Ferriss and Cooper shared an alarmed glance. The look was involuntary and gone in an instant, replaced with the men’s carefully cultivated hostility, but Mike had seen it as clearly as if they were wearing flashing neon signs on their foreheads. He immediately pressed the issue. “Come on, guys, who is he? This is information critical to a murder investigation. Give it up, or you won’t have to call your SAC in Portland. I’ll do it, and I’ll let him know his agents are actively obstructing my investigation.”
He reached for the phone on his desk and let his hand hover over it. “Your choice. What’s it going to be?”
The two agents shared another glance and Ferriss spoke to his partner softly. “What difference does it make now? It can’t hurt anything.”
Cooper glared back before answering reluctantly, “Fine. Go ahead.”
Ferriss turned back to Mike. “We know him as Jackson Healy,” he said simply. “That’s all I can divulge right now, without compromising our own investigation.”
The statement was made with a tone of implacable finality, and Mike knew he had gotten all of the information he was going to out of the two very strange FBI agents.
For now.
It was time to get to the heart of the matter. “What do you have to say about Officer Dupont’s statement that your partner was about to put a bullet into Mr. Jackson Healy’s head when she arrived on the scene?”
Cooper’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Mike said, “My question’s directed at Agent Ferriss. I’d like him to answer it, if you don’t mind.”
The purple vein in Cooper’s forehead started throbbing again and he looked as though he very much did mind. In fact, he appeared ready to come across the desk at Mike, which was exactly what Mike wanted. His goal was to push the obviously unstable agent as far as he could with the intention of shaking more information loose. It was becoming crystal clear that the key to unraveling the mystery of the two murders would lie in uncovering exactly why these men were here in Paskagankee.
Agent Ferriss seemed to understand Mike’s reasoning, though. Before Cooper could react, he put a hand out in front of his partner in a calming gesture, never taking his eyes off Mike’s. To Mike’s surprise, the volatile agent clamped his mouth shut in what seemed to take an act of extreme willpower.
After a moment of dead silence, Ferriss said simply, “That’s not how it happened.”
“My officer is lying, then?”
The used-car-salesman smile returned and then disappeared. “’Lying’ is such a harsh word,” he said. “Let’s just say she didn’t see what she thought she saw, and leave it at that.”
Sharon snorted. “I didn’t see the suspect forced to his knees at the edge of the pit, with Agent Sharpshooter, there, pressing his gun to the side of the man’s head?”
Cooper’s face flushed redder and the vein in his forehead throbbed away, once again giving Mike the impression the man was moments away from suffering a stroke. Ferriss, however, continued unperturbed. “This person is suspected in two brutal murders, one of a fellow peace officer. Surely you don’t think we should have approached him with any less than the full measure of caution?”
“You weren’t approaching him with caution,” Sharon retorted. “Neither one of you was reaching for cuffs or reading the prisoner his rights. Another three seconds and he would have been executed.”
“As I said,” Ferriss continued, directing his attention and his comments at Mike. “Your officer is simply mistaken in what she saw. We were, in fact, just about to cuff the prisoner. Her mistake is understandable, though. As so often happens with women, she probably let her nerves get the best of her.”
Now Sharon’s face flushed red, and she balled her hands into fists in her lap. Before she could interrupt, Mike said, “So that’s your story, then. You two, for reasons unknown, staked out the construction site, took advantage of the suspect’s mysterious interest in the site to sneak up on him from behind, then disarmed him at gunpoint and were seconds away from placing him under arrest and putting him in handcuffs when Officer Dupont came around the corner and saw him on his knees, execution style.”
“I can’t think of a better one, can you?”
Mike shook his head. “How long have you two been in law enforcement?”
Ferriss smiled, and even Cooper seemed to lighten up a little. “Longer than you could possibly imagine” Ferriss said glibly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ferriss shrugged. “Nothing. Forget it. Let’s just say we’ve been involved long enough to know how things are done.”
