Bob shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips, letting me know I’m not to tell Allie anything about what’s going on yet.
“I’ll tell you more later,” I say. “I have an idea about something that might help explain Danny’s state of mind, but I can’t talk about it yet. I’ll call you later this morning to see how he’s doing. If anything happens in the meantime, you call me, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Hildy.”
As I disconnect the call Bob says, “Mum’s the word on what we found out here, at least with the poisonous plants. I don’t want it getting out and starting a panic.”
“Got it. And it seems I might have been wrong when I assumed Danny’s rants about seeing someone get killed were schizophrenic hallucinations. I’m glad he managed to get away without getting killed himself.”
Bob makes a face and cocks his head to one side, looking at me.
“What?” I say.
“You think Danny saw someone kill Mr. Fletcher?”
“It certainly sounds possible. Maybe he was looking in through one of the kitchen windows. Or he could have been in the house somewhere.” My mind is racing with possible scenarios until Bob hits on the one I haven’t embraced yet, because I don’t want to believe it.
“Or maybe,” he says, pausing for effect, “Danny is the one who killed him.”
Chapter 7
Since it’s Saturday, I don’t have to worry about getting to my other job on time. It turns out this is a good thing, because we are at the farm well into the morning.
The site became a very busy place after Bob’s arrival because he called both the FBI and Homeland Security, and both agencies sent out men of their own. There were guys in hazmat suits, and a series of vans that drove in and parked behind the barn. I couldn’t see what they were doing and didn’t want to. For now, I preferred to keep my distance from that barn and its evil contents.
I kept myself near Devo’s car and Roscoe, letting him out of the vehicle again, but keeping him on leash and as far away from the barn as possible. When Devo finally emerged from the barn to tell me he would take me back to the station as soon as he checked with Bob, who was currently in the house, I was relieved and ready to go. I was dead tired and eager to be away from this place, so I happily loaded Roscoe into his pen and then climbed into the front seat of the squad car to wait for Devo.
Now, ten minutes have gone by, and I’m growing impatient. Relief fills me when I see both Bob and Devo finally emerge from the house, but my enthusiasm flags when I see Bob walk over to my side of the squad car and indicate that I should roll my window down.
“Hildy, I’m wondering if you might be willing to help me out with something this morning.”
“What?” I ask with mixed feelings. I’m enjoying this police stuff quite a bit, but my bed is calling to me.
“I need to pick up Danny Hildebrand and bring him into the station for questioning. I understand that his current situation is a bit, um, delicate, and I know you’ve worked with him and have something of a rapport with both him and his sister.”
“I suppose I do,” I say, wondering where this is going.
“Would you be willing to sit in when I question him? I think he might be more forthcoming with you. And if you think Roscoe will help calm the guy, we can include him, too.”
Every inch of my body is telling me to say no, that bed and sleep is more of a priority right now. But this is what I was hired to do by the police department and since the job approval is only temporary, a trial run so to speak, I figure anything I can do to make it seem more viable, useful, and indispensable is to my advantage. So, against my weary body’s better judgment, I say yes. Besides, I do know Danny and his sister quite well and I’ve invested a lot of time and effort into their lives already. Now is not the time to give up on that.
* * *
Two cups of coffee, a bad case of reflux, and a little over an hour later, I am seated in the police station conference room, Roscoe sitting on my right, but faced away from me. Bob Richmond calls this an interrogation room but I have a hard time seeing it as such. I’m in a cushy chair situated at the head of an oblong, faux wood table in a room that looks like it was decorated by someone who did too much LSD back in the sixties. The colors are mostly blues and browns, but the shades within these color families don’t match well. The blue in the carpet is a rich royal color but the blue in the fabric on the chairs is more of a turquoise. This might not be so bad if it wasn’t for the orange and yellow in the chairs, and the chartreuse and purple in the carpet. Someone’s color wheel ran far off the road.
