Needle Work: Battery Acid, Heroin, and Double Murder(13)

“Carol Giles basically claims she was a witness to the murder of Nancy Billiter,” Lieutenant Sheridan explained when Helton arrived at headquarters.

“Who’d she say did it?” asked Helton.

“Her boyfriend, Tim Collier,” said Shanlian, who introduced himself and quickly sketched in the case’s Genesee County background.

“She told us of some places Collier stays in when he’s in Flint,” Shanlian continued.

Helton knew Flint to be a real low-life city. He knew about the GM pullout and how the locals had suffered. Not surprisingly, especially to sociologists and cops, crime skyrocketed as the employment rate plummeted.

“We think he might be in Flint, and we’ve got my police department staking out his haunts.

“I’ve requested a search warrant for the Giles house and the crime lab to get down here to process it,” added Sheridan.

That all made sense. The Giles house was now considered to be a crime scene.

“Here.” Shanlian handed over five documents. Helton looked through the pile.

There was a consent to search form signed by Giles for the home at Walnut Lake Road; a copy of the Genesee County Medical Control Authority ambulance run #199493 (the cargo was Nancy Billiter’s body); a time card and employee fact sheet for Nancy Billiter from her employer, South Boulevard Station in Auburn Hills; and two pages from a phone bill in the name of “Phyllis Burke,” mother of the victim, showing eighteen phone calls to the West Bloomfield residence of Carol Giles.

Helton tagged them and placed them into evidence. While the material could not be contaminated, like forensics, it was possible for a defense lawyer to contend later that the chain of custody was somehow broken. It was therefore best to log evidence ASAP.

“Also Kate McNamara is coming down,” said Sheridan.

McNamara was the on-call prosecutor for the Oakland County Prosecutor’s Office. The on-call’s job was to make sure the cops did everything by the book so nothing would get thrown out in court and to offer whatever assistance was necessary and appropriate. Helton knew McNamara to be a real nice lady.

Sheridan explained that they had already put out an APB on Collier, who was driving a gold-colored Caddy. Two cars, one marked, the other plain, had been sent to stake out the Giles house in case Collier came back. The department’s unmarked car was a Ford Expedition without top lights, but there were strobes inside that could be employed in an emergency.

“Sounds like we got it pretty well covered,” said Helton. “Maybe I should look in on her.”

“She’s writing out her statement now,” said Shanlian.

Helton stuck his head in the interview room and saw Carol laboring fiercely over a yellow foolscap pad.

“Want a Coke?” he asked her with a smile.

“No thanks,” she answered, head up for a second, then back down to her writing.

Helton quickly closed the door.

“So what do we do with her now?” Shanlian asked.

The three men quickly reviewed what they had so far and agreed they didn’t have enough to charge her. But like Shanlian said, they’d be SOL if they let her go.

“She says she was abused, right?” Helton asked.

Shanlian nodded.

“There’s a battered woman’s shelter nearby. It’s called Haven. We can put her there overnight for safekeeping.”

It was agreed to do just that. Back in the interview room, Kevin Shanlian told Carol Giles what her accommodations would be for the night, emphasizing how she would be safe there, away from Timmy and anyone else who would want to do her harm.

“Oh, thanks,” said Carol, sounding relieved.

She handed over her written statement. Outside, Shanlian examined it.

“Nancy was moaning and Tim hit her in the head with the gun,” Carol had written. “It looked like Tim had killed her. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I looked away from Nancy. Tim had the gun. I didn’t want him to shoot me. Who would take care of Jesseca and L’il Man?”

Throughout it all, the basement TV had been on. Carol sat down on the floor next to it. She looked at the moving images on the screen and realized she hadn’t been paying any attention to it, but there was something about its comforting presence, so she kept it on. She smoked two cigarettes, one after the other, trying to think about what she should do.

“If I call the police, he’ll know I was on the phone and kill me before they got here. If I just made sure the kids didn’t wake up and get out of bed, they’ll be all right,” she wrote.

As these thoughts were flooding through her mind, Tim came downstairs and turned off the TV and all the lights, except the light in the backyard and out at the garage.

“I know she did it. I know she did it,” he kept saying. ‘Bitch can’t lie good. Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you and the kids. Everything’s going to be fine.’

“I just looked at him. I didn’t know what to say. He still had the gun in his hand.”

Tim got up and looked out the windows.

“‘They could be out there,’ Tim said. ‘They know what we did. They won’t come in but they know.’

“‘We didn’t do anything, you did,’ I answered. He turned real fast, looked at me strange, like someone had taken over his body. His eyes didn’t look the same. I felt like he was looking thru [sic] me. He came over to me.