“Well,” Mike said, stretching. “Apparently we’re left with a jurisdictional conflict. The man we have in custody is the prime suspect in two local murders, as you’ve already noted. Since you won’t reveal what crimes you’re investigating him for, I’m still going to assume our interest in him trumps yours. Feel free to have your SAC contact me if any of my assumptions are off the mark, but until further notice, that suspect is staying right here under lock and key in Paskagankee. You’re not taking him anywhere.”
Mike sat back, prepared to weather a storm of protest, but none came. To his surprise, Special Agent Alton Ferriss said quietly, “That’s not a problem, Chief. We’re not going to bother the head of the Portland office with something we can handle perfectly well ourselves. And there’s no need for us to remove the suspect from your custody at all, as long as you’re willing to be a little flexible.”
Mike rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was still exhausted from his whirlwind return to the Paskagankee Police Department and even though he had slept well last night, that short amount of rest hadn’t been enough for him to completely shake the effects of the previous thirty-six hour workday. So he felt tired and slow, but was immediately suspicious of any offer of cooperation served up by these two, who had done nothing but obstruct since their arrival in town. “Flexible, how?”
“I assume you’re intention is to interrogate the suspect as soon as possible?”
“Of course. I plan to do so as soon as we’re finished here.”
“Perfect. Then simply allow us to sit in on the interrogation and ask a few questions ourselves. We have no problem meshing our investigation with yours. Once we get the answers we’re looking for, I promise you we’ll go away and won’t bother you again.”
Mike looked between Ferriss and Cooper, suspicious of their motives but unable to think of any reason to deny their request. Finally he shrugged. “Okay, I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Sharon shot to her feet. “Did you not hear anything I said? You can’t let these two anywhere near that man. You certainly can’t allow them to take part in the interrogation!” Now her face was flushed in anger while the two FBI men sat quietly.
“That’s enough,” Mike said sharply. “Sit down!”
He waited until she had grudgingly slumped back into her seat and then told Ferriss and Cooper, “If you don’t mind waiting outside for a moment, I’d like a word with my officer in private. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll have Mr. Healy taken to the interrogation room and you can join me there.”
“Of course,” Ferriss said, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Cooper still looked pissed off. Mike was beginning to assume it was his default expression. The FBI agents stood and exited the office, pulling the door closed behind them.
“For the record,” Mike said, keeping his voice level, “I didn’t miss anything you said about those two, but we can’t shut out another law enforcement agency – especially the FBI – just because you don’t like the way they handled themselves during an arrest.”
“I’m telling you, this isn’t about how they ‘handled themselves during an arrest.’ They were about to execute him.”
“Would you stake your career on that? Because that kind of explosive accusation, made without a shred of evidence, would be enough to end your career right where you are. You might be able to keep your job, but all you’ll ever
be is a patrol officer in Paskagankee, Maine. The FBI has the kind of political influence and pull – within state governments and even inside small town administrations, if they want to exercise it – to ensure you never move up or out of your current position. I’ve seen it happen before, and I don’t want to see it happen to you. You’re too good a cop for that.”
“The charge isn’t being made without a shred of evidence,” Sharon said stubbornly, a grim set to her lips. “I know what I saw.”
“I’m not questioning what you saw. All I’m saying is you can’t prove what you saw, and if we can get rid of these two jokers simply by letting them sit in on one interrogation session, why not take advantage of that opportunity? They ask a few questions and then they leave. We’ve got nothing to lose, especially when you consider the trouble they could cause if we shut them out.”
“Trouble? They already said they weren’t going to involve their SAC down in Portland. And, besides, they can’t just yank that guy away from us just to get even if we piss them off.”
“Oh no? The federal government can do whatever they want. We have no clue what they’re investigating this guy for, but the fact they’ve been staking out the Ridge Runner with a two-man team means they want him pretty badly. There’s no reason to risk losing our prime suspect to the feds when keeping him here is so easy to do.”
