4. On the Way to School
Gordy was grounded.
What a joke…friggin’ grounded.
He walked to school, reflecting fondly upon the events of the previous evening.
He understood what happened. Arthur would have bailed him out of jail if he could. Everything happened so quickly. How was the UJ supposed to know the massive bartender would drive his massive car right to where Gordy was hiding? The schmuck almost tore Gordy’s arm off dragging him to the yard.
That sucked. But…man! Everything up to that point was incredible!
They all scoffed when he suggested the role play. He couldn’t wait to tell them how well it paid off.
Twenty minutes before Traci sauntered into F and J’s in her black dress and high heels, several Potterford residents saw Gordy on his bike, bound for Third Street. It wasn’t unusual; Gordy rode his bike everywhere. Five minutes later he was approaching the bar. There was a man flagging him down in front of the Tru-Value. Gordy stopped, and the dialogue began.
“Hey kid, you want some easy cash?”
“It depends on what I have to do to get it. I’m not getting down on my knees or anything.”
“No kid. Nothing like that. I’m going to give you fifty bucks and a brick. After I hand you the brick and the cash, take your bike and hide in that alley. Wait fifteen minutes.”
“Why do I have to wait fifteen minutes?”
“Do you want the money or not?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. What do I do after fifteen minutes?”
“Ride your bike in front of Frankie and Jimmy’s and throw the brick through the window.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup. That’s it. Hide where you want afterwards. I suggest the industrial complex, but that’s up to you.”
Gordy thought for a moment before he answered.
“Okay. You’ve got a deal.”
The man handed the brick and fifty dollars to Gordy. There was one last instruction.
“Kid, I’m going to be watching you to make sure you don’t screw me over. I don’t want you to see where I’m hiding, so turn around and count to 100.”
“Got it”
The man sighed.
“Is that good enough, Gordy? I feel like an idiot.”
Gordy didn’t care what Steven felt like. This wasn’t about dignity. It was about having a story that would hold up under scrutiny. The only thing left for Gordy to concoct was a bogus description of the man, and he had that covered.
He wished that Arthur could have been there to hear the pat and natural answers he had for every question the cops threw at him. He was most proud of the moment he shut down the line of questioning about the money by reaching into his pocket and producing a brand new folded fifty-dollar bill. It was folded because Steven had folded it. Steven folded it because that’s how a person palms money to a stranger in the street. That’s how you make a lie as close to the truth as possible.
He knew he’d have to do some community service and probably bus tables or something to pay off the fine, but it would be worth it.
He smiled as he recalled saying “Yes, that’s the guy,” when the sketch artist showed him the completed drawing.
Had his parents not whisked him out the station, he would have heard a brief and amusing exchange between the sketch artist and the Chief of Police.
“Hey, Chief, take a look at this.”
“Yeah, it’s a sketch. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. Who does it remind you of?”
“I don’t know. Looks a little like Walter Matthau.”
“Who?”
5. On the Gravel Road
The sun was still low in the sky when Lynch and Warner turned on to the gravel road that led to the old Meadowbrook Farm. According to 911 Dispatch, the phantom emergency call was made anonymously from a pre-paid cell phone. The caller was male and disguised his voice with a horrible Southern (or British?) accent. The phone hadn’t been used since.
Of the three possibilities, least likely was the caller being one of the Unjudged. None of their cell numbers matched the 911 record, and none of their voices, no matter how disguised, were anything like the British cowboy’s. Still, the implications sent Lynch’s head reeling.
Suppose the caller was one of the gang. That meant a missing burner phone. Why would someone ditch a phone, if not to hide a picture, text, or call record? And whose picture, call, or text would a UJ feel the need to hide? Lynch had a wishful guess.
If the phone was still at the barn somewhere, and they found it, and anything on it led to Samuel, he was planning on kissing Warner full on the lips.
Warner was differently preoccupied. She loathed discrepancy. Seven years as her partner had earned Reilly the benefit of the doubt. Intimidate witnesses? Yes. Dance around procedure? Yes. Sleep with prostitutes? Yes. Manipulate an investigation? No fucking way.
Yet the crummy feeling she’d had in her gut since Saturday night remained. True, she was with Reilly when the beating took place, but she didn’t have eyes on him the entire evening. A guy that angry and that well connected could do a lot of damage with a cell phone and a few moments alone.
And…
Shit.
…there was a discrepancy.
Lynch wanted to go back to the barn to look for the missing cell phone. Perhaps, in the process, the discrepancy could be explained. Even if not, the situation deserved a second set of eyes.
They decided to step through the events of the evening, starting with the arrival of the attackers. Carrie was resistant to the idea that one of them dialed 911, but that was the more favorable of remaining two possibilities (strangely enough).
They left Carrie’s car at the barn and walked to the truck-shaped patch of flattened grass where the assailants had parked. Several trampled paths led to and away from the area. Each one had been labeled by Crime Scene as either “Coming” or “Going.”
Lynch snatched up one of the “Goings” and held it out straight.
“Does this mean ‘Going’ to the barn or ‘Going’ awayfrom the crime scene?”
“To