Bob Richmond is seated beside me to my left, his back to the door of the room, and across from him are Danny and Allie, Danny to my direct right and his sister on his right. My seat at the head of the table doesn’t signify any type of position or authority. It’s simply designed to be a buffer position that puts me between Bob and Danny.
For now, the room is silent. No one is saying anything because we are waiting on one other person to arrive: Danny’s lawyer. Bob isn’t happy about this. That’s obvious from the expression on his face, and the impatient way he’s tapping his pen on the tabletop. Allie is leaning back in her chair, her arms folded defensively over her chest, frowning at Bob. Danny is sitting calmly, his only movement that of his left hand as he strokes the top of Roscoe’s head, which is currently resting in Danny’s lap. No one seems compelled to fill the awkward silence—a surprising situation in and of itself. Most people find such lulls painfully awkward and uncomfortable.
I suppose the current situation is my fault to some degree. Based on the look Bob gave me a while ago, I know he believes that. But I only did what I felt I had to do to protect my patient. Granted, my relationship with Danny in this new role is somewhat murkily defined, but I feel certain it couldn’t and shouldn’t negate my previous professional relationship with him. It’s a topic that will have to be clarified at some point because in a town the size of Sorenson, the odds of me encountering someone I’ve worked with at the hospital while doing my job for the PD are high.
Devo had driven me to Allie’s place when we left the farm so we could ask Danny to come to the police station for a chat. Clearly Danny was a key person of interest in the dead farmer’s case, if not a suspect, and it was urgent that Bob talk with him on the matter. Allie had answered the door, and when Devo explained that we wanted to take Danny down to the station to talk about the killing he claimed to have seen, Allie immediately got defensive.
“No one believed him about that earlier,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Devo. She then looked at me. “You said you thought it was a manifestation of his schizophrenia. What’s different now?”
Before I could answer, Devo said, “We have reason to believe he might have actually seen something. It’s important that we talk to him.”
Allie, being no dummy, immediately made the connection. “You found someone dead,” she said bluntly.
“Yes,” I said quickly.
Joel, looking sleepy-eyed and with his hair ruffled from bed, appeared over Allie’s shoulder. “Who’s dead?” he asked.
No one answered him.
Allie’s eyes narrowed as she looked back at Devo. “Do you want to talk to Danny because you think he witnessed something or because you think he may be involved?”
Devo, in an impressive bit of evasive cop-speak said, “It’s imperative that we speak to him as soon as possible. Time is always of the essence in these cases. If your brother saw something he shouldn’t have, he might be in danger.”
I had to hand it to Devo; it was a brilliant response. He’d handily avoided answering the question Allie had asked while simultaneously making her feel the urgent need of the situation. But Allie isn’t your average person and she’d been dealing with her brother for too long and under too many circumstances to be so easily manipulated.
“He just got home from the ER, after a supposed breakdown,” she said. “I don’t think now is the time to be asking him anything.” She jutted
her chin at Devo in a manner that clearly communicated her commitment. “I wouldn’t want anything he might say to be taken out of context,” she concluded, arching one eyebrow.
Joel agreed. “Give the guy a break. He’s not even sure what’s real at this point. It’s not fair to be questioning him now.”
Devo again stressed the urgent nature of our request. “I know it’s not ideal, but as I said before, time is of the essence here. A crime may have been committed and your brother is the best lead we have right now.”
I gave mental kudos to Devo once again for referring to Danny as a lead rather than a potential suspect, even though I knew the latter label was likely a better fit, at least in the eyes of the cops.
Knowing that Allie suspected the cops’ interest in her brother was more than as a witness, I said, “Allie, would you feel better about Danny talking to the cops if he had someone there to watch out for his interests?” In asking this, I was referring to myself since we hadn’t let Allie know that the plan was for me and Roscoe to be present. But my wording put a different idea into Allie’s head.
“Yes, Hildy, it would,” she said, her face lighting up. “That’s a great idea. Let me see if I can get my lawyer on the phone.” With that, she spun on her heel and headed off to another room with Joel tailing behind her, leaving me and Devo standing just inside the front door.
