by Kimberly Rae
As far from comforting as Steve and Quinn’s presence had been that day, she had still hated to see them go that afternoon. Before they left, a little after four, Steve had pulled a policeman aside and she’d heard phrases like, “...a place to keep her for the night,” and, “...FBI will take responsibility.” The policeman had protested about something and Steve’s voice had risen as he said, “I can’t stay and explain. I have to get back. Just put her somewhere, okay?”
He’d marched out, a reluctant Quinn behind him, whose backward glance of apology toward Meagan gave her some measure of dignity to cling to. The policeman had not been happy to be stuck with her, that was made clear. He handed her off to a female officer, who frisked her, took her watch and jewelry, and sent her to take a shower with lice shampoo that smelled like floor cleaner. She exited in a jumpsuit that labeled her a criminal and she’d been sitting in this large cage ever since.
“It’s all your fault!” the woman on the phone yelled. She slammed the receiver against the wall so many times, a guard had to come in to subdue her. Another tried to fix the phone that now hung in multiple parts connected only by wires. The arguing women stopped to cackle and point at the scene. Meagan put her head down on her knees. “God, please get me out of this place.”
“Meagan Winston?”
Her head shot up and the woman beside her hooted with laughter. “Hey, cop!” She shoved a thumb toward Meagan. “This girl done thought you was God comin’ to rescue her!”
“That’s a first,” the policeman said. “Come with me, Miss Winston.”
“Time to get your glamour shots.” The woman patted Meagan on the shoulder. “It ain’t so bad, if you don’t mind being locked up, bored to death, and not allowed to do nothing. You get free food, and you can catch up on sleep. Did you know a snail can sleep for three years? I’d like to be a snail some days. Working nights ain’t no picnic. Sometimes I—”
“Put a cork in it, Louise.” The policeman opened the gate and ushered Meagan down a bare hallway to a small room where she was told to stand against a white wall. The flash made her wince. “Stand to the side.” She turned and thought of the woman back in the holding cell. This was about as far from glamorous as it got. Another flash, then the officer directed her to a table to be fingerprinted. “Is this really your first time in a jail?” he asked. “You’ve got no record.”
He pressed her finger down in a rolling motion and lifted it. “I guess I do now,” she said, looking at the machine that scanned her thumbprint. Black ink must be old-fashioned. “Yes, it’s really my first time.”
“We don’t usually get prisoners handed to us in person by the FBI.” He removed the waist chain and handcuffs and led her out of the small room to another hallway. If she’d been inclined to try to escape, she was already far enough into the maze to know she’d never find her way out. They reached a large door, but the policeman stopped before opening it. “What are you really in here for?”
She thought about Joseph in the Bible, how later he said God had meant it for good. “I honestly don’t know why I’m here,” she said. “I’m trusting God has a purpose in it.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You think God sent you to jail? That’s rich.”
“I think God allowed it.” She scratched her head. The lice shampoo had dried out her scalp. “I don’t know why, but I’m not giving up hope that He will use it for good somehow.”
“Might as well.” The policeman led her through another door to a large area filled with individual cells. “It’s not like you can change anything yourself anyway.”
She acknowledged that irony but did not laugh. Her eyes took in a scene she’d never expected or wanted to see. She thought of pet shops, which had always distressed her as a child, seeing the animals in cages, so confined, waiting for someone to set them free. Here the cages were larger and the occupants human. And she would be one of them. She bit her lip and fought tears.
“Don’t cry,” the officer said in a quiet voice. “It’s your first night. Don’t look weak at all. You set yourself up for a lot of trouble that way, especially if you’re going to be here for a while.”
“Okay,” she whispered, appreciating the advice but not sure she was physically capable of following it.
“Did they set bond on you yet?”
“No bond. Steve said we’d figure everything out in the morning.”
He gave her a once over. “You’re on first name basis with the FBI. Are you a secret agent going undercover or something, and the tears are just for show?”
She shook her head. “As far from it as you can imagine.”
“Well, thanks to your Steve buddy not giving us a classification, you’ll get to spend the night in an individual holding cell until we find out what section of the prison to book you into. It’s going to be a cold and lonely night.” He kept a hand on her arm as he led her across the main area, through another door, into a hallway lined with small rooms. Her visions of old western jail houses were laughable compared to the reality of this place. The cells here had no bars to rattle, just rooms with blank block walls, and heavy doors that slid and locked into place with an eerie, echoing click. No windows. No natural light. No natural anything.
Her hands had gone numb from clasping them so hard. She sat on the one mat in the room and watched the door close. “Cold, yes,” she whispered into the silence that followed. “But not alone.”
51
Monday, January 5
11:00 p.m.
Agatha helped Lucias develop a great plan. “My Meagan will be rescued, and I will be her hero,” Lucias said. “I’ll tell her all about you.” He left the dingy motel room and took quiet steps down the outdoor stairs to the ground floor parking area. The fenced-in pool, empty for the winter, did not even have a cover over it. “Hey,” he told the lady at the front desk when he entered the lobby from outside. “Someone could fall into that pool and get hurt.”
