.
“Who’s there?” came a low, we wary voice.
“Detective Shamon Winslow.
I need to ask you some questions about Lacquan Geyser.
” There was a long pause.
Winslow nodded to the officers, preparing for a possible chase.
But after a few seconds, the door slowly opened.
A large man with broad shoulders, closely cropped hair, and a weary expression stood in the doorway.
I don’t know anything about Lacwan, Darius said immediately, crossing his powerful arms over his chest.
Do you mind if we come in? Winsow took a step forward, leaving Darius no choice.
The apartment was unexpectedly neat.
Minimal furniture, no clutter.
A phone lay on the coffee table next to an open bottle of whiskey.
Tough day.
Winslow nodded at the bottle, sitting down on the sofa without invitation.
Darius shrugged, remaining standing.
Night shift at the club.
Just relaxing.
When was the last time you saw or spoke to Lacwan Geyser? I don’t remember exactly.
Maybe a week ago.
He went on his honeymoon.
Winslow stared at Darius without looking away.
Darius held his gaze without blinking, but a barely noticeable bead of sweat on his temple betrayed his nervousness.
Interesting.
the detective said slowly.
But your phone records tell a different story.
You spoke to him three times the night before last.
The first call was at 2:15 am right after his wife was killed.
Darius visibly tensed but kept his composure.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
The murder of Chenille Parnell at the Sleepy Moon Motel in Witchah, Winslow said harshly.
Lacwan stabbed his wife to death and ran away.
And then he called you.
30 minutes of conversation.
Darius, what did you talk about for half an hour in the middle of the night? I don’t know anything about that, Darius repeated, but his voice trembled slightly.
Winslow stood up and walked over to the window where several framed photographs lay on the windowsill.
In one of them, Darius and Lwan, very young, stood hugging each other, smiling broadly at the camera.
“You’ve been friends since childhood, right?” asked the detective picking up the photo.
Like brothers, Raymond from the auto shop said.
So Darius always covered for Laquan when he got into trouble.
Ray talks too much, Darius muttered.
Listen, Winslow turned to him.
I understand you’re protecting your friend.
But this is a serious crime.
Aiding and abetting after the fact, harboring a criminal, obstructing justice.
You could get up to 5 years in prison.
Darius remained stubbornly silent, but Winslow could see his brain working, calculating the options.
“Let’s check your car,” the detective said suddenly.
“I wonder if we’ll find traces of blood there.
” “Maybe you helped Lacwan get rid of the murder weapon.
” “You need a warrant,” Darius barked.
“Already requested it,” Winslow replied calmly, although it was a bluff.
“It’ll be here in 20 minutes.
By the way, we checked your finances.
You withdrew $2,000 in cash yesterday morning.
Quite a large sum, don’t you think? Darius’s face pald.
The detective realized he had hit the mark.
It’s my money.
I can do with it as I please.
Of course.
Winslow nodded.
Only a judge might disagree when that money is going to help a fugitive murderer.
Darius slumped heavily onto the sofa, his broad shoulders slumping.
What do you want? The truth.
Where is Lwan? I don’t know for sure, Darius replied, not looking at the detective.
He just called me that night.
He was panicking.
He said he had to disappear, that his life was over.
Did he confess to the murder? Darius paused, then nodded slowly.
Not in those words.
He said that everything went wrong, that he found out something terrible about Shaunie and got angry.
And you helped him with money? It wasn’t a question.
He’s my childhood friend, Darius said quietly.
We grew up together.
We dealt with all the that came our way together.
I couldn’t say no.
Winslow pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Darius, looking him straight in the eye.
I understand friendship really.
But Lan killed an innocent man, Darius.
And he didn’t just kill him.
He stabbed him more than 20 times in a fit of rage.
Darius shuddered, lowering his head even further.
“What did he find out about Shaunie?” Winslow asked.
“Why was he so angry?” “He didn’t say specifically,” Darius replied after a pause.
He just kept saying that she had deceived him, that it was all a lie, that she wasn’t who she said she was.
And where was he headed? Darius looked up, his eyes betraying an inner struggle.
Winslow understood that this was the moment when he would decide whether to turn in his friend or not.
“Listen,” the detective said gently.
“Lwan is wanted for a serious crime.
If he crosses the border, he may never come back, but he still won’t be able to escape what he’s done.
It will haunt him for the rest of his life.
” He was going to Mexico.
Darius finally said through Laredo.
He has a friend there who can help him cross the border.
When was the last time you spoke to him? This afternoon.
He called from a pay phone.
