Paris Delaney’s interview with Darrell flashed on the flatscreen behind the bar. The cameraman followed them as they walked the dock in the marina. In between drizzles, it was the ideal time to do it. But the unseasonable weather forced both into wearing jackets. Gusts of wind blew their hair. At first glance, you would think the interview had taken place in New England during the winter. It looked nothing like Florida.
"Tell me what it feels like to be a free man after all this time," Paris said.
Darrell smiled. "It feels wonderful. Ain’t nothing like it in the world. God bless America. I tell you one thing, it's hard to appreciate the light if you've never been in darkness. I appreciate my freedom much more now than I ever did before.”
"The Alford plea that you took allowed you to get out of jail for time served. As far as the state’s concerned, you've been tried, convicted, and you’ve served your time. You are in a position where you could tell the truth without repercussions."
"I've been telling the truth for 15 years, and I'm still telling it.”
"I guess what I'm getting at is that you could, at this point, admit to killing Sarah Sweet and face no repercussions."
Darrell's brow wrinkled. "I could. But why would I lie like that? Why would I admit to something I didn't do?”
"So, you're telling me, right here and right now, that you did not rape and murder Sarah Sweet."
"No. Of course not.”
"Why was her underwear found aboard your boat?"
"I think it's clear, don’t you? That evidence was planted. They needed a scapegoat, and I was the perfect patsy. I don't know if you’ve been paying attention, but this county doesn't have the best track record when it comes to integrity. I wouldn't be the first innocent man to be put behind bars in this county, and I'm sure I won't be the last."
"Are you saying police fabricated evidence?"
Darrell shrugged. "I'm saying somebody did."
"Those are bold allegations.”
"I think it was pretty bold of the state to convict me on flimsy evidence. They had nothing on me. No DNA.”
"Five eyewitnesses saw you with Sarah Sweet on your boat the evening of her disappearance."
"And those five witnesses are liars.”
"Two of those five witnesses are now dead. What do you have to say about that?”
"I'll tell you what I told the deputies who paid me a visit earlier this afternoon. I didn't have anything to do with their deaths, and I'm tired of this county trying to railroad me. My mind is not shackled by conformity. But that doesn’t make me a criminal. I’m a free spirit. You can throw me in jail, but you can never imprison my mind.”
"The future certainly looks bright for you with a movie deal on the horizon. You're living the good life.”
"You can say I’ve gotten everything a man could want," Darrell said with a smile.
It was at that moment that a figure in a hoodie approached. The figure pulled out a black semiautomatic pistol, took aim, and squeezed off two shots.
Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel.
The deafening bangs clipped the audio on the camera.
The copper rounds pelted Darrell's thoracic cavity. He tumbled back against the deck. He writhed and moaned.
Paris shrieked, her face contorted with horror.
The assailant spun around and took off, running back toward the parking lot, his sneakers slapping against the concrete.
The cameraman twisted around to catch his retreat.
The broadcast was live, and the segment cut back to the news anchors. "Shocking footage coming to you live from Sandpiper Point. We apologize if this violent imagery may have upset viewers. Paris, are you okay?”
38
