by Liliana Hart
Floyd shrugged. “Maybe. It’s all about the headlines these days. You guys know that.” He smiled again and I gritted my teeth so hard I saw spots dancing in front of my eyes.
“Let’s get back to the law,” Jack said.
Floyd smiled again and his eyes went mean. “You can keep telling me about the law, but we both know it’s the court of popular opinion that really matters at times like this. You had your chance to bring King George to the next level. You could have been awarded a billion-dollar contract to bring the federal prisons here. I would’ve created jobs and lined everyone’s pockets nicely.”
“And I’ve told you and anyone else who asks time and time again that I’m not putting farmers out of business and bringing the worst of the worst criminals to our county just to line a few people’s pockets.” Jack narrowed his eyes, and whatever Floyd saw in them made him shrink back in his chair. “I know that’s why you were hooked up with John Donnelly and big donors like Mike Costello. But whatever your plan is—and I’m sure you think you have one—it seems your attorney should’ve advised you somewhat about the law.”
“We both know that any frivolous charges you bring against my client will be tossed out,” Mailer said. “There’s no reason to waste the taxpayers’ money or any of our time.”
“Here’s the thing, Mailer,” Jack said, his dark eyes like lasers as he pinned the man down. “A man died. So I don’t consider his life to be a waste of taxpayer money or my time. What you’re doing is gambling. You and Floyd worked out a scheme to come in and confess, thinking I’d worry more about my reputation and how I’d look than the victim. I don’t consider any charges frivolous at this point. And I’m sure we’ll have a definite cause of death within the next twenty-four hours.”
I kept my face blank, so I didn’t give anything away. I didn’t know what Floyd’s endgame was, but he’d put himself in the hot seat, so to speak, and Jack wasn’t obligated to tell him the truth if it meant Floyd might incriminate himself.
“I’ll expect a copy of the autopsy report,” Mailer said, looking at me.
“I’m sure the sheriff will see you receive a copy,” I said. I didn’t report to Mailer, and I had no plans of gathering information for him like I was his secretary.
“Here’s the thing about the law,” Jack said, ignoring Mailer’s request. “There’s a difference between the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law, so let me lay this out for you. If we find a match on your vehicle to the bicycle that was hit this morning, you could be looking at something as serious as vehicular homicide.”
Floyd scoffed. “Come on, Jack. It was an accident.”
“There’s no point in speculating charges when it’s not up to you whether or not he’ll be prosecuted,” Mailer said.
“But we can still file the charges and make an arrest,” Jack said. “An investigation has to be conducted. There’s no way around that, accident or not. And someone died. That’s kind of a big deal where I’m standing. Make no doubt about it, we can arrest you and charge you, and your attorney knows it.”
Floyd looked at Mailer, and Mailer just shook his head and waved his hand as if he had nothing to worry about.
“Then there’s the other charges,” Jack continued. “You left the scene of an accident. Then there’s a charge of failing to render aid. And don’t forget reckless driving and crossing the fog line. Failure to yield to a cyclist would be another. And I’m sure a couple more will pop up once we start going through your truck.”
“You’re bluffing,” Floyd said. “You start piling charges on me and you’re going to look like a sore loser.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t think so. I believe in the law and I always have. I believe without it things would be chaos. If you don’t like a law, then work to get the law changed. But as long as it’s the law it should be followed. So here’s my question to you, Floyd, now that you’ve gotten a crash course on what the law entails as far as your stupidity goes. What kind of sheriff would you be? If it was me sitting in your place, would you follow the letter of the law? Or would you show compassion and mercy for a horrible accident, and show discretion for the spirit of the law? You’ve got the power to do either. What would you do if it was me?”
Jack’s voice had gotten very soft and the color drained from Floyd’s face. He’d seriously miscalculated the election chess game he was playing.
“That’s what I thought,” Jack. “We’re going to go get those warrants. You started this ball rolling, and even if I wanted to look the other way, hell, even if it was my own mother, I’d still have to do exactly what I’m doing. The best thing to do is let this play out. My cops are good at their jobs. J.J. can draw your blood and get the urine sample once we have the warrant in hand.”
“She’s not touching me with a needle,” Floyd said, shaking his head.
“Considering my client’s past with the doctor in question, I consider that a threat meant to incite my client.”
“You’re not from around here, are you, Mailer?” Jack asked. There was no humor in his smile.
I wasn’t sure I could trust myself with anything sharp around Floyd, so I was kind of on the attorney’s side with that one.
“I’m sure we could find someone to eventually come in and get it done,” Jack said. “But you know how slow things move around here. And you’ve got to figure the longer you sit here, the worse the gossip will be.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Floyd asked.
“No,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t. But while you’re seeing this as a personal attack against you, I’m seeing a man who isn’t going to see his baby born next month.”
“Fine,” Floyd said. “She can do it. I’m all about cooperation. Just get it done so I can get out of here.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jack said. He stood and then pulled out my chair so I could follow him out. “We’ll be back with the warrants. I’ll send someone in with a couple of bottles of water. You might want to loosen that tie a little, Mailer. You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”
Jack ushered me out of the room and closed the door behind us, and then he took me by the hand and led me down the hall.