He said he’d be at the border tomorrow morning.
Winslow nodded and took out his phone.
I need the name and contact information for this acquaintance in Laredo.
Darius hesitated for a few more seconds, then gave in.
He gave the name Ernesto Vasquez, owner of a car repair shop in Laredo, who sometimes moonlighted smuggling illegal immigrants across the border.
“You made the right choice,” Winslow said when he finished his call to Captain Morris.
“He’s still my friend,” Darius replied quietly.
“And I don’t know how to live with that.
” Leaving Darius’s apartment, Winslow immediately contacted the Texas police.
Information about the black Chevrolet Impala and its owner was relayed to all patrols on the roads leading to Laredo.
Special attention was paid to roadside motel and gas stations where the fugitive might stop.
Leaving the building, Winslow stopped on the sidewalk.
The fresh air helped clear his thoughts.
The case was coming together, but he couldn’t afford to relax.
Laquan was a cornered animal and those were especially dangerous.
The detective returned to headquarters to coordinate the search operation.
Captain Morris gave him a separate room where Winslow hung maps of the southern states marking Lacwan’s possible escape routes.
News from Texas.
Morris entered the room around midnight.
A black Impala was spotted at a gas station 50 mi from Laredo.
The driver matches Geyser’s description.
Did they catch him? Winslow jumped up abruptly.
No, he left before the patrol arrived, but the cameras caught the license plate.
It’s definitely his car.
Winslow nodded, the fatigue from a sleepless night instantly evaporating.
I’m flying to Texas on the first flight.
By morning, the detective was already at Laredo Police Headquarters, coordinating the search operation with local forces.
Ernesto Vasquez’s auto repair shop was under surveillance, but Lwan had not yet appeared.
“He’s somewhere nearby,” Winslow told his Texas colleagues.
“Maybe he’s waiting or changing plans.
We need to check all the motel in the area.
” By noon, a tip came in.
A black Impala had been spotted in the parking lot of the Canyon Roadside Motel, 15 mi from Laredo.
Winslow and four local officers immediately drove to the scene.
The motel turned out to be a dilapidated one-story building with a half empty parking lot.
And there in the far corner it was a black Chevrolet Impala with Kansas license plates.
Surround the building.
Winslow commanded.
Be careful.
The suspect is armed and dangerous.
They split up.
Two officers went around the back and two more covered the side exits.
Winslow headed for the motel office.
“Which room is the owner of the Black Impala staying in?” he asked the sleepy clerk, showing his badge.
“Number seven,” he replied, his eyes wide.
“Paid cash for one night.
” Winslow radioed the number to the officers and slowly moved along the building, his hand on his holster.
Room 7 was in the middle of the building, the curtains tightly drawn.
The detective took up a position to one side of the door and one of the Texas officers stood on the other side.
They confirmed over the radio that all exits were blocked.
Laredo police, the officer announced loudly.
Lacquan Geyser, come out with your hands up.
There was movement inside the room, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
He’s trying to escape through the window.
Winslow shouted into his radio.
Without waiting for a response, the detective ran along the side of the building.
Sure enough, the side window of room 7 was broken and a man was climbing out.
“Stop! Police!” Winslow shouted, drawing his gun.
Lwan Geyser turned around, saw the gun pointed at him, and started running.
Winslow rushed after him, jumping over bushes and trash cans.
The fugitive was fast, but the detective kept up.
They ran across the parking lot to the vacant lot behind the motel.
“Stop, Laquan! You can’t run!” Winslow shouted, closing the distance.
“Suddenly, Laquan stopped and spun around.
A knife flashed in his hand.
The same one he had used to kill Shaunie.
“Don’t come any closer,” he shouted, breathing heavily.
“I swear I’ll use it.
” Winslow stopped a few meters away, keeping his gun pointed at Lwan.
“Put the knife down, Lwan.
It’s over.
There’s nowhere to run.
I’m not going back to prison.
Lauan’s eyes flashed feverishly.
I was defending my honor.
She cheated on me.
Put the knife down, Winslow repeated in a calm but firm voice.
You’ll have a chance to explain everything.
The court will take the circumstances into account.
Lwan hesitated, his hand holding the knife trembling.
He was a cornered animal and Winslow knew that such moments were the most dangerous.
“Think about it,” the detective continued.
“If you attack a police officer, you’ll be shot.
Is it worth it?” At that moment, two officers appeared from around the corner of the motel with their guns drawn.
Lwan realized he was completely surrounded.
He stood there for a second as if preparing to lunge.
Then his shoulders slumped.
