CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
T he police sirens were faraway and sounded like a baby’s cry. I took out my Colt, and laid it onto the roof of my car. I’d never gone swimming with my gun before, and had no idea how much damage the water had caused. Seeing that my gun was about to be taken away from me, I supposed it didn’t really matter.
I got my cell phone from the car and punched in my wife’s number at work. Even though Rose was in Tampa, she was still the most dependable person in my life, and I was relieved when I heard her pick up the phone.
“Rose Carpenter,” she answered.
“Hey, honey,” I said.
“I was just thinking about you.”
“I’m in trouble and need your help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The police are going to haul me in, and I may need to post bail. I hate to ask you this-”
“Of course I’ll bail you out of jail. What happened?”
“I got into a brawl with a dirty cop.”
“Are you all right?”
“Never felt better in my life.”
“What will you be charged with?”
“Assaulting a police officer, possibly breaking and entering.”
“Oh, Jack, this sounds serious.”
The sirens were getting closer. I stepped away from my car, and stood in a neutral pose on Cheeks’s front lawn. I needed to put away my cell phone so the cops didn’t think I was brandishing a weapon. More than one suspect had gotten shot for clutching a cell phone the wrong way.
“I need to go now,” I said. “What’s the best number for me to reach you at?”
“Call my cell. I’ll leave it on.”
“Here they come. I’ll call you later.”
“I love you,” my wife said.
“I love you, too.”
A pair of cruisers turned down the street with their bubble lights flashing, and came hurtling toward me like a pair of rockets. My world was about to turn ugly, and I slipped my cell phone into my pocket, and stuck my arms into the air.
The cruisers braked on the street in a perfect V, and four uniformed cops jumped out. Two went inside to check on Cheeks, while the other two arrested me. I was frisked and cuffed and made to stand on the hot macadam while I was read my rights. As I gave my version of what had happened, the uniform who was taking my statement shut his notepad, and glared at me.
“Don’t make allegations you can’t prove,” the uniform said.
“Ron Cheeks is dirty. Pass it on,” I said.
I was driven to the station house and booked. My clothes and possessions were confiscated, and my body cavities were checked for hidden drugs and weapons. The booking procedure was designed to strip people of their dignity, and I dealt with the humiliation by cracking jokes that no one laughed at.
Next stop was the basement. Instead of being put in a holding pen with a bunch of lowlifes and psychopaths, I was shuttled to an interrogation room, and left by myself. The room had two plastic chairs that were hex-bolted to the floor, and a large mirror covering the wall. It smelled like someone had taken a piss in it.
I went to the mirror and stared at my reflection. My lower lip was bloody, my nose swollen and bruised, and my eyes had a trapped look that I didn’t like. The mirror was two-way, and I wondered who was on the other side watching me. Probably the chief, trying to figure out what he was going to do with me.
“I know my rights. I want to make my phone call,” I said.
I folded my arms and waited. Whoever was on the other side could hear me. There were hidden microphones in the ceiling that were sensitive enough to hear a person’s stomach growl. When no one came into the room, I raised my voice.
“Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I waited another couple of minutes. The cops were trying to intimidate me. It worked on most suspects they brought in, and knocked them down a few pegs. But it didn’t work on me.
Peeling off my shirt, I threw it into the corner, then undid the drawstring in my prison jammies, and let them drop. Wearing nothing but my boxers, I got down on the floor, and started doing push-ups.
Five minutes and a hundred push-ups later, I was sitting in the chief’s office on the top floor, staring at the man himself behind his desk. The chief’s navy suit looked like he’d slept in it, and clumps of gray whiskers were sprouting out of his face like weeds. Burrell flanked him, and made brief eye contact with me.
“Goddamn it, Carpenter,” the chief swore. “The department has more problems than it can handle, and you’re running around town beating up my men.”
“Cheeks is dirty,” I said. “You should have arrested him, not me.”
The chief picked up a spiral notebook lying on his desk. It looked like the same notebook the uniform had used when interrogating me outside of Cheeks’s house. He waved it in front of my face. “I read your allegations, and they’re totally false. Cheeks didn’t destroy evidence in the Abb Grimes case. It got lost. Cheeks didn’t frame Jed Grimes for his son’s abduction. Jed was the logical suspect, and still is our only suspect. And Cheeks didn’t threaten the grocery store manager. He may have leaned on him a little bit, but he didn’t threaten him.”
“The manager told me he threatened him,” I said.
“I don’t care what the manager said,” the chief snapped. “Cheeks knew we were shorthanded, and spoke to the manager as a favor to me. He’s trying to help us find Heather Rinker and her son, which is more than I can say for you right now.”
The chief was giving me the company line. He wasn’t going to haul Cheeks in and question him, but he was willing to humiliate me. I folded my hands in my lap, and waited him out.
“Look, Jack, I need help, ” the chief said. “Heather Rinker and her son are gone, and I don’t have a single clue as to where they might be. You’re the expert at finding missing people. Help us find them, will you?”
“I can’t,” I heard myself say.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m under arrest.”
“Cheeks has said he doesn’t want to press charges. I’m willing to give you a pass. In return, you’ll help us. Do we have a deal?”
I’d broken enough laws to have myself put away for a long time. The chief had to be pretty desperate to let me skate. I glanced at Burrell, then back at him.
“Deal.”
“Good.” The chief leaned forward in his chair, and clasped his hands in front of his face. “Let’s play pretend for a minute. If this was your investigation, what would you do?”
I stared down at my jailhouse flip-flops, and gave it some thought. Jed had spoken to Heather right before she had disappeared. According to LeAnn, her son had asked Heather to get something for him to eat, and probably knew where Heather had gone.
“I’d do everything possible to make Jed talk,” I said.
“We tried that,” the chief said. “Our best interrogators have worked him over, along with an interrogator from the FBI. Jed won’t say a word.”
“Jed hates cops. You need someone who isn’t a cop,” I said.
“Any suggestions?”
“How about his mother?”
“LeAnn Grimes left town, and her cell phone is turned off.”
“Any other relatives?”
“They’re all dead.”
The room fell silent. Jed Grimes didn’t have many fans, except for one. I pointed at the phone sitting on the