“Look, there’s Cole coming from the courthouse,” Jack said. “I was hoping he’d take a little more time. I wouldn’t mind them stewing in there for a little while. We’re going to do this by the book.”
“Except for the fact that Floyd didn’t commit vehicular manslaughter,” I said.
“No, but the other charges will stand,” Jack said. “And that’s what we’re going to go on. You know how bureaucracy works. It’ll be tomorrow afternoon before the attorney gets a copy of the autopsy. We could probably even stretch it to Monday if we wanted. Nothing ever gets done around here on the weekends.”
“Are you doing this only to get back at Floyd?” I asked. “Or were you serious about charging your own mother?”
“Floyd started this when he came in and confessed to hitting the cyclist,” Jack said. “He not only confessed, but he confessed on record with an attorney present. I literally have no choice but to proceed exactly the way things are going. It’s just a bonus that we get to make his life a little more uncomfortable in the meantime. I don’t care about the election.”
I started to say something, but he stopped me by holding up a finger.
“I really don’t,” he said. “I figure the outcome is already determined, and it’s up to the people. There’s nothing I can do about it, so it’s one less thing I can take off my plate to worry about. There are other things more important at the moment.”
I broke eye contact with Jack—his gaze too intense—and watched Cole standing under the awning on the front steps of the courthouse, looking for a break in the weather so he could run across the street.
Jack was a straight arrow, and what he’d told Floyd was the truth. He did believe and respect the law. There were rarely shades of gray with Jack. Right was right, and wrong was wrong. So if he told me he had no o
ther choice but to do exactly what he was doing, then I believed him. He’d never compromise his integrity or the badge he so proudly stood for.
From where I stood, Floyd was in deep trouble. And if he’d had even an inkling of what would be waiting for him after his noble confession, he’d have known to keep his fat trap shut.
5
Detective Cole was one of those guys who everyone liked. He was a man’s man, and could go fishing one day and be perfectly comfortable picking out lingerie for a girlfriend in a Victoria’s Secret the next.
He had a slow Southern drawl and a smile that took forever to spread across his face. His Wranglers weren’t a fashion statement but a way of life, and his boots were well worn. He was tall and lanky, and he wore a down vest over his denim shirt that was probably holding ten pounds of water.
Jack and I moved to the side as he finally decided to bite the bullet and sprint across the street. Cole came into the sheriff’s office with a burst of wind and water, and he shook himself like a dog.
Hill tossed him a towel to dry off with, and then he waited until Cole was drying his face before he said, “Whoops, wrong towel. That’s the one Jenkins just used to clean up vomit from the drunk and disorderly that was brought in this morning.”
“Hilarious,” Cole said, tossing the towel back at Hill. “I just want to make it known that the only reason I’m not complaining about being soaked to the skin is because these warrants are for Floyd Parker.”
Cole said it loud enough that everyone in the squad room stopped what they were doing to listen. Even Jack’s secretary, Betsy Clement, stood up behind her desk so her five-foot frame didn’t miss a single detail.
“So it’s true then?” Hill asked. “He did hit that guy this morning?”
“That’s what the warrants are for,” Jack said.
Floyd had never been a friend to the police department, and his articles often incited issues rather than brought the community together with all the good the cops did in this county.
“Y’all, don’t get too excited,” Jack said. “We’re going to treat this just like any other case. Take your time and be thorough.” Jack raised his voice so everyone could hear. “Anyone who doesn’t have something pressing to work on can pitch in on this. Floyd voluntarily came here of his own free will and turned himself in for hitting Brett Jorgenson this morning. This isn’t about the election or anything else. A man lost his life. That’s what we need to focus on. We’ve got warrants to examine his truck and to do a blood draw. We’ll see what’s left of any evidence on the truck with this rain, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Jack turned back to Cole and said, “Grab Floyd’s keys and pull the truck under the carport in the back. Pick a couple of the guys to go with you and offer to let Floyd and his attorney observe while you go through the truck. Wear your body cams. We want everything documented. Jaye is going to draw his blood and take it back to the lab for tox results.”
Cole snorted out a laugh and looked at me, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “I bet he’s got those tiny veins that are hard to find. You’ll probably have to stick him seven or eight times.”
I couldn’t help but grin. I’d already had the same thought. “It has been a long time since I’ve taken blood from a live person.”
Cole looked down at his soaked clothes and then back out to the street where Floyd’s truck was parked. “I guess there’s no point in changing anytime soon,” he said with a sigh, and then he clapped Jack on the back. “But I’d stand out in a hurricane and get evidence if it kept Floyd Parker from being sheriff.”
“Amen,” someone called from the squad room.
“Look on the bright side,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t have a hurricane to stand in and collect evidence if Floyd was sheriff, because after we get done with him today, the first thing he’ll do is fire all of you.”
Cole choked out a laugh. “Well, then. I guess we’d better get to work.” He nodded to me and made his way down the hall, giving two sharp raps on interrogation room A before opening the door and stepping inside.
“You have your bag with you?” Jack asked.
