Tilt-a-Whirl

“Yes, sir. Did you know Mr. Shapiro is a former member of Mensa? He has something of a photographic memory….”

“No one would believe him. His word against Betty's? Besides- Betty was at the bank when Hart was murdered, so you have diddly.”

“Don't do it, sir.”

“Do what?”

“Make me shoot you. You know I will. I'm a lean, mean killing machine. Remember?”

Ceepak suddenly has his pistol pointed at the chief's forehead.

“Kindly place your hands on top of your desk.”

I move a half step to my left.

Oh, Jesus.

I see what Ceepak must've heard. The chief's hand is on the handle of his top desk drawer. He's slid it an inch open.

Must be where he keeps one of his other guns.

“Get out. We're done here. You're fired. Santucci?”

He yells at the door.

“Santucci? Malloy? Get your asses in here! Now!”

The door opens.

It's not Santucci or Malloy. It's Christopher Morgan from the FBI. He's wearing evidence gloves and carrying a pair of Timberland boots.

“They were in your Expedition, chief,” he says. He reaches into his suitcoat and pulls out a document. “Oh, by the way-here's the search warrant.”

“You sons of bitches….”

The chief must be sending some blue blood up to his red face because it's turning purple.

“Oh,” Morgan says, “almost forgot. Ran that cell phone number by Verizon.” He pulls another sheaf of papers out of his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?”

Ceepak and Morgan are acting like the chief isn't even in the room-except, of course, for Ceepak aiming his gun at the chief's head. That's still going on.

“After she was kidnapped? Ashley called her mom.”

“That was thoughtful,” Ceepak says.

“Oh, yeah,” Morgan cracks. “Very considerate. Then, this one.” He sort of shoves the paper in the chief's face. “That's your number, right? That incoming call there? Sunday night? Guess you had to let Ashley know Ceepak was on his way. Give her time to handcuff her ankles and slip the rope back over her wrists.”

“Danny and I almost interrupted your conversation,” Ceepak says. “I had to wait for her to hide her phone.”

“Which,” Morgan says, “we found underneath the floorboards, just like you said.”

“You guys think you're so fucking clever,” the chief manages to snarl. “You don't know jack shit.”

Ceepak lowers his weapon and strolls to the door.

“Gus? Can you join us in here?”

“Now what?” the chief is shaking his head in disbelief. I'm keeping my eyes on that top desk drawer and his hands. So is Morgan, thank God, because I still don't have a gun. Everybody else seems to have at least two.

“What's Gus got to do with any of this?” The chief clasps his meaty paws behind his head.

Gus toddles into the room.

“Yes, sir?” he says it to the chief.

“Gus?”

“Oh, hey, Ceepak. Heard all about … you know. Sorry it went down that way, but I'm glad you did what needed to be done, you know what I'm saying?”

“Gus, please escort the chief to a holding cell.”

“What?”

“Arrest him.”

“You can't arrest me!”

Morgan pulls out another sheet of paper. The guy must have pockets in that suit coat like Ceepak has pockets in his pants.

“I, however, can,” he says. “Federal bench warrant. For the kidnapping of Harriet Ashley Hart. Which, as you know, is a federal offense-”

“Bullshit!”

“He kidnapped the little girl?”

“He also stole your gun,” Ceepak says.

“He did what?” Gus starts to steam pink like boiled shrimp.

“That day in March when you said you lost it? The chief took it. He saw you were without a weapon when he first bumped into you at the Surf City Shopping Center, but he didn't mention it,” Ceepak explains. “Instead, he told you to go get your muddy car washed, to make it plausible that Squeegee stole your weapon. You then ran into the chief a second time … outside the florist shop….”

“Yeah.”

“That's when he boosted your gun. While you were inside buying flowers. He'd been tailing you all day.”

“Bullshit!” the chief says. “Ceepak's a liar.”

Gus looks at Ceepak. Looks at the chief.

“No, chief. Ceepak never lies. He's a freaking Boy Scout, remember?”

The chief rolls his eyes.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Gus says.

“Ceepak, you don't know shit!”

“Shut up!” Gus yells. “Remain freaking silent and give me your goddamn gun.”

I can see the folks in the hall staring. Gus neglected to close the door when he came in.

“You just wait, Ceepak. You ever find out the real truth? You'll do like your faggot brother. You'll blow your fucking brains out.”

Morgan's cell phone rings.

“Morgan.” He covers the mouthpiece. “It's McDaniels.”

The call Ceepak's been waiting for.

“What you got? Excellent. I'll tell Ceepak. She's tightened up the time of death.”

We wait some more, but not long.

“Yeah. She says death took place sometime between 6:57 A.M. and 7:02.”

“Not 7:20? 7:25?”

“No.”

“She's certain?”

“As certain as she can be.”

“See?” the chief gloats. “You boys don't know shit.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Gus locks the chief in one of the two windowless holding pens we have in the house.

Mendez is in the other one.

“Yo!” he yells at Ceepak. “You burn down my condo complex? I thought you wanted a time-share….”

“I didn't burn it down,” Ceepak says. “I just couldn't reach the alarm clock you rigged for the trigger.”