Devo looked down at me, shaking his head. “Richmond isn’t going to be happy that you did that,” he said in a fatalistic tone.
“She misunderstood what I was saying. I was referring to me as the person who would be looking out for Danny, not a lawyer.”
“Still, when Richmond hears about it....” He moves his finger across his throat in a slashing motion.
Feeling irritated, I fired back. “Though in hindsight, I think it’s a good idea that Danny have a lawyer there. Clearly you guys think he might be a suspect.” I kept my voice low, not wanting Allie to hear.
“Well, now we’ll never know,” Devo whispered back. “Lawyers never let anyone say anything.”
I figured that I’d not only mucked things up with my unclear suggestion to Allie, but that I likely had also delayed the talk with Danny. Keeping my mouth shut might have meant getting to my bed sooner rather than later, an appealing thought. But it wasn’t to be.
Allie returned to us and said, “Danny and I will be at the station shortly. Our lawyer will meet us there and we will talk to you only after that happens. Okay?”
It wasn’t like we had a choice, and so Devo had driven me to the station, where I had to stand before Bob Richmond’s withering stare while it was explained how I’d managed to mess everything up. I was tempted to try to defend myself by telling Bob that I felt certain Danny hadn’t killed anyone, that his schizoid breaks had never before been violent, but I kept my mouth shut and took my punishment, which was simply Bob’s disapproving expression and periodic sighs of frustration. Not so bad, really. And if truth be told, I couldn’t swear one hundred percent that Danny hadn’t done something bad. I truly didn’t think he had killed anyone, but clearly he’d been on that farm and had seen something bad happen, so who was to say how involved he was?
So it is that the four of us—five if you counted Roscoe—came to be sitting in the ugliest conference room I’ve ever seen, patiently awaiting the arrival of Danny’s lawyer. When the door behind Bob finally opens, it’s as if everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief. Even Bob looks glad for the lawyer’s presence, at least initially.
The man of relief who breezes into the room has wavy, greasy-looking, strawberry-blond hair, and he’s wearing a pale blue suit with a wide collar like the leisure suits that were so popular back in the seventies, making me wonder if he bought it off the rack at the local Goodwill or St. Vinnie’s stores. He sidles past Bob, tosses a battered briefcase onto the tabletop, and settles into the chair to Bob’s immediate left, looking across the table at Danny and Allie.
“They didn’t try to talk to you yet, did they?” he asks.
Allie shakes her head. Danny just stares at the man. He has a glassy-eyed, sleepy look that worries me. I suspect he is still under the influence of some powerful medications.
“Okay, then,” the newcomer says. “Let the record show that Danny Hildebrand’s attorney of record, Lucien Colter, has arrived. Have you Mirandized my client yet?” he looks expectantly at Bob, who I notice has his eyes closed, his head shaking ever so slightly.
With a very weighty sigh, Bob says, “I haven’t said or done a thing, Lucien. Per Allie’s instructions, which I gather came from you, we have simply brought them here and let them have a seat. I’ve had the recorder running the whole time in case you want to question my word on that. I do have a lot of questions to ask Mr. Hildebrand however, so if you’re ready, I’d like to begin.”
“What are you questioning Danny about?” Lucien asks, reaching forward and undoing the latches on his briefcase. They snap open and he lifts the lid, reaching inside. I expect to see him remove a sheaf of papers, or perhaps a pad and pen, but instead he pulls out a paper-wrapped sandwich from a local restaurant. “You don’t mind?” he asks Bob, showing him the sandwich. “I haven’t had breakfast yet and I’m ravenous. Have you tried these breakfast sandwiches from Eddies?” he asks, naming a local café. “They’re the bomb. I’m fond of the egg, cheese, and bacon on a bagel combo myself. Great way to start the day. Speaking of starting the day, is there any coffee to be had here?”
Bob looks like he wants to hit the man, but instead he mutters, “Of course,” through tight, thinned lips. He rises from his chair and exits the room, leaving the door open behind him. I suspect he could have called out to someone else to get the coffee and bring it in, but I gather that he wants and probably needs the break to collect his patience.
