The Girl From Blind River

by Gale Massey

  “I ain’t got all day.” The clerk stared at her clipboard and motioned from inside the doorway. As they walked deeper into the maze of hallways, she opened each consecutive door with a separate key, all the doors closing loudly behind them. It grew warmer near the interior of the jailhouse and Jamie unbuttoned her jacket. The woman left her in a small room with two chairs and a table bolted to the floor.

  A vent in the ceiling blew heat straight down over her chair. In minutes, sweat soaked her back and she peeled off her jacket. She tried not to think of what might happen if there was a fire, or a nuclear attack, or the fertilizer plant blew up again. She was at the mercy of the woman with the keys who might or might not feel compelled to come find her in an emergency. She wiped the sweat off her lip and fought for a rational thought, tried to think of Toby. She would be leaving here within the hour. He might never.

  The door opened and bounced against the back wall. Toby and two guards filled the opening. Ankle and hand cuffs stopped him from moving forward until the smaller guard wedged through the door. Toby’s nose and eyes were red.

  The guard pushed him forward awkwardly so he could latch the chain to the table.

  “This is a little overkill, don’t you think?” Jamie asked.

  “Not really. I’ll be outside,” he said, and slammed the door.

  Toby leaned on his elbows. “I hate it in here. You gotta get me out.”

  The bruise over his eye was turning purple. His face was damp from crying and she didn’t even have a tissue to give him. She fought the image of him trying to get out that prison door all those years ago. “Is that bruise from this morning or did the cops hit you?”

  “No, they didn’t hit me. Maybe I should say they did though. Does it look bad?” He dipped his head toward her, his eyebrows repeating the question. “When will Loyal get here? I can’t stay here another night. It’s so fucking loud.” He pulled his hair. “The guys in here, they’re mean fuckers and big. Three of them ganged up on me, pushed me around like I’m some kind of faggot.” He clenched his fists, gingerly testing the swollen knuckles. “Now they got me in my own cell and no one talks to me. It’s freezing in there.”

  “You need to stay calm, you hear? Don’t let them scare some bogus confession out of you.”

  He lurched forward, hissing, “This is not cool. It’s horrible in here. You know this place is filled with rapists, right?” He started crying. “I’ve been here for hours. Where’s Loyal?”

  She needed a joint, a beer, something to stop her heart from pounding in her throat.

  “All I did was use someone else’s credit card. Loyal probably stole them. And so what? I bought some gas. All I did was go out for a ride, and they’re acting like I killed someone or something.”

  That weird numbness hit her spine again and she shivered.

  Toby stared hard at her. “What is it?”

  “You need to be patient. This might take time.”

  “Don’t tell me to be patient. Every time you say that I want to punch something. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She pushed away from the table and braced against the wall. Toby’s face was turning red. She couldn’t think.

  He yanked the chains that locked him to the table and screamed, “Tell me what’s happening!”

  She faced him square on. The least she could do was look him in the eye. “He’s not coming.”

  He ducked his head low. “Goddamn.”

  She watched him sorting things out, tried to think of something that would soothe him, came up empty.

  In the distance, another door slammed. Jamie jumped, but Toby didn’t flinch. When he raised his head, his eyes were dry, the splotches gone from his face. His eyes flitted around the room, then locked on Jamie with a stare that made her cringe.

  “Where did you and Loyal go that night?” he asked.

  She had no idea how much to reveal and stared at her hands to buy time.

  “Hey,” he said. “You know more than I do and I’m the one sitting in jail. I got a right to know.”

  “Keep your voice down.” Jamie leaned forward to whisper, “All I know is something happened at Keating’s. That guy? The football player? He’s missing.”

  “What? Is that what this is about? He’s the guy whose credit card I used?” Toby’s mouth fell open. “Fucking hell.” He cupped his face with his fingers and pushed at his temples. “That was TJ Bangor?”