I just stared at him for a few seconds. It was easy to fall into work mode and ignore all of the personal things between us. We could always talk about work. Duty and justice would take precedence. But I was struggling. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt the pull and tug between bringing justice to a victim versus my own selfish wants. The victim had always come first. But what I really wanted was to tell Jack to pass this off to someone else, grab him by the sleeve, and haul him somewhere so we could have the conversation we needed to have.
There were a lot of unknowns, and I had a lot of questions. How did Floyd really find out that Jack had fathered the child of a married woman? What effect was that news going to have on the race? Did Floyd have any other tricks up his sleeve? Was he manipulating us now with this hit-and-run fiasco? Was our future supposed to be in this community? And what if Jack wanted to have a relationship with his son now that everything had all come out in the open? There was fear inside me, and I couldn’t exactly pinpoint which fear I had the most anxiety about.
“I’ve got to run to the lab and grab supplies,” I said abruptly. I turned toward the doors before Jack could read too much into the expression on my face. I grabbed my jacket off the hook and zipped up and pulled the hood tight over my head, and then I pushed open the glass doors and into the wind.
The storm had intensified over the last hour. We didn’t normally get these kinds of storms this late in the season, but there had been nothing normal about this year. The rain and wind bounced along the streets and stung my cheeks as I ran to the Suburban, and when I got the door open the wind caught it and slammed it backward, catching me in the shoulder hard enough I’d have a bruise. I was just glad it wasn’t my face.
Everyone except us had hunkered down in their homes, so it didn’t take me long to get to the funeral home, pack the supplies I needed, and get back to the sheriff’s office. I noticed on my way back that Floyd’s truck was no longer parked in front of the courthouse. I could’ve called Jack and had him open the gate to the parking lot behind the building where most of the emergency vehicles were located. I could have pulled under the covered area and come in the back, but it was faster to just park in the front. I wanted to get this over with.
When I got back inside, I hung up my jacket and Sergeant Hill tossed me a towel. I held it up by two fingers and stared at him. His lips twitched.
“It’s clean,” he said. “I was just kidding about the vomit towel. No one has thrown up in here all week.” He knocked on wood, and I used the towel to wipe my face and soak up water from my jeans, but it didn’t do a lot of good. I was thankful the boiler was broken and the heat was up, even as my teeth chattered and I flexed my hands to get some circulation going. We would all end up sick between the rain and cold outside and the heat and humidity inside the building.
Jack was talking to Betsy Clement, though I knew he saw me come in.
“Is he still in A?” I asked Hill.
Hill nodded. “He and the attorney both, roasting like pigs. Cole hasn’t come in to get him yet, so you’re good to go.”
I nodded and made my way back down the hall. I didn’t bother knocking, and I didn’t close the door behind me. Instead I shoved the wedge under the door to hold it open.
“Go make sure they’re not planting evidence on my truck,” Floyd told his attorney.
“Don’t you want a witness here to make sure she does everything aboveboard?” Mailer asked.
“I can handle her,” he said. “Just go do your job out there.”
Mailer didn’t look convinced, and I tried to look innocent as he gave me a hard glare, took a tight grip on his briefcase, and squeezed past me and out the door.
I looked up at the camera and hoped to God that it was still recording.
Floyd smirked. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to be alone with me. You used to like that.”
&nbs
p; I ignored him and put my bag on the table, opening it up and pulling out a plastic box with all of the equipment I needed. I grabbed a syringe still wrapped in its package and several vials and laid them on the table, and then I grabbed a tourniquet and alcohol swabs. I also pulled out a plastic cup with a lid so he could give a urine sample.
“Put your arm on the table,” I said, trying to get him in a good position so I didn’t have to get too close. He complied and purposefully leaned his body in, but I stepped to the side so I could reach back in my bag. I pulled out a white towel and folded it so I could put it under his elbow, and then I used two fingers to look for a good vein, satisfied when I found one.
“Stay out of my light,” I told him, wrapping the tourniquet just below his bicep. “I’d hate to have to do this more than once.”
“I figured you’d tell me it’s just a little prick,” Floyd said.
“It most definitely is,” I told him.
I felt the vein site again and then tore open the alcohol swab, using it to wipe down my hands, and then I put on my gloves. I opened the syringe and pulled off the top with my teeth, and then I tore open another alcohol pack and wiped the area in the crook of his arm.
I put my thumb on the vein and then leaned down. “Make a fist,” I said. Once he did I made a quick stick, hitting my target. I attached the first vial and waited for it to fill, quickly removing it and attaching the next.
“Aren’t you curious about how I found out about Jack’s little bastard?” he asked.
I removed the next vial and then attached the last one, unsnapping the tourniquet as I did. “Not really,” I answered. “It wasn’t a secret.”
He laughed at that. “Is that why you moved out?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I know you have a habit of overlooking and disrespecting the dead in this county, but I take my job seriously. We lost a lot of citizens last week, and a lot of people are burying loved ones this week.” I grabbed a cotton ball and placed it on top of the puncture site before slowly removing the needle. “Hold that,” I said, referring to the cotton ball. I grabbed a Band-Aid and slapped it on. “You need to pee in that cup. I’ll get these back to the lab and turned in to the sheriff.”