Lucien starts unwrapping his sandwich, and the aroma gets Roscoe’s interest. The dog lifts his head from Danny’s lap and peers across the table, nose sniffing.
“Good lord, is that a dog?” Lucien says in a loud voice. Then he hollers, “What the devil, Richmond? Are you trying to sneak in an illegal search here?” Without waiting for an answer, he takes a huge bite of his sandwich. Bits of cheesy egg fall out of the bagel, landing on his shirt. He looks down at his chest, plucks a morsel from the fabric, and plops it in his mouth. Chewing so hard that the muscles in his jaw are popping like Mexican jumping beans, he smiles at Allie and Danny, then turns his head toward me. “Who the devil are you?” he asks around a mouthful of half-chewed food.
“Hildy Schneider. I’m a social worker at the hospital, and I also work for the police department, assisting them as needed.”
Bob walks back into the room carrying a Styrofoam cup of coffee that he sets down in front of Lucien. I wonder if he was tempted to slip in a bit of something from one of those plants we found out at the Fletcher farm.
“What the heck have you got going here today, Richmond?” Lucien asks. “Why is there a dog sniffing around my client? And why is this woman in here?” He nods toward me, then rips another bite off his sandwich. He stares at Bob while he chews, and after a few seconds says, around a mouthful of sandwich, “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. Want some?” He thrusts the partially eaten sandwich toward Bob.
“No, thank you,” Bob says through gritted teeth. “The dog and Ms. Schneider are here to make your client more comfortable. Hildy knows him and has worked with him before.”
“And the drug-sniffing dog?” Lucien says.
“He isn’t a drug-sniffing dog, he’s a therapy dog,” I explain. “Danny knows him and has found him to be comforting in the past.”
Lucien chomps away, considering this.
“Your client has already talked about the murder scene,” Bob says. “He seemed upset about it.”
“You spoke to my client without me present?” Lucien says, rearing back and straightening with righteous indignation.
“We thought it was one of his schizophrenic breaks at the time,” I explain. “It happened last
night, and he ended up in the ER. He was sedated and later sent home.”
Bob nods. “What Hildy said is correct. At the time, we didn’t know there had been a murder, or a death of any sort for that matter. I didn’t hear what your client said, but one of my officers did. It was something about a polka-dotted dinosaur.”
“A polka-dotted dinosaur,” Lucien scoffs. “Do tell.” Bob opens his mouth to say something more, but Lucien interrupts him before he can get a word out. “But first, let’s do the Miranda thing since we don’t know where this is going. And I want everything recorded.”
“As I mentioned before, I started recording as soon as we all entered the room and before you got here,” Bob says. “I didn’t want there to be any question about us asking Danny anything before you arrived, so I made sure everything was on the record.”
Lucien frowns, apparently disappointed by this, though I’m not sure why.
Roscoe, tired of staring longingly at Lucien’s sandwich and realizing he isn’t going to get anything, sighs and drops his head back onto Danny’s leg.
“Well then,” Lucien says, setting his sandwich down on the paper wrapper and taking up his coffee. “Let’s Mirandize and get on with it.”
Bob reads Danny the Miranda warning while Lucien loudly slurps at his coffee. Then Bob says, “Danny, I want to begin by asking you about what you do during the day. Do you have a job?”
Danny stares at the tabletop, giving no indication he has heard the question.
Allie says, “Danny works at the food processing plant out at the industrial park.”
Bob stares at Danny, who is still fixated on the tabletop. “What days do you usually work?” Bob asks.
Still no answer from Danny and once again Allie fills in the blanks. “He goes in Monday through Friday from nine-ish in the morning until around one or two in the afternoon.”
“Nine-ish?” Bob asks.
“His hours are flexible to some degree,” Allie explains.
Bob, clearly becoming frustrated with Danny’s inability or unwillingness to answer says, “Danny, I need you to talk to me. Stop letting your sister speak for you.”
Night Shift Page 7