  “I think it had something to do with that game at Keating’s.” It was the wrong approach and she wanted to take it back.

  “What? Is everyone in this family insane?”

  It occurred to her that might be true. That all along he’d been the sane one stuck in a family of nutjobs. Toby was breathing hard again.

  “Keep it together, Toby. Don’t break now.” Her words sounded stupid and hollow.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” She had crossed the line where speculation was starting to blur the facts.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  She didn’t know how far to go, how much she could tell him and expect him to keep it together, how much she needed to say to give him hope. “There’s more,” she said, struggling to think through every angle.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Jamie. Are they going to pin something on me?”

  “It’s complicated, Toby.”

  He slammed his fist on the table. “Jesus Christ. Tell me what you fucking know.”

  “I can’t prove anything yet. Just keep quiet and give me a few days to figure things out.”

  “A few days? Just tell me the rest. What else?”

  She stared at the wall behind his head. “You know, Mom was at that game.”

  “So what? Was she—ugh…” He rubbed his head. “With Keating?”

  “Yeah. It’s gross.”

  “Do you think she loves him?”

  “I think she’ll do or say anything to stay out of prison.” She didn’t mean it the way it came out.

  “And all this has to do with Bangor going missing? You think she’s capable of something that bad?”

  “How would I know?” The poison in her tone surprised her.

  “But, do you think Keating makes her happy?”

  “You’re handcuffed and you’re wondering if she’s happy?” Jamie shook her head. “What does it matter if she’s happy?”

  “It matters to me. This is so fucked.” His eyes unfocused slowly as he lay the side of his head on the table like a schoolboy napping at his desk, whispering softly to himself.

  She wanted to say something more, something hopeful, but everything had come out wrong, so she shut up.

  Toby raised his head but his eyes were still distant. “You remember that day we went to the river?”

  “What day?”

  “That day. The preacher was baptizing people.”

  “You made me wait so you could take a turn.” He’d been so stubborn about it and she’d sat there sweating in the sun for an hour.

  “That river was cold. I always thought that’s what it’d be like to die, you know? Everything just goes cold.” He pushed up from the table.

  “Toby, don’t go there. Don’t do that.”

  But he was already yelling for the guard. The guard opened the door, unlocked the chains, and grabbed Toby’s arm. She tried to grab his sleeve, but the guard blocked her hand.

  “Give me a little time, Toby,” she said, but he didn’t turn back. His metal anklets clanged against the concrete floor as he disappeared into the sound of a dozen slamming doors.

  CHAPTER

  29

  GARCIA’S PHONE BUZZED. Over at the jailhouse entrance the girl, head down and shoulders hunched, stepped out of the darkened doorway into the bright light of the snow-lined street. Just like he’d instructed her, the clerk had texted him when Jamie had finished visiting with her brother.

  She glanced toward the middle bay where the truck sat and made a U-turn when she spotted him walking her direction, but
the sidewalk was closed off due to a broken pipe the utilities department hadn’t yet fixed. When he called her name, she stopped walking and spun around to face him.

  “What is it this time?” she asked.

  It was exactly the kind of frustration he wanted. He worried about the instinct to go easy on her, knew he should’ve taken her in for questioning by now. “How’s your brother holding up?”

  “Looking forward to getting out.” She couldn’t seem to help but look toward the garage.

  “You worried about that?” He pointed at the truck parked in the center bay. In the last hour they’d found a small bit of deer skin and a tiny blood smear on the tailgate latch. Almost everyone in Blind River put meat on the table with deer, but hunting season had ended months ago. It wasn’t enough to drum up any charges, but he could still use it to apply pressure in an interview with a boy like Toby.

  “Nope. Just want it back.”

  “That’s good. I got something you want, you got something I want. See how it works? I learned a long time ago that nobody talks to a cop unless there’s something they want. Think of it like chess. I got your queen and your rook but you still have your knight. You can still make some moves.”