The woman behind the desk shrugged. “Not my responsibility.” She had to be twenty years older than the first old lady had been. The first one’s skin had sagged; this one’s practically dripped from her face like she was melting. That was a fun thought.
He refocused. “I need to use your computer. It has Wi-Fi, right?”
“Nope,” she said, picking at her teeth using a fingernail with polish half chipped off.
“You have to have Wi-Fi.”
Her teeth broke her nail and she spit the broken part off onto the floor. “I mean no, you can’t use it.”
She was arguing with the wrong person. Someday he would come back to this motel and make both these women regret complicating his life. “I’ll give you ten bucks if you look up something for me.” He’d only have ten left, but if the cocaine delivery he’d set up for two a.m. in Atlanta went well, he’d be set again.
The hag eyed his ten dollar bill. “Look up what?”
“Just a phone number.”
She snatched the bill and turned the computer monitor. “Look it up yourself. But I’m watching you.”
He moved the keyboard within easier reach and typed, “Director FBI Gainesville GA” in the search engine. He enjoyed how the woman sucked in some extra air and moved a few feet away from him when she saw what came up. Let her think he was a secret agent. Maybe he could play that and get out with room service and a zero on his bill. He wrote down a phone number and moved the keyboard back, waved at the woman like Raymond would have done, and made his way outside again.
There, next to the empty pool that he might only imagine still emanated a lingering smell of chlorine, he put in the number and waited with delight for the message and then the beep.
“This is Lucias Maddox Moore,” he said, smiling up at the night sky, imagining the fear on their faces when they heard his voice. “Steve Campbell has someone I care about. Her name is Meagan Winston, and if Steve himself does not walk her out of your building by noon tomorrow, with an apology, a lot of people will die. You might be one of them.” He had to paus
e and put his hand over the phone so they would not hear him laugh. “I don’t know where your office is, but I do know where I put the bomb. Your building isn’t so hard to get into. Steve’s folder on Cole Fleming was very helpful, by the way.”
He had more to say but the phone beeped a second time and the call was disconnected. He leaned on the fence railing and grinned. He’d paid a cleaning person a pile of money to get that folder from Steve’s office. The guy would never have agreed to place a bomb, but the FBI director wouldn’t know that.
“Tomorrow, Meagan,” he whispered into the night. “Tomorrow at noon.”
52
Tuesday, January 6
1:00 a.m.
Stephanie rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Let her marriage fall apart. Steve didn’t care. Why should she? All that work: hours of cleaning, building up hopes, dressing up, for what? “Is this how You come through for people?” she demanded upward. God didn’t answer. She didn’t know why she thought He’d listen in the first place. God was probably like Steve; He always had something more important to do.
Why couldn’t she just go to sleep and forget it, forget him? Steve could fall asleep in three minutes flat, even after an argument. It wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t be the only one who cared about their relationship.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside table and Stephanie wanted to ignore it. She didn’t want to talk to him, hear another excuse why work mattered more than his wife. She grabbed the phone and did nothing to disguise the anger in her voice. “What?”
“Stephanie, it’s Quinn.”
She sat up and for some reason ran her hand through her hair to make herself look more presentable. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “He’s spending the night at the office.”
“He isn’t at home?”
“Isn’t he with you?”
“I wouldn’t be calling you in the middle of the night if he was,” Quinn said. “Baine’s been trying to reach him for an hour.”
Stephanie remembered meeting the intimidating man once. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s important enough that he called me and told me to find Steve.”
She scooted off the bed, the phone still to her ear. “He left here before supper and hasn’t been back. I assumed he went to the office.”
“That’s where I am. Any other ideas where he might be?”
“Where else does he go but to the office?”
“Stephanie, did Steve tell you we got taken off the case? Baine’s sending it to a homicide team in his old police department.”
She opened the closet door and grabbed the nearest sweater and pair of jeans. “No, he didn’t. I could tell he was upset about something, but he just up and left and I—”
“Where would he go if he was really down, or angry?”
She threw the clothes on the bed and rummaged through the laundry basket next to the dresser for a pair of socks. “I think I might have an idea where he went. Give me half an hour. If he doesn’t call you by then, check back with me.”
“We’ll wait to hear from you.”
The last place she wanted to go in the middle of a freezing cold night was a bar. It was a good thing Cole had gotten a rental and returned Steve’s car that afternoon so she had her own car to drive. Steve was probably passed out somewhere. She’d sober him up enough to talk, but he wouldn’t win any points with Baine, calling in drunk. She drove to Steve’s usual place and found him in his usual booth. Even when devastated, he was still predictable.
Stephanie wasted no time. “Steve, how drunk are you? You need to make a phone call.”
His bloodshot eyes filled with tears the moment he saw her. “Stephanie, I’m a horrible person. You never should have married me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“If only you’d remember these speeches the next day,” she said, pulling the bottle out of his hand and setting it on a separate table out of reach. “Come on, I’ve got to get you home.”
