"Not necessary," Steve Bradley told her, "just take her to the station."
"What about my car and my dog?" I felt panic rising. I was supposed to be home safe by midnight.
He glanced uncertainly toward Rusty. The dog smiled back, his little characteristic grin that comes off looking like a snarl. Bradley stepped back.
"I'll call animal control."
"No!" A flame of terror shot up my throat. "No, please. He's harmless. Let him come to the station with me."
The three officers glanced at each other, some silent communication passing between them.
"You got a leash for the dog?" Bradley asked.
I had to think. "Yes, in the back seat."
"Get it."
Officer Martinez held out my car keys to me. I unlocked the door, holding Rusty back. I clipped the leash to his collar and let him out. The three police officers made nice-nice noises to him and he promptly licked each of their hands. Convinced that I didn't have a killer beast with me, they ushered the two of us into the back seat of the cruiser.
"I'll drive your car in," Steve said, taking the keys from me. "You really are a pain in the ass." he grumbled.
Martinez mercifully turned off the flashing lights and we headed quietly toward the police station. Rusty stared out the side window. The neighbors stood in little clusters, comparing notes. I felt like I might throw up.
Glaring fluorescent lights in the station lent an unreal air to the next hours. I felt lightheaded as they ushered me and Rusty inside, filled out forms, took fingerprints, and informed me that I had rights and should call an attorney. Right now, I couldn't think who I would call—certainly not Ron just yet. I wanted to talk to Bradley, to explain my reasons for being here. My logical side told me that probably wasn't smart, but my logical side wasn't in control right now.
A big round utilitarian clock on the wall showed that it was after midnight. Rusty lay on the brown and white tile floor, his head on his paws. I was slumped into a wooden chair, my eyes feeling extremely heavy, my mind numb. Officer Martinez seemed to be the only other person here right now. She bustled about, putting my forms into a manila folder, opening drawers, locking them.
"You ought to get some sleep," she said. "Come on."
I followed her and Rusty followed me through a doorway and down a hall. Four small cells flanked the hall. They were all empty. The keys rattled as she unlocked the first door and ushered us in. A metal bed frame stood in one corner with a blue and white striped mattress rolled up on the wire springs. The bed, a tiny sink, and a stainless steel toilet in the opposite corner were the only furnishings. The metal bars clanged hollowly as she closed the door behind us. Tears welled in my eyes as her footsteps echoed away.
I unrolled the mattress and sat down. Rusty sat beside me, his head in my lap. Prisoners.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear a typewriter clipping along. Otherwise, the place was dead quiet. I looked at the white sheet that covered the mattress. It appeared clean, had presumably been washed after the last resident left, but I couldn't bring myself to put my head on it. I leaned my back against the wall and Rusty jumped up beside me. He curled into a large red-brown circle and I sank down to rest my head on him.
There's something very comforting about being snuggled up close with a warm, although doggy-smelling, friend. I must have dozed because the next time I looked at my watch three hours had gone by. Pretending I'd had a full night's sleep, my mind went into full-alert. Much as I wanted to drift off to sleep again and forget everything that had happened, I couldn't get my eyes to close again.
I stretched, disturbing the dog. He stretched, too, and we both stood up. With no qualms about manners, he walked over and took a long drink from the toilet. I felt sort of dry myself, but wasn't willing to go that far. I ran the water in the little sink until it was nearly cold, then splashed my face. I sipped from my cupped hand and pretended that it was what I really wanted.
M. Martinez had kept pretty well to herself. Occasionally, I heard the phone ring and her muffled voice answered it. Where was Bradley? I desperately needed to talk to him—something I should have done before going to the clinic. If I'd shown him the torn surgical glove, chances were good that I might have convinced him to search the place himself, or at least to question the doctors about the break-in at my motel room. As it was, I looked like the criminal. I shuddered to think just how viciously the doctors would press charges against me.
My mind raced over various subjects. Where was my purse now? The little glove fragment was in there. I tried to put the previous night into order. I'd had the purse in the squad car, but thought they took it and put it into a personal effects bag here at the station.
What actual evidence had they found at the scene? I'd worn gloves when I touched the window. I wasn't sure how they would prove that I'd been the person who broke the lights. Should I deny everything? If I had an attorney, I felt sure that he'd advise me to stay quiet. Or plead insanity, clearly the best choice in light of what I'd done.
The cell was quiet in a hollow way. From the front office, the sounds of salsa music drifted softly back. Officer M. must have switched on the radio for company. I kept checking my watch, wondering what time Bradley would be in. Was he still investigating the crime scene, or was he finished for the night, not due to return until the morning shift? What about Officer Jim? I didn't really want to answer to him. I paced.
Rusty paced with me a few times, then gave up and flopped on the floor. After awhile, he decided that was too hard and cold and he jumped back onto the bed. I finally decided that I wasn't accomplishing anything either, so I joined him.
This time, I made him move to one end and I stretched out on my back. The lighting consisted of two recessed bulbs in the hallway, leaving the cell itself in dimness. It was easy to drift back to sleep again. The next thing I knew, M. was bringing in a Styrofoam carton that smelled wonderfully of bacon and eggs.