The knife fell from his loosened fingers.
“Just do it,” he whispered, dropping to his knees and putting his hands behind his head.
Winslow quickly approached, handcuffed him, and only then breathed a sigh of relief.
The hunted beast had been caught.
At the Laredo police station, Lwan was locked in an interrogation room.
Winslow watched him through a one-way mirror.
The man sat staring into space, his face expressing nothing but exhaustion.
He agreed to talk without a lawyer, said the Texas detective.
Seems like he wants to get it off his chest.
Winslow nodded and entered the room.
Lwan didn’t even look up.
I’m Detective Shaman Winslow of the Dodge City Police Department.
He introduced himself, sitting down opposite Lwan.
Do you understand why you’re here? because I killed my wife,” Lwan replied hollowly, “Tell me what happened that night at the Sleepy Moon Motel.
” Lwan looked up.
There was no remorse or fear in his eyes, only emptiness.
We checked in that evening.
Everything was fine.
Shaunie was happy, saying how glad she was to finally be traveling around the country.
We were intimate.
Then she went to take a shower and I decided to look at the map and plan tomorrow’s route.
He paused as if gathering his thoughts.
There was a map in her purse.
I started looking and came across a box of pills.
No label, just some pills.
I thought maybe birth control or vitamins.
But something bothered me.
I kept looking and found a passport, a driver’s license, and an old prescription in the name of Sha Parnell.
Lacwan clenched his fist so hard that his knuckles turned white.
At first, I didn’t understand.
I thought maybe they were her brother’s documents or something, but then I saw the photo on the prescription.
It was her only with a man’s haircut and different facial features, and then I understood everything.
What did you do? When she got out of the shower, I asked her.
I showed her the prescription, the pills.
At first, she tried to deny everything, but then Lacoan took a deep breath.
Then she confessed.
She said she wanted to tell me after the wedding when I loved her enough to accept the truth.
Luan laughed bitterly.
Can you imagine? All this time I was sleeping with a man.
I married a man.
I became a laughingstock without even knowing it.
“And you killed her,” Winslow said quietly.
“I was furious,” Lacoan’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t remember much.
She begged me to listen, said she loved me, but all I saw was deception.
All these months, it was a lie.
My life, my reputation, everything is ruined.
” Lwan looked around the room as if only now realizing where he was.
And this is how it all ended.
I lost everything.
My job, my freedom, my future.
Because of her lies, Chenille didn’t deserve to die.
Winslow said, “Whatever you think about her choices, about how she lived her life, she was someone who loved you.
” “Loved me?” Lacoan grimaced.
“Love isn’t built on lies.
She deceived me in the most important way.
She used me.
Winslow saw that further conversation was pointless.
Laquan was too deeply immersed in his own righteousness, in his own idea of justice.
You’ll be transferred to Kansas for trial, the detective said, standing up.
There you’ll be charged with first-degree murder, possibly with the aggravating circumstance of a hate crime.
And how long will I get? Laquan asked without much interest.
life,” Winslow replied honestly.
“Texas is a state with the death penalty, but since the crime was committed in Kansas, what difference does it make?” Lacoan shrugged, “My life is already over.
” As Winslow was leaving the room, Lacwan suddenly called out to him, “Detective, could you forgive something like that if you were in my place?” Winslow paused in the doorway, considering his answer.
I don’t know, but I know for sure that I wouldn’t kill someone for trying to be themselves.
3 days later, Laquan Geyser was extradited to Kansas and placed in the Witchita prison, awaiting trial.
Winslow was present at the transfer of the prisoner and then looked into his cell.
Lacquan sat on a hard C, staring into space.
He barely reacted to the world around him, mechanically following the guard’s commands.
I have a question.
Lwan, Winslow said standing at the bars.
You thought about fleeing to Mexico, starting a new life under a different name.
In essence, becoming a different person, not the one you were born as.
Isn’t that the same thing Shaunie did? Lwan slowly turned his head, something resembling surprise flashing in his eyes.
It’s different, he said quietly.
Completely different.
Why? Winslow pressed.
Because Lwan faltered, unable to find the words.
Just because.
Winslow nodded.
He hadn’t expected insight or remorse.
Lwan Geyser was a product of his environment, of his prejudices, and those prejudices had cost the life of a young woman whose only crime was wanting to be herself.
“See you in court, Laquan,” the detective said, turning to leave.
I don’t regret it,” Lacoan suddenly said to his back.
“I was defending my honor and I’d do it again.
” Winslow stopped but didn’t turn around.
He wasn’t going to hear anything new.
