The two friends had no particular destination in mind. According to Bradley, they were “in a state of shock.”
They talked about going to Aaron’s place in Plainville, but ended up driving to 47 Newbury Street in Hartford. It was the house where Bradley’s “baby mama,” Brooke Wilcox, lived.
It was five, or just after five in the morning, when Hernandez and Bradley got there.
Wilcox lived on the third floor of a three-floor walk-up, in a small, two-bedroom attic apartment. As soon as she and Bradley were alone in one of the bedrooms, Bradley told her, “This crazy motherfucker just did some stupid shit.”
Aaron was hanging out in the living room. At some point, he knocked on the door and asked to use Brooke’s laptop. Bradley handed it over, along with a blanket and pillow for Aaron to use. Before doing so, Aaron ran a few searches on Brooke’s computer, checking to see if the news outlets were reporting a shooting in Boston.
Brooke woke up at eight and got into the shower.
By the time she got out, Tanya Singleton was standing in her kitchen. She and Aaron were whispering. Brooke had never met Tanya before, but she and Aaron seemed so intimate, Brooke assumed that she was Aaron’s fiancée. When Brooke left for work, Tanya was still there.
When she got home, a few hours later, Alexander Bradley was there, but Aaron, Tanya, and the Toyota 4Runner were gone.
Chapter 35
Danny was born on Fogo Island, Cape Verde,” says Daniel de Abreu’s widow, Auriza. “He was infatuated with the law and became a police officer. He was his mother’s son, the man of the house, his siblings’ provider. My main attraction to him was that, even though he was young, he was responsible, mature, and intelligent. He knew what he wanted and he would do what it took to get there.
“We met at a mutual friend’s house in the summer of 2011, exchanged numbers, and started to date right away. I guess you could call it love at first sight. We’re from the same country, the same community. We dated for several months and got married.
“That Sunday in July had already been a very sad day. I’d lost a coworker—a nurse—and we had a funeral service that day. Originally, it was the day that we were going to reveal to his family that we were married. He has half brothers and sisters here. He has his father here, who we really didn’t see much of. He saw some family, many weren’t from the same mother and father. They had their issues. I understood and respect that. But our marriage took place without his family, and on that day, we were going to tell them.
“Daniel worked on the weekends, but on Sundays he worked less. If there’s anything he can do for fun or with his friends to enjoy himself—anything to go out, nightlife or something like that—it would be a Sunday night. That day, he said he was tired, but as I was speaking to him, I could hear that somebody else was around. Someone he needed to attend to. Danny calls me ‘Iza’—the last three letters of my name. Only people who are dear to me call me that. He said ‘Iza, let me call you back.’ I went to sleep. If he tried calling me back I don’t know.
“I woke up even sadder in the morning. I dropped my girl off at school, right around the corner, but I was feeling so down and depressed—so in need of my mom’s presence, of my mom’s hug—that I decided to visit her.
“My mom was very happy to see me. As I sat with her I received a phone call from Danny’s sister, Patricia. She told me that Danny had been shot.
“I called Tufts. They verified that Danny was not there. Then I called Boston Medical Center. BMC couldn’t give me any information because it had been a homicide. They had already determined that Danny had passed, and told me to call the local police. I called the local police not knowing my head from my arm. I tried to be as cool as possible. They questioned me to determine who I was. Then they said to come down to the station.
“Danny’s cousins were calling me the whole time. I thought it was something minor. A stray bullet. Maybe he had been shot in the leg. Danny’s cousin Americo—named after America—called and told me to come meet him at his house. Danny and Americo grew up together. Danny and I got married in Americo’s house. So here I am thinking that Danny and Americo are together—that once I walk into that house, Danny will be there. That he’s out of any kind of risk. That he’s gone home with his cousin.
“It was a very short distance to Americo’s house, but it was horrible. I drove nervously, shaking, like I would never get there. It was something I had never experienced before—the fear of not knowing, the anxiety…But I got to the house and a young man opened the door. I asked, ‘Where’s Danny?’
“He answered, ‘Danny died.’
“Everything went dark. I kept asking, ‘Where is Danny?’ I wanted to see him. I was not myself. I don’t know who I was at that time. The ride to the police station was the longest ride of my life. I was crying, screaming, and cold.
“The detective was very polite. He didn’t think my questions were stupid or make me feel that I was aggravating him, not knowing my left from my right. He guided me through and told me that I needed to go somewhere else to identify the body.
“I thought I could see him. I thought I could see his body. I thought I’d actually be looking at him. I wanted so much to touch him and to hold him, but it was only pictures that I looked at. It was the hardest thing of my life. It still is. I’m trying. I’m learning to cope but it’s really hard. I’ve waited so long to try to understand, to see the reasons why.
“So many years have passed. We had plans. He had a future ahead of him. There are so many questions, but I never had closure with him. Never a last word. Never ‘hello,’ ‘good-bye,’ or ‘I love you.’ Never anything.”
Part Five
Chapter 36
On July 27—two weeks after the shooting in Boston—Aaron Hernandez reported to Gillette Stadium, in Foxborough, for the start of the Patriots training camp.
Reporters who’d gathered outside the stadium were joking about Rob Gronkowski’s off-season exploits. Among other things, Aaron’s teammate had posed for photos with an adult-film actress while wearing his jersey—and nothing else.
“Aaron, was your summer as crazy as Gronk’s?” a reporter asked.
Hernandez refused the bait. “Um,” he said. “More private. But I still had some fun.”
The reporters asked him again about Gronk. They asked what he thought of Tom Brady’s off-season cliff-diving. They asked him to be a bit more specific about the “fun” he had had.
“This is a regular job,” Hernandez said. “We like to have fun, too. I’ve been zip-lining and stuff like that, too. They can’t really tell you what you can and what you can’t do, but you just have to be careful about what you do. If you’re out there and being reckless and doing some crazy stuff, then that’s your own stupidity.”
While Hernandez talked to the reporters, Boston PD continued its investigation into the double homicide outside of Cure. Don Gobin and Brian Quon told the police about a silver SUV with Rhode Island plates—a Nissan Pathfinder, they thought, or a Toyota 4Runner. Both men said that the SUV had been driven by a light-skinned, clean-shaven Hispanic man with short hair. One recalled that the passenger had braided hair.
Then, the witnesses described the shooting’s aftermath.
Boston detectives also obtained video footage from Cure Lounge, from a nearby parking garage, and from other locations.
There was no footage of the shooting itself.
An appeal was made to the public: Could anyone help the police locate a silver SUV with Rhode Island plates? Detectives had already looked at various vehicles registered with the neighboring state’s DMV, but failed to ID the vehicle in question.
None of their efforts resulted in an arrest, or even a suspect.
Chapter 37
The police made no progress in the weeks that followed, but Aaron’s life changed drastically all the same.