Rusty's leash was stuffed into one of her pants pockets. In one move, she handed me the breakfast tray while reaching for the leash and clipping it to Rusty's collar with the other.
"Time for you to take a little run outside," she said to the dog.
I decided it would probably be the most private time for me to avail myself of the meager facilities here, too. I managed it in the very short time Rusty and M. were outside.
"What about Rusty's food?" I asked.
"I don't suppose you brought anything for him," she asked.
"Well, I hadn't really planned on being here for breakfast," I told her.
She glanced around uncertainly. "I'll radio the chief and have him bring some dog food when he comes in."
"And maybe a bowl for water," I suggested. "He, uh, wants to drink from the toilet."
She flashed me a thoroughly disgusted look as she left.
"Hey, I didn't teach him that habit," I grumbled as her back passed through the door to the office.
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the Styrofoam container. Scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon, four triangles of toast, and a one-inch square plastic tub of jelly. A plastic fork but no knife. They obviously couldn't take the chance that I'd use it to pull a jailbreak.
Rusty sat at my feet, head tilted and ears perked toward the food. He licked his lips about every three seconds. I slipped him one of the toast triangles and broke one of the bacon strips into small pieces. These I tossed across the cell to him between taking bites of egg. He wolfed them down.
"Hey, slow down," I told him. "You'll get a full meal later, you know."
I wondered where I'd eat my next meal. The idea of spending more time here wasn't that appealing.
M. appeared about thirty minutes later to collect the dishes and count the silverware.
"Hey . . . well, what's your name, anyway? I can't just call you M."
"Officer Martinez will work," she answered. "First name's Melissa."
"Thanks, Melissa. Any relationship to Cynthia and Richard Martinez?"
"
Everybody here's related," she smiled. "Richard is my father's second cousin."
"Oh. Hey, what's the procedure for getting out of here?" I asked. "How much longer to I get to be a ward of the state?"
"Usually there's a hearing before the judge, he sets or denies bail, and we take it from there."
"Judge?" This was getting more complicated by the minute. Maybe I should call Ron and arrange a lawyer. "When will that be?"
"Well, today's Sunday. He comes to town on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Tuesday?" My voice squeaked slightly as I edged the word out. My stomach had a heavy feeling that couldn't be entirely attributed to the eggs.
She shrugged.
"When will the chief be in?" I asked.
She checked the watch on her wrist. "In about an hour," she said.
"I really, really need to talk to him," I said. "Can you send him back here as soon as he gets here?"
"Sure. Everything else okay?"
Well, I could use my toothbrush, a change of clothes, a hot shower, and some shampoo. A massage would be nice. "Fine," I said. "Everything's fine." I sank down on the cot again.
Rusty clicked his way across the cell to stick his head out through the bars and watch Melissa Martinez leave. He liked having the ability to look up and down the small corridor, so he stayed that way. I'd always envisioned being incarcerated as the perfect chance to kick back with a stack of good books and a two-pound box of Russell Stover, with no pressures, no telephones, no one pulling for my attention.
It wasn't turning out that way.
Ron probably wouldn't go in to the office until Monday, so he wouldn't know about the message I'd left on the machine. The judge wouldn't be here until Tuesday to decide that I wasn't such a hardened criminal that I might be trusted out on the streets again. Or that I should spend my life behind bars. I still had a phone call coming. I could call Ron, but I didn't look forward to it.
How would I ever explain this?
Steve Bradley arrived to find me in the same position, sitting on the cot, tapping my fingers against my knee. Rusty pulled his head back inside the cell and began waving his tail back and forth slowly. Bradley greeted him with a gentle tone, sending the tail into vigorous sweeps. The chief reached through the bars to scratch the dog's ears.
"Officer Martinez said you wanted to talk to me," he began.
"I have proof that the doctors at the clinic are somehow connected to the break-in at my motel room."
"Now why on earth would you think that?" he asked. "Why would a doctor need to go breaking into the motel rooms of strangers?"
I explained about finding the small piece of surgical glove in my purse. "If you'll go get the purse, I'll show it to you," I told him.
His brows pulled together in front. "Was anything missing from your bags?" he asked.
"No, and that's the puzzling thing. I had some notes in there with names to check out. It's still there. I'm not sure why they went through my things. Maybe they really meant to kill me. They sure tried hard enough, and if I hadn't had that pistol with me I'd be dead by now."
"But one of the doctors? I just don't get it."
I didn't either, but my goal right now was to get out of jail before Tuesday.
"What were you doing at the clinic?" he asked.
The moment of truth. Talk or insist on a lawyer? I couldn't see much point in trying to weasel out of something I'd done.
"What are the charges, chief?" I asked.
"Destruction of property. Attempted burglary."
"If I pay for the damages, can I get out of here? I didn't actually steal anything and had no intention of stealing anything. I wanted to sneak a look at a couple of patient files to see if my suspicions are correct."
"What suspicions?" he asked.
I hesitated. "I really can't say. What if they turn out to be unfounded?"
His steady eyes met mine and didn't let go.
"Okay, I wanted to know if the doctors were hiding evidence of spouse abuse. If they were protecting some of the men in this town."
