Playing Dirty

by Liliana Hart

  The rain was still coming down in miserable waves with gusts of cold wind thrown in to make sure my rain gear wasn’t as effective as it should have been. I texted Emmy Lu to let her know I was out in the field, and then I put the Suburban in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

  It was after noon, and my stomach rumbled uncomfortably, reminding me I’d been living on coffee for the last couple of days. I was probably lucky I didn’t have a hole in my stomach lining.

  I crept my way down Catherine of Aragon, squinting so I could see the road in front of me through the wipers. I was trying to figure out where Jack was without actually having to call him. The scene on 36 would’ve been cleared by now, especially with the rain, and he’d had plenty of time to make the notifications to next of kin.

  My best bet was that he was back at the station, which was good because I wasn’t ready to be alone with him again. Crowds of people were great buffers for emotions. I stopped at the stop sign across from the town square—at least I thought it was the stop sign—and I moved through the intersection slowly, wishing I’d taken up Jack on the offer to put emergency lights on the Suburban.

  I couldn’t imagine too many people would be out driving around in this weather, so I took my chances and forged ahead. The usually crowded and bustling square was mostly empty of cars. The shops were open, but the doors that usually stood wide, inviting customers to drop in, were all closed.

  All of the Halloween decorations had been removed from earlier in the week and now there were cornucopia and turkey banners hanging from each of the antique streetlights. There were soggy bales of hay and pumpkins displayed outside the courthouse, and in the patch of green space to the side of the courthouse were rows of scarecrows that each of the businesses in town sponsored and designed.

  Another heavy gust of wind came through, pushing against the Suburban, and I watched as a couple of the scarecrows toppled over and skittered into the street. I made my way around the square until I reached the building where the sheriff’s office was located. The county offices were on the left, the police department and jail was in the middle, and the fire department was on the right.

  The parking spaces in front of the city offices were all empty, so I figured they’d decided to call it quits for the day or work from home. It didn’t take much for them to close the offices. The fire department was supposed to move into their new firehouse at the end of the year, and when they did Jack had planned to use the space and renovate the sheriff’s office and add onto the jail. It was a long time coming. The sheriff’s office was so outdated it was laughable. Jack had been sheriff for four years, and he’d finally managed to pass a tax for the department so criminals weren’t better equipped than the police department, and he’d been able to hire more qualified officers.

  I noticed Jack’s parking spot was empty, but all of the other spots were full, so I pulled into the mayor’s spot. I was going to have to text Jack and see where he was. He needed to see the autopsy results.

  I picked up my phone, deciding to text him instead of calling, when headlights glared into my driver’s side mirror. I recognized Jack’s Tahoe and he flashed his blue lights so I knew he saw me.

  I tucked the manila envelope with my results under my rain jacket and tightened my hood. I’d already sent an electronic file to Jack, but I’d learned the hard way when I’d worked for a large city hospital to always keep a paper copy of everything.

  I took a deep breath and flung open my door and jumped out into a giant puddle. Cold water splashed into the top of my boots and soaked my jeans above the knees.

  I slammed the door closed and ran up the steps and to the front of the sheriff’s office. I didn’t wait for Jack but ran into the lobby. The heater was working overtime. To the point it was stifling, and I hurriedly unzipped my jacket and hung it on the umbrella stand by the door. I wiped my boots on the rug and made sure the autopsy report had come through unscathed. There were blowers set out to keep the floors dry, but they were fighting a losing battle.

  I tugged at the collar of my sweater, thinking I might suffocate if the heater kept blowing as hard as it was. I looked around the station and saw wilted cops everywhere—shirts unbuttoned or sleeves rolled up. The back windows were all open a crack to let in some air, but they couldn’t be opened too wide because of the rain.

  Sergeant Hill was manning the front desk. I didn’t know him well as he hadn’t grown up in King George County, but his wife worked at the bath and body shop just across the square, and I’d talked to her on several occasions while shopping. His skin was the color of burned caramel and he had darker freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His face was angular and his dark hair was cut close to the scalp.

  “Why is it so hot in here?” I asked.

  “The boiler is stuck,” he said, sweat dripping off his face and plunking onto the papers in front of him. “Sheriff went to see if he could hunt down someone from maintenance.”

  “Ahh,” I said, understanding. The maintenance offices were located next door. Jack probably had to track someone down at home to get them to come in.

  The door opened behind me blowing in cold and rain, and I moved out of the way as Jack came inside. He tossed his Glowtex jacket next to mine on the rack and wiped his feet. His brow was furrowed and his irritation was obvious.

  “Someone from maintenance should be here in ten minutes,” Jack said. “I had to call the mayor and half the council to get a fire lit. I finally told them if they were all going home for the day, then I was about to give the whole department the day off, and everyone could just fend for themselves. Who takes a day off because it’s raining?”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” Hill said, grinning. “I’ve never seen the squad room so anxious to be out on patrol.”

  “Yeah, I saw three squad cars parked over at the IHOP,” he said. “I think they were patrolling the all-you-can-eat pancakes.”

  Hill snorted a laugh. “You’ve got a visitor, by the way.”

