On Monday, June 24, police officers in wet suits searched a stream in the woods by Aaron’s house. They did not find any weapons. But that same day, acting on a tip, detectives drove to 114 Lake Avenue in Bristol to interview TL Singleton, who had married Aaron’s cousin Tanya.
Singleton was not at home. But the police returned to Bristol the following day to meet with members of Bristol PD, and discovered that Detective Pete Dauphinais’s wife, Jodie, was Carlos Ortiz’s probation officer.
A few weeks earlier, Ortiz had admitted to the officer that he was a daily user of PCP, alcohol, cocaine, and marijuana. She had put him in a drug program. Ortiz had failed to show up. But Ortiz had bigger problems to worry about: The probation officer knew about his relationship with Aaron Hernandez, the New England Patriot who had just become the leading suspect in a murder investigation. Now, detectives knew about the relationship, too.
Ortiz was due to check in with the Jodie Dauphinais on that very same day. He ended up meeting, instead, with the police.
In a basement conference room, Detective Elliott and Sergeant John Moran of the Massachusetts State Police told Ortiz that they wanted to speak with him about what had happened on the night of Odin Lloyd’s murder.
“First,” Elliott said, “it’s just your Miranda rights. You’ve heard them before?”
“Huh?” said Ortiz.
“You’ve heard Miranda before, your rights? You’ve never been arrested or anything?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. It’s just basically that’s all I’m doing. You’re not under arrest or anything. I’ve just got to read them to you.”
Ortiz consented, but denied any knowledge of the shooting.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said.
Sergeant Moran took his turn. He told Ortiz that they were investigating a homicide that Aaron Hernandez and Ernest Wallace seemed to be connected to. He said that the police had text messages and surveillance footage. They knew that Ortiz had gone to Hernandez’s house on Sunday night.
“Hernandez’s like family,” Ortiz explained. Once again, he denied any wrongdoing.
“We know you weren’t the shooter, right?” Moran said. “But you got roped into this fucking thing.”
“That’s bullshit, though,” Ortiz said.
“Someone else is the shooter,” Moran agreed. “And guess who’s going to be left without a chair?”
“I’m the only one in the bullshit.”
“They think you’re going to be the patsy,” Moran said. “That’s what they think. You got eight million for an attorney? [Hernandez has] got eight million. They love him. You’re the throwaway guy, you know. You realize this. I’ve been doing this for twenty years…You’re the guy and you know why—because you’re all fucked up…So you’re in a bad spot here. You’re in a bad spot because they’re going to blame you. We can go to court if we want. Jesus Christ, we’ve got everything.”
Ortiz protested. He didn’t know where Lloyd lived. He didn’t know where the industrial park was located.
“I’m not even a violent person,” he said.
“I know that,” said Moran. “Why do you think I’m talking to you?”
Ortiz told the police, “I never went to the frigging scene.”
What about the towel, the police wanted to know. What about the shell casings?
“I don’t know why you guys didn’t clean the car before you brought it back. There was a shell casing in the car.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Ortiz said. “I don’t got no intention of harming nobody.”
Ortiz said that he had been drunk on the night in question. The plan had been to go to a club, but Ortiz had crashed at Aaron’s Franklin apartment instead.
“That’s a lie,” Moran told him. “I’m not disrespecting you. That’s an absolute lie.”
“Honest,” Ortiz finally said. “I don’t want to be involved in this bullshit.”
“We don’t want you to be involved in this, but you are,” Moran told him.
Ortiz became agitated. He had so much on his plate, he said. He had four children to take care of.
“And that’s how upset you got when you figured out what was going on,” Elliott told him. “We understand that.”
The police showed Ortiz the surveillance footage they had. There he was—Ortiz could see himself clearly—with Wallace and Hernandez at the gas station that they had stopped at before picking Lloyd up in Boston.
“I know you want out of this,” Moran said. “I know you want to get out of it, but you can’t. But you know something. We don’t think you did it…You’re a good person…You want to get help. You want to do better…But why the fuck did [Hernandez] do this? Why did he drag you in? Why did he drag you in?”
“Why is he leaving you out to dry?” Elliott added.
“Probably because I’m the only one with a good heart.”
“Exactly,” said Elliott.
The interrogation started at two in the afternoon. It went straight through into the evening.
“You know what I’m scared of?” Moran asked Ortiz. “I’m scared of this guy TL, because guess what?…I was scared that they would put one in you and dump you someplace. That’s what my fear was. So you’re out of the way, you’re shot, and it’s like, ‘Yeah, it must have been that kid. He’s gone. He disappeared.’ And you’re lying in some fucking swamp.”
“All this is a fucking joke,” Ortiz said.
“You know it’s a joke,” said Moran. “Except for this poor bastard who was killed five times.”
Finally, Elliott and Moran got Ortiz to admit that he was in the Altima—asleep, he said. Then, he had heard shots. Ortiz was “shocked,” he explained. “Hypnotized.”
Ortiz said that he’d never gotten out of the car.
The cops had not given Ortiz anything to eat. Mentally and physically, he was exhausted. But the interrogation was not over yet. Elliott and Moran pressed for a polygraph test.
“How about you do them a polygraph?” Ortiz asked, referring to Hernandez and Wallace.
“What them?” said Moran. “We don’t care about them. I mean, I don’t care what they say.”