  “I just want the truck. Doesn’t mean I can’t get by without it.”

  “I thought it wasn’t yours.”

  “It’s not, but I drive it some.” She squared her shoulders and scanned his face, then just as quickly turned away.

  He’d seen a question in her eyes and wanted to keep her talking. “It’s a matter of time, you know. Facts are starting to surface.”

  She chewed a thumbnail. In the garage the sound of a saw ripped the air.

  He pointed over his shoulder. “You know what’s going on over there?” Thinking she was probably getting scared by now, he tried the tone he used with battered women: authentic, official, sliding toward sympathetic.

  “Looks like a scene from a movie,” she said.

  “Yep. We’ll tear up that truck to find what we need. And if we come up empty, we’ll give it back in a thousand little pieces, let you put it back together.”

  She wiped at her nose and put her stocking cap on. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “A man is missing, Jamie. This isn’t a game. Whatever they find on the truck is information that didn’t come from you. You don’t get points if you don’t contribute. And if they find anything that leads them to a body on or in a truck that is connected to your family? Well, you can see the obvious problems there.” He watched to see her reaction to the word body and saw her cringe a little. He pressed a little harder.

  “Folks are wound up about this guy. Football hero goes missing in Blind River? That’s not good. This thing isn’t going to blow over. Really bad timing considering your uncle’s poker tournament. From what I heard, Bangor was going to play in that.”

  “Well, maybe he’ll show up then.”

  “His family’s worried. Can you imagine what that’s like? His car’s been found, his credit card was used. By your brother. If there’s any DNA on that truck, like blood for instance, we’ll find it and then the FBI will be all over this town. In cases like this we usually get a confession in about a day.”

  “You won’t find anything because there isn’t anything to find. Toby won’t confess to something he didn’t do.”

  “Did you ever consider he might actually have had a hand in this? Do you know for sure he didn’t? People confess when they get scared. They do it all the time. Break down, bargain for a lesser sentence. Whatever we find, Toby’s the one we’ll look at first. I’m sure your fingerprints will be in there, too, though. That alone is enough for me to hold you here until they finish up.”

  She flinched at that. Or he imagined she did. He sensed an opening and leaned his shoulder into hers, making the kind of nonthreatening physical contact that helped break down resistance.

  “But listen, I arrest people all the time. And the one thing I’ve noticed is that once someone’s arrested, their life kind of gets off track. I’m actually tired of throwing people in jail, especially if they haven’t done anything wrong. Lawyers cost money, public defenders are slow to respond. Jail is no place for a girl like you.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve got some advice for you. Do what you can to stay out of there. I know all about Loyal and his buddies. Keating, the old fart, throwing his weight around, skimming off the top. And your boyfriend, taking money from the hardworking people in this town.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “We both know that’s not true. You get a piece of that, don’t you? A roof over your head. A truck. Who’s going to come up with bail money for Jamie Elders? Your uncle? I don’t think so. Your mom? Maybe, if she could. But you know she’s broke.”

  “I thought you were worried about TJ Bangor.”

  He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one but she shook her head.

  “Of course I’m thinking about Mr. Bangor, but I hate to see an innocent kid take the rap for something they didn’t do. It might be time for you to stop worrying so much about your brother and stand up for yourself. My gut tells me it isn’t you, but someone close to you, who is responsible for this thing.”

  He watched her closely for any sort of reaction, but the girl might’ve been made of wood. He put the cigarettes back in his pocket, let his words sink in, hoping he’d said enough to unnerve her. The temperature was dropping, the sun slipping toward the tree line.

  She squinted at the bright horizon. “I could snoop around if you want, but what’s in it for you?”

  That was exactly what he wanted to hear. Now he needed to let her figure out her next move. “I get to be good at my job.” He flipped the latch on the gate and walked inside. “Get back to me quick, Jamie. Time’s running short.”