"Now why would they do that, ma'am?" His West Texas was showing again.
"I don't know! Maybe they're buddies at the country club." I knew it was a reasonable question, but I wasn't feeling very reasonable right now. "Can you question them? Find out if that's the case?"
"Based on what evidence? That someone broke into your room, tried to strangle you, and that you later found a small piece of latex in your purse? Even if they admitted covering for these men, what would I do about it? There's doctor patient confidentiality. And unless the women wanted to press charges, I couldn't arrest anyone."
"What about my nearly broken neck? You could arrest someone for that."
"They aren't very likely to admit it, and I sure as hell don't have any proof."
"So, how can I get out of here?" I brought the conversation back to the original subject.
"Wait until Tuesday for the judge."
I rubbed my temples, pressing hard, trailing my fingers across my eyes.
"Or, I could release you because we don't have enough evidence to hold you."
My head snapped up. "You could? Really?" I jumped up and covered the three feet to the bars in one step. Gripping the bars like a hardened criminal, I did my best to appeal to him.
"I don't want you to leave town just yet," he said. "And I'll want to check out that piece of latex you found."
"Gladly. Anything." I knew I sounded desperate.
He pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the cell. Rusty and I lunged for the hall at the same time.
"Easy now," Bradley assured me. "Come on up front and let's get this all straight."
At his desk, he pulled out a small sack of dry dog food. "I didn't know what kind he liked," he said, pouring a generous helping into a clean plastic butter tub and setting it down for Rusty.
The dog gobbled at the food, reassuring Bradley that his choice had been a good one. While Rusty ate, the chief opened a desk drawer and pulled out the large packet containing my personal effects. My purse, car keys, dark gloves, and screwdriver fell out. I eagerly reached for the purse and found the tiny piece of latex.
He took it and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag. For all the good it would do. I pulled out my wallet and handed him a few dollars.
"For the dog food," I said. "I'll pay for the broken lights, too."
"Let's wait on that," he told me. "As long as I have your word that you won't leave town for a couple of days. Officially, the judge should hear this and set a fine."
"Okay. Deal."
"Where will you stay?" he asked.
I thought of the Ponderosa Inn and wasn't too crazy about going there. "Can I use your phone?"
He passed it to me.
"And telephone book?"
I looked up Mary McDonald's number and dialed. She seemed happy to hear from me, surprised that it had been less than two days since the last time we talked. She had an available room for two nights and I told her I'd take it. I told Bradley where I'd be, then took my belongings, my well-fed dog, and myself out the back door to the spot where he indicated they'd parked my Jeep. Sitting once again in my own set of wheels, with the freedom to drive away, felt incredibly good.
Chapter 25
The black leggings and dark sweater that I'd chosen last night were oppressive in the July heat. Not to mention that they were dirty and sticky feeling, and I didn't at all want to spend the next two days in the same clothes I'd slept in in a jail cell. I debated what to do about it.
It was still only a little after nine a.m., the sun high already, the air still. Traffic was non-existent as I pulled onto the main drag. The town variety store looked deserted but I pulled into the parking lot to check out their hours, hoping like crazy that they would be open on Sunday. Nine-thirty, the sign told me—not too long to wait. I took the parking spot directly in front of the door, just so someone inside would realize that they already had a customer. I had begun to doze slightly when
a few other cars arrived and joined the wait. It wasn't long.
I purchased a toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush, two pair of panties, some cheap sandals, and a couple of cotton short and t-shirt sets they had on sale. My cash was running low and I hoped Bradley wouldn't drag this visit out too long. If I had to appear before the judge on Tuesday, I'd have to think of something appropriate to wear. I really hoped we'd have the entire episode behind us by then.
Mary's driveway held two strange cars with out of state plates when I arrived. I realized belatedly that it was still early and she might not be finished serving breakfast yet. I hesitated in the drive before finding a parking spot.
Mary must have spotted me from the window, because she came out onto the porch and waved me in. I made Rusty wait in the car until I could assess the situation.
"Come on in," Mary invited, giving me a warm hug.
"I didn't even stop to think that your guests would still be here," I apologized.
"No problem," she assured me. "One group is just getting ready to go. They have to make Denver by tonight."
Pushing, pushing to keep that vacation on schedule.
"The other couple is going hiking in awhile. They'll leave the car here, and they're staying two more nights."
I told her I'd bring Rusty in after they'd left. We made our way inside during all this, and I got treated to hasty introductions, none of which I'd remember ten minutes from now.
"Let me help you clear up the breakfast dishes," I offered.
"You don't have to do that," she protested.
"I know, but I want to. I'm at the point where if I sit down I'll sleep for about a day. I really need to keep moving."
She looked like she might insist that I just lie down, but I didn't give her the chance. Heading straight for the dining room, I stacked plates and gathered glasses and silver. In the kitchen, I ran water in the sink, stacking the plates to soak. Mary sat at the kitchen table, tallying a bill for the departing guests.
"Just leave those dishes," she told me.
"I don't mind helping," I said.
"I know, but we can do them together after my people leave."
Small Towns Can Be Murder Page 16