  I noticed the few remaining people in the squad room had all stopped what they were doing and turned to watch Jack’s reaction. That in itself was enough to have me dreading whatever Hill was about to share.

  “Who?” Jack asked.

  “Floyd Parker came in about ten minutes ago,” Hill said. “He said he’s got some important information about that hit-and-run this morning. Looked white as a ghost. And he’s got his lawyer with him.”

  Jack raised his brows. “That always makes things fun.”

  “No one took his statement?” I asked.

  Hill shrugged and said, “He wouldn’t give it to anyone but the sheriff. He was insistent on that. But between you and me and the fence post, I think Floyd hit that guy and he’s trying to cover his tail. He was acting real strange. If you ask me, that’s karma right there. And only a couple of days before the election.”

  “Maybe,” Jack said. “But a man is still dead. Who’s the lawyer?”

  “Never seen him before. Not one of the locals. He was wearing a fancy suit so I figured he was from King George.”

  “Where is he?” Jack asked.

  “Interrogation room A,” Hill said. “I didn’t figure you wanted him in your office.”

  “Good call,” Jack said, and then he turned to me. “Want to sit in on this one?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Actually, I do. But we need to talk about the autopsy results before we go in there.”

  “Why’s that?” Jack asked.

  “Because it’s not vehicular homicide,” I told him, handing over the file. “The victim had a massive heart attack due to a high dose of amphetamines in his system.”

  “A drug overdose?” he asked, surprised.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “It’s possible, but we need to rule out homicide. What are you going to do about Floyd?”

  “We’re going to let him talk,” Jack said. “This information doesn’t concern him. But sometimes people stick their foot in their mouth accidentally. Especially if th
ey feel like they need an attorney with them. We’ll just sit and listen to what he has to say. Who knows, maybe he’ll hang himself.”

  We made our way through the squad room, and he passed off the autopsy findings to his secretary along the way. And then we went down the long narrow hallway that led to the interrogation rooms. There were only three of them, and they were small and dingy. Four people inside the room was going to be very crowded.

  Jack turned to look at me before we went in. “Be nice,” he said. “We might have just been given a gift.”

  “I can be nice,” I said, baring my teeth.

  “Right,” Jack said, pressing his lips together.

  He opened the thick gray door and moved into the small room, and I came in right behind him, closing the door behind me. Floyd looked like a bull sitting at the rectangular metal table. The chair was too short for his long legs and it looked like his knees were almost to his shoulders. He had the kind of neck that made it look like his head sat directly on top of his shoulders.

  Floyd had played some college football and had been in great shape at one point, but all the muscle had started turning soft around his middle and chest, though he obviously still put some effort into his arms. He reminded me of a middle-aged frat boy, and it was obvious by the look on his face that he didn’t want to be there any more than we did. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat and he’d stripped down to his undershirt.

  Sitting next to him in another metal chair was a thin man in a gray suit. His square head was much too large for his body and he had a full head of thick dark hair he’d ruthlessly combed back from a wide forehead. He hadn’t loosened his tie or taken off his jacket, and he looked miserable in his stubbornness.

  “Sorry about the heat,” Jack said. “The boiler is broken and maintenance is on the way. If you’d called we could have scheduled an appointment so we were all more comfortable.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Floyd said.

  Floyd’s attorney cleared his throat and said, “I’d like it shown on the record that despite the inhumane treatment my client has received since arriving here, he’s here willingly and with good intention.”

  “And like I said,” Jack told him, “as of yet, your client chooses to be here, so there is no inhumane treatment to consider. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and then we can hash out the details. This is on the record. Why don’t you both state your names and then Floyd can tell us why he felt he needed to come in with representation.”

  “Floyd Parker,” Floyd said, looking around the room and spotting the camera in the corner.

  Then Floyd’s attorney spoke. “Geoff Mailer from Turner, Mailer, Thayer, and Cryer, representing Floyd Parker in this matter.”

  Jack nodded and said, “Why don’t you tell us why you’re here.”

  Floyd licked his lips and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I saw the report about the cyclist being hit on 36 when it came into the newspaper this morning. I think…” he said. “I think I might have been the one who hit him.”

  Jack didn’t make any sudden movements. He just studied Floyd for a few seconds and then looked at the attorney. “I’m going to go ahead and read you your Miranda Rights for your protection and mine. It’s standard procedure.”

  Floyd looked at his attorney and Mailer nodded sharply.

  It didn’t take long for Jack to run through the Miranda Rights, and then he stated for the record, “Also in attendance are Sheriff Jack Lawson and Dr. J.J. Graves, coroner for King George County. Just run through your morning for me, Floyd. Tell me what happened.”

  “I left my house about six,” he said, leaning back in his chair on two legs. “I have to do all my campaign stuff before I go into the office, and I’d just gotten a batch of the big campaign signs so I was going to put them out around town. I was driving my old pickup, because it has more room for the signs in the bed. The fog started to get real bad when I turned onto 36. I was heading toward the state park. There’s a good place for signs there.” He licked his lips again. “You don’t realize the elevation on those hills, but when I got to the top the whole valley and all of the fields were covered with fog. It was so deep I think I would’ve been completely covered if I’d been standing at the bottom.

