Twelve Days of Trauma

by Jasper Joshua West

  “It was you,” I said through gritted teeth. “You plowed into my car with your truck. And then you just left us for dead and went home?”

  He nodded, closing his eyes. “I… yeah. I went to my dad, and he told me to just keep quiet, that he’d handle it. I didn’t know that someone had died until a couple of days later, and… I didn’t know that he would try to kill you, I swear to God!”

  “What the hell did you think he was going to do?” I roared as Julie turned around, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, stopping me from advancing on him.

  “I… I don’t know… I just… I don’t know,” he said, his voice disintegrating as tears streamed down his face.

  We heard sirens approaching and looked to see a police cruiser approach, followed by a second one.

  “Follow my lead, okay?” Julie said, raising her hands and indicating for me to do the same.

  I did as I was told, lifting my hands up in the air as the officers jumped out of their vehicles, pointing weapons.

  “Thank God!” the kid shouted, climbing up from his knees and rushing over to the officers. “They killed my dad, and they were going to kill me too!”

  “You get behind us,” one officer said, coming closer to us. “As for the two of you, I’m afraid you’re both under arrest for murder.”

  “Great plan,” I noted to Smith as my hands were cuffed first.

  “Best plan we had,” she replied.

  Chapter 18

  I sighed and leaned back in the uncomfortable seat in the interview room. The cuffs, just a little too tight, made it all the worse. I’d been in rooms like this before, but I had always been on the other side of the table. I didn’t drink the coffee, which I knew from experience would be terrible. I took a sip of my water. They hadn’t offered me any food yet.

  These guys were not used to dealing with murderers, but they knew the game well enough. If they knew I used to be a cop, they hadn’t let on yet. They hadn’t officially charged me yet, which was smart of them; until charges were filed, they didn’t have to give me a phone call, take any official statements, or record our conversations (though they probably would do the latter in case I said anything that could be used against me).

  “So, why did you kill him?” the detective asked for about the tenth time.

  “Lawyer,” I said, also for the tenth time. “Mr. Jacobs, you said you didn’t kill the sheriff,” the younger officer said. “If that’s true, just tell us what happened. You don’t need a lawyer if you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “He’s right,” the detective said. “It could take hours for a lawyer to get here. Why not just tell us and we can get this sorted out in time for dinner? In fact, if you answer a few questions, I’ll send Williams out to get some sandwiches. I don’t know about you, but I could go for a meatball sub on brown bread.” He had some good lines, but I knew it was a load of crap.

  They already knew that Julie had fired the gun, but they wanted me to say it. I knew better than to tell them anything before my lawyer arrived, besides denying that I had killed the sheriff, which I had done exactly once. I knew that if I started answering questions, they would keep coming for hours. Cops don’t take it lightly when one of their own gets killed. They might drag their feet about calling a lawyer, but once the lawyer arrived, I could at least get out of this interview room.

  “Okay, have it your way, Mr. Jacobs,” the detective said after a moment. “Come on, Williams. Let’s go get some of those sandwiches and when we’re done eating, maybe this fella will be ready to talk. Sure you don’t want one, Mr. Jacobs?”

  ◆◆◆

  They left me alone in the room for an hour. Maybe they did go get sandwiches, but more than likely they were taking turns watching me through the one-way glass for signs I was ready to talk or they were in another room interrogating Julie.

  Finally, the younger cop returned and, after one last attempt at getting me to talk, announced my lawyer had arrived and showed him in.

  In walked a skinny, balding man of about fifty with a briefcase.

  “Good evening, Mr. Jacobs,” said the lawyer. “I’m David Evans. Would you like to speak somewhere in private?”

  “Thanks for coming,” I said. “Yes, private would be good.”

  The lawyer nodded to the officer, who led me to another, smaller room. This one didn’t have a camera or one-way glass. The officer attached my cuffs to the metal table, then left the room.

  “Okay,” said Evans. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  I went through the story, starting with the accident, how I’d learned about the cover-up by the sheriff,, my evidence of the truck and finally about the chase from the hospital. He didn’t interrupt me and only wrote down a few details on his legal pad.

  “Did you actually see Detective Smith discharge her weapon before the sheriff fell?” he asked.

  “I didn’t,” I said. I hadn’t been sure if I could trust this man as the sheriff had so many people in his pocket but I took a chance and it paid off. “I had my eyes closed.”

  He walked to the door and asked the detective, who happened to be waiting outside the door, to come in.

  “Detective,” the lawyer said. “My client did not shoot the sheriff. In fact, my client can not even say for certain who did because at the moment that the shots were fired, he had his eyes closed. I must suggest that you release my client to his own recognizance at this time unless you are prepared to press charges.”

  “Absolutely not,” said the detective. “A high ranking member of the police has been killed. We need to hold Mr. Jacobs while we gather additional evidence and determine if he will be charged.”

  Anger flared in me. “It’s too bad you didn’t do your due diligence when my wife was killed you son of a bitch!” I shouted.