Sharon looked down at the floor, her lips set in a thin line. Mike could see she was struggling to control her emotions. She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “You’re making a mistake. I can feel it. Don’t try to tell me you can’t feel it, too.”
“Maybe. But my mind’s made up. I’m going to get downstairs and get this over with so we can send those two loose cannons back to Portland. You go back out on patrol, and I’ll fill you in on the details of the interrogation tonight at home. Deal?”
Sharon shook her head silently, and Mike thought for a moment she was going to continue arguing. But she didn’t. She stood and said, “Good luck,” tightly, and walked out of the office.
He watched through the glass as she crossed the big open room, moving around desks and chairs, and exited the front door. She refused to acknowledge or even look at the two FBI agents, who were leaning against an unoccupied desk as they waited for Mike.
Mike looked at the clock on the wall and then buzzed Gordie, who was sitting at the dispatch desk glancing between the loitering FBI agents and the retreating form of Sharon Dupont, still visible as she crossed the parking lot to her cruiser. He looked like a man watching a ping-pong volley. When his console buzzed be pushed a button and said, “Dispatch.”
“Hey, Gordie,” Mike said. “Has Phil gone out on patrol yet?” It was the beginning of Phil Shankman’s evening shift.
“I don’t think so,” Gordie said. “Last I knew he was still reviewing the day shift log.”
“Good. Get ahold of him and ask him to escort the suspect in holding into the interrogation room and secure him in preparation for questioning.” Then he replaced the phone and walked out of his office, thinking about Sharon Dupont’s words: You’re making a mistake…don’t try to tell me you can’t feel it…
He tried telling himself she didn’t know what she was talking about, that he was doing the most sensible thing he could under the circumstances.
But he realized she was right, as usual. He couldn’t shake the feeling things were spiraling out of control.
29
Mike led Special Agents Ferriss and Cooper down the back stairs and along a narrow corridor to the police station’s single interrogation room, which had been constructed next to the large holding cell in the station’s lower level. They met Officer Phil Shankman trudging along in the opposite direction. Shankman nodded once to Mike and then gazed with interest at the two FBI men before saying, “Prisoner’s all ready for you.”
“Is he still cuffed?” Mike asked.
“Yep. He’s secured to the table. He won’t be going anywhere.” Shankman turned to the side to let the three men pass before continuing down the hallway and starting up the stairs to the station’s main floor.
When they reached the interrogation room’s heavy metal door, Mike took a quick glance through the small wire-reinforced window before entering. He observed the prisoner, whose name he now knew to be Jackson Healy, sitting at a dented and scuffed rectangular aluminum table. Healy’s wrists were indeed still handcuffed, and the glittering chain links connecting the bracelets had been threaded through an iron tie-down ring bolted to the table’s surface. Healy sat with his head down, apparently uninterested in his surroundings.
When Mike turned the knob and entered, the powerful stench of body odor and a heavy, damp smell that reminded him of rotting wood struck him like a sledgehammer. It was as though the prisoner had never been introduced to the concept of soap and water. He wondered idly how long the smell would remain inside Sharon’s cruiser.
Mike tried to breathe through his mouth and stepped farther into the interrogation room. It was barely more than a large closet, constructed with cinderblock walls and painted a dingy off-white. There was no two-way mirrored observation window as there were in the interrogation rooms of many bigger departments. In fact, the room was mostly bare, containing only the table, bolted securely to the floor, four chairs, one of which was currently occupied by the prisoner, a small voice-activated digital recorder that Shankman had placed on the tabletop out of the prisoner’s reach, and a console telephone hanging on the wall by the door.
At Mike’s entrance, the prisoner lifted his head and stared dully at him. Healy took in the uniform and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of the holstered Glock on Mike’s hip, but aside from that, offered almost no reaction at all.
