He sat as straight as the shackles allowed. Across the table, Jim sorted through Mark’s file. At least, Mark assumed it was his file. What was the guy up to? And where were the others? As horrible as interrogations were, at least he knew what to expect. This change in procedure smacked of some kind trickery. The guards were ever present, but stood by the door instead of right beside Mark. For the first ten minutes, Jim had ignored him, looking at him briefly when he had first arrived, and then checked his watch every few minutes. Mark shifted in the chair. What was he waiting for? Were the others late? But why were there no other chairs?
Mark jumped when there was a knock on the door, and right on cue, his heart began pounding. He knew better than to turn to see who had entered. He couldn’t help himself, he prayed it wasn’t a doctor.
Jim smiled and motioned for someone to enter. “Bring it in. Thanks.”
Before Mark could get over his shock at seeing the other man flash a genuine smile, a woman strode past, giving Mark a wide berth and avoiding eye contact. She carried a white paper bag in one hand and a drink holder in the other. The two soft drinks sloshed as she set it down along with the bag. “There’s extra ketchup, mustard and salt.”
“Great. I appreciate it.” Jim dug into his pocket and handed the woman some cash. “That should cover it.”
Mark was torn between wanting to look at the woman-the first he had seen in months, or the bag, whose scent told him what it contained. The woman ignored him and left the room. That left him no choice, but it didn’t make it any easier. He swallowed hard and studied the floor. It was the safest choice.
At the crinkle of paper, Mark raised his head. Jim dug into the bag and pulled out two large sandwiches. He pushed one in front of Mark. “I think it has the works.”
Mark recoiled. What was the guy up to?
Jim frowned as he began unwrapping his own sandwich. “It’s okay. You can have it.”
The smell filled the air, and he hoped he wasn’t drooling, but he didn’t touch the food-not even when a container of fries joined the burger on the table in front of him. For all he knew, it was poisoned. More likely, it was a trick and the second he put it to his mouth, Jim would order him to drop it.
Mark remembered a dog he’d had as a kid that would sit with a treat balanced on its nose, waiting eagerly for permission to flip the morsel up and snatch it out of the air. Mark now knew how that dog had felt. It made him ashamed of teaching his pet that ‘trick’. Now it seemed cruel. He studied his shackled hands clasped in his lap. Even if he dared to eat the burger, he couldn’t reach it anyway. There wasn’t enough slack in the chains.
“Eat the damn burger.” Jim set his own lunch down, and wiped his hands on a napkin. “I’m trying to do something nice here.”
Mark darted a look at him. “Why?” His voice was hoarse from disuse, and he cleared his throat. There had to be an ulterior motive. Jim’s face hardened and Mark raised his chin a notch. This was the man he knew. He could handle this.
For a long moment, their eyes clashed and Mark felt a thrill of triumph when Jim looked away first and shook his head. “Fine, eat it or not. I don’t care.” Jim took a bite of his burger and Mark turned his head, the sight of the food making him light-headed.
The thrill of winning died in the next few minutes as he remained at the table, hearing the crunch of the lettuce, smelling the charcoal-grilled meat and the aroma of French fries. What had he won? Nothing. Mark took a deep breath. “I…uh…I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know what you want from me.”
Jim sighed and dropped the fry he held. “I just thought it would be something special for your birthday. We’re not heartless here.”
Shocked, Mark stared at Jim. “It’s my birthday?” It was September eighth? He had been here only ten months?
He was thirty-six years old. Were his parents thinking of him today? Or did they think him a terrorist? Last year, he had spent the day at a Cub’s game. The sun had been hot, the beer cold, and the home team even won the game. He closed his eyes, picturing the deep green ivy covered walls, the emerald diamond and the flags on the center-field scoreboard blowing straight out. Towering above the team flags had been the American flag. He opened his eyes and blinked hard.
“You didn’t know?”
Mark shook his head. How could he have known? It wasn’t like he had a calendar tacked to the wall of his cell.
“Well…shit. Yes, it’s your birthday.” Jim waved to the food in front of Mark. “ So eat up. It’s not poisoned.”
“I can’t…sir.”
“Why the hell not?” The irritation was back in his voice and he gave Mark a sharp look.
Mark bit back a sarcastic reply. This was probably just another way to to torment him. He lifted his hands as far as they would go. If he stretched, he could just touch the edge of the sandwich.
Jim’s face flushed. “Oh.” He called a guard over and instructed him to detach the shackles from the waist chain.
The other man’s embarrassment surprised him, but he didn’t dwell on it. He allowed himself to breathe in the scent of the burger, letting it fill his nose and make his mouth water. Then he took a bite, closing his eyes and savoring the taste and texture. The sauce mixed with the crisp lettuce and tomato and complemented the hot and juicy burger. Pure heaven.
He washed it down with an ice cold soft drink. It made him think of all the times he had eaten this exact same meal. Usually he was with a friend for lunch or late in the evening after a long photo shoot. It was normal. Ordinary. So ordinary, it made his throat tighten and he had to take another long gulp of the soft drink to get the food down. What he missed most was normal life.
Half-way through the meal, it hit him that when he finished eating, he would go back to his cell. Back to his surreal life in a nine-by-six room with white cinder block walls. This meal- this taste of his usual life-it was just a brief interlude. Nothing more. His hands shook and his stomach churned. No longer hungry, Mark set the half-eaten sandwich down.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” Jim balled up his wrapper and stuffed it in the bag. He tried to quell his anger. Jim probably hadn’t meant to be cruel, but that only made it harder. Mark took a deep breath. “I liked it fine, sir.” For the first time, he lied to the other man. “Thank you. I appreciate the meal.” He touched his stomach. “I’m full, that’s all.” A wave of nausea ripped through him and he prayed he would make it back to his cell before the food came back up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jim drummed his fingers on the armrest of the cab as it inched through Chicago’s morning rush hour. His superiors had denied his official travel request, stating that they felt Officer Daly’s report was sufficient and that nothing more could be gained from that line of inquiry. Undeterred, he’d put in for some personal time and paid for the trip himself. So, he was here unofficially. That might be better anyway. If he didn’t find anything useful, he wouldn’t have to admit it to Bill.
Almost an hour later, Jim tossed his bag on the bed in his room. He thought about following it down and taking a quick nap, but it was already after ten. He had a lot of ground to cover before his return flight tomorrow evening. First on his agenda was finding Detective Jessica Bishop. According to his notes, she worked out of the fifth precinct. Jim changed from his rumpled traveling clothes and put on a crisp white shirt, blue tie and black pants. Just because it was technically vacation didn’t mean he couldn’t look official.
Jim paused outside the police station, double checking the precinct number. Satisfied he was at the right one, he pushed through the doors and strode up to the desk sergeant. “I’m looking for Detective Jessica Bishop. Can you direct me to her office please?”
“Who are you?” The man squinted up from his paperwork.