  “I wasn’t going that fast,” he said, finally meeting Jack’s gaze. He still hadn’t looked at me, but I was fine with that. I wasn’t sure I could’ve kept my expression blank. “Anyone who’s been around here long knows it’s stupid to drive normal in that kind of fog. I didn’t see anything in front and I know I didn’t hit anything head on. It was weird. I wasn’t 100 percent sure I was driving in a straight line because I couldn’t see the road, but something scraped the back end of my truck and then there was this grinding noise for a few seconds. I figured someone had dumped their trash on the side of the road and it just caught under my tires.”

  “What’d you do?” Jack asked.

  “I made my rounds toward the national park and left a sign there, and then I looped back toward King George and left a sign at the library and another at the McDonald’s off 301. I had to be at work at eight, so I went straight there. I didn’t have time to go home and switch cars. I checked out the back of my truck, but there were only a few scratches and the corner of the bumper was just a little dented. I didn’t think much of it until I got inside and heard the call go out on the scanner.”

  “You did the right thing by coming in to report this,” Jack said.

  “You seem surprised,” Floyd said.

  “I am,” Jack said honestly. “It’d be easy enough to stay quiet and stay under the radar until an investigation played out, at least until after the election was over.”

  Floyd snorted out a half-hearted laugh. “So you guys could track me down and get the media attention you need to turn this election around by arresting me? I figured my odds were better at coming in and doing it on my terms.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Jack said, leaning his arms on the table and bringing his face closer to Floyd’s. “You didn’t come in because it was the right thing to do. You came in because it was the lesser of two evils and would paint you in a better light?”

  “Careful, Sheriff Lawson,” Mailer said, making a note on his legal pad. “You’re making unwarranted accusations.”

  “No I’m not,” Jack said. “That was a question.”

  “Don’t try and twist my words,” Floyd said. “I’m here aren’t I? No way in hell I was going to let you hunt me down and arrest me. Who knows what kind of treatment I’d get by the time all your ‘buddies’ got me to the jail.”

  “Now you’re claiming you’d be treated unfairly?” Jack asked, his smile sharp.

  “I’ll remind you that this is all unfounded until it’s been proven that my client was at the scene and it was his vehicle that hit the deceased,” Mailer said. “My client came in voluntarily.”

  “We’re not in a court of law, Mailer,” Jack said. “The second your client admitted fault, even alleged, you knew an investigation would be opened. I’ve got no choice in the matter. I assume you’re familiar with the law.”

  “It’s not just a claim,” Floyd said, stuck on Jack’s question of fair treatment from the department. “You’ve been wanting to get something on me ever since I hooked up with your…” he finally looked at me then, his smile smug, and I felt tainted and shamed that I’d ever let him touch me, “…wife,” he finally said. “If I hid this from you and you found me out, things would’ve been much worse and I’m sure you would’ve found as many trumped-up charges as you could against me. But I came in and confessed. The roads were foggy, and I never even realized I hit anyone. I’m still not sure. It’s all just a terrible accident.”

  Jack waited until Floyd was finished and looking way too smug before he answered him. “Well, Floyd,” Jack said. “Here’s the thing about being sheriff that you might want to think about. It helps to actually know the law. I’m surprised your attorney didn’t tell you that.”

&
nbsp; Jack arched a brow at Mailer, and I wondered what Floyd or his attorney were hoping to accomplish with this meeting. The only thing I knew with certainty was that Floyd couldn’t be trusted, and that he always had a game plan. I just wasn’t sure what it was.

  “So here’s what we’re going to do,” Jack said, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text. I couldn’t see who he was sending it to or what it said. “I’m going to get a warrant for your vehicle, as well as a drug and alcohol test, and we’re going to see if the damage and paint samples match.”

  There was a knock at the door and Cole stuck his head in. He took in the room quickly, and then his gaze went back to Jack. “What do you need, boss?”

  “We need to get a warrant for Floyd’s truck,” Jack said, and then he looked at Floyd. “Is it parked here?”

  I watched Floyd carefully and noticed the color rise in his neck, but he didn’t move a muscle.

  “It’s parked at the courthouse,” Floyd said. “It’s the white GMC.”

  “Once you’ve got the warrant,” Jack said, “we’ll need to match it to the bicycle and paint scrapings found at the scene this morning.”

  There was barely a flicker of surprise in Cole’s expression. “I’ll head over to the courthouse now,” he said.

  “Get a second warrant for a blood and alcohol test,” Jack said.

  “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that I’ll need to look the documents over before you can proceed,” Mailer said.

  “Sure,” Jack said.

  “Hey, I’m here to cooperate,” Floyd said, holding up his hands in surrender. His smile was cocky, and I wouldn’t have minded if I got the chance to punch him in the nose again. “You do whatever you have to do so this can all get cleared up.”

  “Floyd,” Mailer warned.

  “You’re a real upstanding citizen,” Jack said. “I’m sure the media is ready to report quite a story on your behalf.