  CHAPTER

  30

  JAMIE TURNED HER collar up and walked with her back to the freezing wind blowing down Main Street. That cop was starting to get to her. Maybe he was on the level. Or maybe he was just good at getting to people, but he knew she was involved and denying it any longer was beginning to feel useless. He was doing that thing counselors do, looking in her eyes, talking low and slow. It was probably all technique and psychological training but it made her feel weirdly safe, like that day she and Angel had smoked some super-chill weed and baked brownies all afternoon.

  When she got to the diner, Mike Tuckahoe and old Mrs. Tuckahoe were coming out, rattling the bells on the front door. The woman smiled at her son as though he were still a Little League star with a big future. He stuck close to his mom, glancing once at Jamie. She resisted the familiar urge to kick him in the knee.

  The lights went out in the pawnshop and Mack Dyson stepped onto the sidewalk. Jamie paused for a moment before following him into the diner, waited as he stood near the cash register and ordered a coffee to go, then she sat at the far end of the counter. Phoebe saw her, wiped at the bangs that had fallen out of her hair clip, and brought over a bowl of beef stew. Her hands were thin-skinned and veined, chapped from cleaning fluids and hot plates. It was impossible to imagine this frail woman pointing a gun at any breathing creature.

  Jamie blew on her soup, picked out a hunk of meat, and set it on a napkin.

  “You always were a picky eater,” Phoebe said.

  Mack poured cream into his coffee and set a dollar and a napkin on the counter.

  Phoebe rang up his coffee, swept the napkin into a garbage bin, and said, “Have a good night.”

  He hesitated.

  Phoebe stared a question at him.

  He tapped the counter with his finger.

  Phoebe said, “Oh,” and grabbed the napkin out of the garbage. As she stuffed the napkin into her pocket, Jamie noticed it had been written on. She blew on a spoonful of soup wondering just how close Phoebe and Mack had become and if her mom was making up for lost time by screwing every man in town.

  As Jamie ate, her mother bussed the remaining plates, dirty glasses, and cups. Then
for a moment the woman stopped moving and stared into space, fingering the string around her neck.

  Jamie thought about what Garcia had said. Her brother, the truck being dismantled by the cops, her fucked-up family. Her choices were getting complicated. The diner was emptying out. She asked for the check.

  Phoebe waved at the air. “Oh, for God’s sake, Jamie. It was just soup.”

  “Then how about I walk you home?”

  “Walk me home? I live two blocks from here.”

  “I’ve never seen your place.”

  Phoebe untied her apron. “Ha. Okay, but there’s not much to see.” She gathered the tips she’d collected in her apron pocket and laid them on the counter. “Count this for me while I clock out.”

  Jamie counted the bills, all singles, twenty-four dollars and change. Her mother had been born to wait on others, a one-woman delivery system for blue-plate dinners. Never mind that she could never collect enough three-dollar tips to get ahead or that one week with the flu or a sprained ankle was likely to put her on the street.

  Phoebe returned from the kitchen, picked up the cash, and brought it to her nose. She took a deep breath and her face relaxed. “Don’t you love the smell of cold hard cash?”

  “I guess,” Jamie said, remembering how her science teacher had said almost all paper money contained cocaine residue.

  They left through the back door and entered the damp alley.

  “Wouldn’t you feel safer taking the street?” Jamie asked.

  Phoebe walked quickly, said nothing.

  “Because I would.”

  “What did you really come for tonight? What do you want?”

  Jamie slipped on a patch of black ice and caught herself. Phoebe reached for her arm, but Jamie bristled. “I didn’t come for myself.”

  “What then?”

  “Toby.”

  Phoebe slowed her pace, glanced sideways at Jamie. “I thought Loyal took care of that.”

  “He did.”

  “So, what do you need me for?”

  Jamie reached out to touch Phoebe’s arm, to stop her so they could talk, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched her mother and pulled back her hand. “Could we stop walking for a minute?”