  The lawyer put his hands up for silence. The detective looked away and didn’t respond.

  “Do you have any more questions for Mr. Jacobs?” the lawyer asked. “If not, let’s get him out of this interview room.”

  “We’ll be moving him to a holding cell soon,” the detective said quietly.

  Chapter 19

  December 20th

  I didn’t get much sleep and I gave up on trying when the first rays of dawn light filtered in through the small window in my cell. It wasn’t just the fact that I was in prison. I kept thinking about Suzy. I missed her like hell and I couldn’t believe I’d never see her again. She’d always been there for me during the tough times in my life and now, the toughest time ever, and I was alone.

  I also spent a great deal of time thinking about Celia, lying unconscious in the hospital. What if she never woke up? What if she had already woken up and I wasn’t there with her?

  I pushed myself up from the uncomfortable bunk, ignoring the pain in my back and my neck. The holding area had only two cells and as far as I could tell, I was the only prisoner. I didn't know where they’d taken Julie, not that I could have done anything to help her anyway. I made a mental note to ask the lawyer that; he had promised to come this afternoon as he wasn’t expecting any progress on the charges this morning.

  “Officer,” I called. There was no response. “Officer!” I called again, louder. When there was no response, indeed no indication of another person in the building, I sat down on the bed. I yawned and rubbed my eyes. My cell was not equipped with a mirror, but I must have looked like hell.

  ◆◆◆

  I didn’t remember falling asleep but I woke with a start to a door slamming. An hour or two must have gone by because it was fully light outside now. I heard footsteps approaching.

  “Breakfast,” said the lone police officer. “Hands outside the bars please.”

  I complied and he cuffed my hands, then opened the cell door, had a quick look around, then set down the tray of food on the metal table attached to the wall.

  “I need to contact my father,” I said. “My daughter is in the hospital and I need to know if she’s okay.”

  The of
ficer closed the cell door, then approached me and removed the cuffs. He looked me directly in the eyes, then turned and left without saying another word.

  “I have rights!” I shouted after him. “You have to give me a phone call!” Technically he didn’t until charges had been filed, but I had to try. The next thing I heard was the door slamming.

  I inspected the food on the tray. There was a rock-hard roll, a couple of spoonfuls of cold scrambled eggs, a bruised apple, a sealed container of orange juice and a paper cup half full of coffee. Every compartment on the tray had coffee spilled in it.

  I risked a bite of the eggs but they were too salty to be edible and I spit them out. I didn’t have to try the coffee; I could smell that it was horrible. I settled on the orange juice which drank sitting on the edge of my bed. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, I lay down and looked at the ceiling for hours, worrying about Celia and Julie.

  ◆◆◆

  The tray of inedible food remained on my table until lunchtime, when the same officer followed the same procedure to deliver me an inedible tuna sandwich along with some cold, soggy fries and a dozen or so dried out peas. I couldn’t make food this awful if I tried. I once again asked about my daughter and once again I got no response. I paced the cell for a few minutes and then lay back down on the bunk.

  The lawyer arrived at two o’clock. The officer escorted him to my cell where he had to sit on a chair outside.

  “Any news?” I asked.

  “I checked in with your father as you requested,” he said. “No change in your daughter’s condition and they will stay at the hospital as long as needed. He wanted to bail you out or at least visit you but that’s not allowed until they press charges.”

  “Have they filed yet?” I asked, already knowing the answer. If they had filed charges, I would have been moved from the police station to county lock-up.

  He shook his head. “I tried to press them on that but they just claimed they are still processing the evidence from the crime scene and testimony. They can hold you for forty-eight hours from the time you were arrested, so my guess would be they will either release you or file charges this time tomorrow.”

  “About what I expected,” I said. “What about Julie? Is she okay?”

  “All they will tell me is that she’s being held at a separate location,” he said. “Even if I knew where she was, they wouldn’t let me talk to her. I’m not even supposed to talk to her attorney, but I know who it is and she won’t put up with any mistreatment.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Evans,” I said. “Please let me know if anything changes with Celia. If not, I guess I’ll see you again tomorrow afternoon.”

  I didn’t know it then, but I wouldn’t be seeing anyone for the next three days.

  ◆◆◆

  That evening I lay awake in my bunk again, secure in my belief that at least some progress would have to be made the next day. It was likely that the sheriff had the district attorney in his back pocket along with everyone else, but whether or not the DA filed charges would depend on if he remained loyal even after the sheriff was dead. As I was mulling this over, the lights went out, leaving me in complete darkness.

  A few minutes passed in silence. The red indicator light on the camera mounted outside my cell was also off, meaning there was a power failure. Finally, I heard the door down the hall open and I saw someone holding a flashlight come through. I thought it was the officer on duty coming to check on me but then I realized that he wasn’t alone; it sounded like three or four pairs of heavy boots moving across the cement floor toward my cell.

  I stood and tried to get a look at them, but all I could see was the light, which was directed at my face.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, knowing I wasn’t likely to get an answer. No one spoke, but there was muffled laughter and the sound of keys rattling. I smelled the alcohol before they even got the door open. A moment later, they were in the cell and there was a rain of punches on my chest, back and my arms, which I used to protect my head.