That changed dramatically a second later, though, as first Special Agent Alton Ferriss and then Special Agent Ward Cooper entered the room behind Mike. The prisoner’s eyes widened in unconcealed panic and he gasped and scrabbled backward, the legs of his chair squealing over the beat-up institutional vinyl floor tiles. He seemed to have forgotten he was chained to the table, because the cuffs clanked against the iron tie-down bar as the bracelets dug into his skin, jerking his progress to a painful stop.
Healy didn’t seem to notice. Now stretched almost flat across the table, he stared at the two agents like he had seen a ghost and said, “No, no, you can’t be here. Get away from me.” He turned his panicked gaze to Mike and begged, “Keep them away from me!”
Mike stopped, surprised at the prisoner’s reaction, and felt Ferriss bump into him from behind. He turned and looked questioningly at the two agents. Both were sporting identical looks of utter undisguised malice, their mouths open in hard smiles filled with dirty yellow teeth.
He flashed back to Sharon’s comment that he was making a mistake – as well as to his own unfocused feelings of unease and the prisoner’s extreme reaction to the arrival of the Feds – and made a snap decision about allowing the agents to participate in the interrogation. It was time to put a stop to this; he would deal with the fallout later. “You know what, guys,” he said, lifting his hands, palms-out, in a stop gesture. “We need to rethink this whole interrogation–-”
Before he had even finished the statement, Agent Cooper kicked the heavy door shut behind them and lifted his gun out of a shoulder harness under his unbuttoned suit coat. He stepped around Ferriss and from less than four feet away, leveled the weapon at Mike’s face.
Mike reacted on instincts honed by nearly twenty years of law enforcement experience, reaching without hesitation for his holstered weapon. But before he could draw down on Cooper, the agent barked, “Stop right there and keep your hands where I can see them!”
Mike froze and from somewhere behind him, the sound thin and reedy like it was coming through a faulty landline connection, Jackson Healy rasped, “Wesley and Amos Krupp, you should be long-dead, I killed you myself, you should be rotting in your graves, it’s impossible, you’re ghosts, you’re—”
“SHUT UP!” Agent Cooper
screamed, whipping his gun in Healy’s direction before retraining it on Mike.
Healy’s voice trailed off after the warning, but he continued muttering what sounded like mostly gibberish, disjointed snippets about spirits and South America and rocks with doors in them.
Mike ignored the prisoner and said softly, “Guys, what the hell? You’re committing assault with a deadly weapon on a law enforcement officer. Why don’t we all take a step back and talk about this?” He directed his comments at Ferriss, who had demonstrated time and again he was marginally less unhinged than his partner.
Ferriss smiled, flashing his stumps of dirty yellow teeth. “Sorry, Chief, but we know exactly what we’re doing. It’s time to end things. In fact, it’s well past time to end things.” He glanced over at the prisoner, who was still stretched out as far as possible away from the two FBI agents, watching the proceedings with huge, frightened eyes. “Isn’t that right, Jackson, old buddy?” he said to the man in a sibilant hiss.
Healy’s voice was shaking when he responded. “How did you get here? How did you find me? How are you still alive?”
Ferriss smiled wider, his face cold, his eyes glittering with hatred. Mike thought it was the most frightening thing he had ever seen, which was saying something considering his history in Paskagankee. “We’ll get to that,” Ferriss said, “but first things first. Chief McMahon, would you please remove your weapon, very slowly, and hand it to me? And don’t forget, my brother’s gun is still trained on your forehead and he will not hesitate to splatter your cranium all over this room. Be smart, and you will leave here still breathing. Be stupid and you’ll leave in a body bag.”
Mike’s gaze flicked from Ferriss to Cooper and then back again. “Don’t worry,” he answered evenly. “There’s not much danger of me forgetting something like that. But I really can’t give up my weapon. As a fellow peace officer, I’m sure you can appreciate the position you’ve put me in.”
Ferriss laughed. Even Cooper snorted. “Fellow peace officer,” Ferriss said. “That’s a good one.”
Wellspring (Paskagankee, Book 3) Page 20