“No, I have to tell you.” He gripped her arm with surprising strength. “I’m not as drunk as I look.” He hit his head against the table. “Or as much as I’d like to be. I had to think. Had to remember. I can’t remember. I don’t know for sure.”
If she couldn’t get him up, they’d have to just call from there. She sat and pulled out her phone. “Listen, Steve. Quinn called. He said—”
“Quinn wasn’t there. It was Cole, in Iraq. I lied to protect him, but he didn’t do it. Today he said he never told her the location. I lied for him because I wanted him to be the guilty one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I never could measure up to him. I was jealous. What if it was my fault?”
“Was what your fault? Steve, I need you to concentrate. Quinn called and—”
Steve slid from the seat onto the floor and put his head in her lap. “You shouldn’t love me. You shouldn’t have cleaned the house for me. I wanted so much to do something right, but I’ve done everything wrong. Everything.”
Stephanie sighed and made a phone call. “Quinn, he’s in no condition to talk to Baine,” she said when Quinn answered. “I’ll get him home, get him some sleep, and have him check in with you in the morning to see if Baine wants him to call or come in.”
“Do you need help?”
She looked down at her husband, who wept on her jeans. “We’ve done this song and dance before.” She helped Steve stand and put her arm around his waist so he could lean on her as they walked, wishing she hadn’t yelled at God earlier. Quinn’s help would have gotten Steve into the car easier, but only God could help them out of the pit their lives had become.
__________________________
Tuesday, January 6
6:30 a.m.
Cole flexed his shoulder. The heavy ache told him it was a wet, humid morning, but his eyes had already clued him in on that fact. A few degrees colder and children all over the state would be squealing in delight over a rare snow day home from school. Instead the cold slushy rain landed in steady splats against his windshield, and then onto his hair and jacket as he ran from the car into the hospital.
“I’d like to see Gerald Winston,” he told the receptionist, who until his arrival had been nodding off at her desk.
She yawned. “It’s not visiting hours.”
“I know.” He stomped his feet to get the water off and noticed mud on the floor. He looked behind him. “Sorry for the trail of mud prints I just tracked in.”
“No problem.” She offered him a sleepy smile. “It’s not my job to mop it up.”
He fished a business card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “I’m with the Department of Justice,” he said. “I’ve got a busy day and this is the only time I can see him. Is there any way...?”
She set her wide eyes on his card, then up on his face. “S-sure. He’s on the third floor. Tell the lady at the desk that you’re there. Hopefully he’s awake.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Is he in some kind of trouble? I saw your gun when you pulled out the card.”
“No, he’s just a friend I’m visiting.” He buttoned his jacket and gave her a smile. “Thanks for your help.” He took the nearest elevator to the third floor and was shown to a room by a young intern in scrubs. She opened the door, yelled good morning to Meagan’s grandfather, who was awake, and slipped Cole her phone number on her way back by him.
“I saw that,” the older man said after the girl was out of earshot. He laughed at Cole’s look of chagrin. “You make friends quickly.”
“I’m glad you’re awake.” Cole tossed the strip of paper in the trash.
“Blondes aren’t your type?”
“Strangers aren’t.”
“Good for you.” The man Meagan called Pops pushed the button to maneuver the back of his bed up, enabling him to sit and face Cole. “Have you brought word of Meagan? Kelsey was all secretive. Funny how young people try to protect old people, even though we old folks have been through twi
ce as much living and have heard twice as much bad news. I was born during a World War. That should count for something.”
“Meagan really wanted to come see you,” Cole said, sitting in a chair beside the bed. “The FBI has her...detained right now. Part of the investigation.”
“Don’t talk in code, boy. This old body may be going decrepit on me, but my mind’s still working fine. I talked real loudly when they first brought me in, so they all think I’m half deaf. Everybody shouts when they come in to give me instructions. Hurts the ears.” He chuckled. “But when they want to keep secrets, they don’t bother to whisper. I know for a fact my test results all came back fine, and I was set to be released, and next thing you know a couple guys in black suits show up. The doctor goes out in the hallway and it’s all hush, hush talking, and now I’m here ‘until further notice.’” He shifted so he could look Cole in the eye. “I just want to know one thing. Is she safe? Is someone taking care of her?”
Cole maintained eye contact. “She is safe, sir. And I’m doing everything I can to catch the real criminal so she can be free of these charges and get you both home.”
“Sounds good to me. Can’t sleep with them coming in every five minutes to poke me or take my temperature.” He pulled the sheets aside and set one foot out to air. “But Kelsey already came to tell me Meagan was okay. Why are you here, young man?”
A nurse entered and set a breakfast tray on Mr. Winston’s lap. Cole waited as he thanked God for his food, then said, “To be honest, I came to ask you to pray for me. I’ve got to tell a story this morning, of an event I’d rather not revisit.”