  My legs were swept from under me and I hit the floor hard. Then the kicks started and everything went black.

  Chapter 20

  December 23rd

  The pain was intense. Every part of my body hurt. The welts and bruises covering my body were the worst part, though. It felt like I had a couple of broken ribs and my head was pounding, but I was alive and my arms and legs seemed to be intact. I thought for a moment and recalled the men visiting my cell in the dark, the punches and kicks...

  “Mr. Jacobs,” said a familiar voice. “Can you hear me?”

  I opened my eyes. The face of the doctor swam briefly in front of me, then came into focus. I winced at the bright light and ran my fingers tenderly over the swelling on my face. “Yes,” I finally managed, my voice raspy.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’ve been better,” I said, looking around. I was back in the hospital again, in the same room with the same doctor. This was like a bad dream.

  “Silly question,” the doctor said. He made a peace sign. “How many fingers?” he asked.

  “Two,” I replied. “I’m back at the hospital?” I asked drunkenly.

  “You were assaulted and you sustained a severe concussion,” he told me. “I had to keep you in an induced coma for a few days in an effort to reduce the swelling in your brain. It’s gone down some now, but we would have kept you under if it weren’t for Celia’s condition.”

  “What about Celia?” I asked.

  “The bleeding in her brain hasn’t stopped on its own as I had hoped it would,” the doctor said. “The good news is, the swelling has gone down and it’s now safe to perform surgery. It’s a fairly safe procedure, but there is always a risk. Your parents can give consent but they wanted you to be awake if possible.”

  “Fine,” I said. “You do what you need to do, but I want to be there.” I tried to sit up but he motioned for me to lay back.

  “We’ll need to get you disconnected from the machines, and even then you’ll be in no condition to walk just yet,” he said. “I’ll go to prep Celia for surgery and the nurses will get you in a wheelchair.”

  He left the room and I noticed that my father and the attorney, Evans, were also in the room. As the nurses went to work disconnecting catheters, IVs and monitoring equipment, Evans filled me in on what had happened.

  “Mark Carson, the son of the recently departed sheriff, was finally questioned properly. I’m sorry it took so long, but I kept getting stonewalled at every stage. I finally convinced some high ranking members of the state police to come and sort this mess out,” he stopped and shook his head. “Anyway, he cracked and confessed to everything, including the hit and run and being an accessory to the late sheriff’s attempt on your life, though he insists he wasn’t aware of his father’s intentions. Most importantly, he corroborated Julie’s testimony that she shot the sheriff to save your life. All the charges against you were dropped.”

  “What about Julie?” I asked.

  “It’s a bit more complicated for her because she’s a police officer and she shot another cop,” he explained. “But the state police and the judge assured me that, while it may take some time, charges against her will be dropped as well.”

  “Any idea who broke into my cell and beat me up?” I asked.

  He shook his head again. “No one’s talking. Apparently, the electricity was disabled outside the station and the one officer on duty went outside to try to turn it back on. Whoever broke in locked him out, found the keys to your cell on his desk, and you know the rest.”

  “He didn’t see anyone?” I asked.

  “He only saw four men with ski masks leave on foot,” Evans said. “To his credit, he went immediately to your aid and called an ambulance instead of giving chase.”

  “If he’s telling the truth,” I said. “He was probably in on it.”

  “We might never know for sure,” the lawyer said. “They’ll be doing some house-cleaning on this pol
ice force when this is all over though, that’s for sure. For now, I think you should focus on your daughter.”

  And that was exactly what I did all through the next day.

  Chapter 21

  December 25th

  My whole body was still aching from the recovering injuries, but they hadn’t been able to pry me from my daughter’s side since she had come out of surgery. Sitting with her and talking was something that the doctors recommended. They said that it was verified that hearing a known voice helped patients recover quicker.

  I hoped that they were right because I wasn’t going to leave her side again. Not for a second.

  The surgery had been a success, they said, but she was still in a precarious position. The bleeding inside her brain was stopped and the prognosis was good, but they wouldn’t be able to tell what kind of damage had been caused until she woke up.

  My hands wrapped around hers, feeling them still warm and tiny as I could feel something hot and wet running down my cheeks.

  “Daddy?”

  I looked up suddenly, hearing the soft voice that I’d been imagining in my head for what felt like forever.

  Her eyes were open. She looked a little odd, her head still wrapped up in bandages, but she was there. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was.

  “Hey baby,” I whispered, pressing a light kiss to her hand as her fingers wrapped tightly around mine. “We’re in the hospital. There was an accident and we got hurt.”

  “I’m hungry, Daddy,” she whispered. “Can we get a booger?”

  I couldn’t help a soft laugh as I kissed her hand again. “Yeah, baby. And you can eat as many fries as you want.”

  “I want all the fries,” she whispered. “Mommy always gets salad, but then she steals your fries.”