“Well,” the doctor says, “it seems as if Tyrone has a pretty nasty concussion. He has some bruising to the ribs, but no broken bones. He took seven stitches to the back of his head; but other than the concussion the prognosis is good. We are going to have to keep him here for observation.”
“Is anyone going to be around here to make sure that he stays put?” Ed asks.
“I spoke with the local police and they told me that they will post a uniformed officer outside of his room until he’s good to go,” Flanigan says.
“Can we talk to him?” Jeff asks the doctor.
“I don’t see why not,” the doctor says, “he is still in a little bit of pain, but he is alert and talking. He is in room 142, follow me.”
“I need to get back to the department,” Flanigan says, “I’ve got a lot more to do now that my deputy is suspended. I’ll be back in a couple of days to interview Tyrone when he is feeling better. Give the kid my best and call me if you need anything. Oh, and call me if he gives you anything on the location of the other boys.”
“Thank you sir, we certainly will,” Jeff says as Flanigan goes to the elevator. Jeff and Ed follow the doctor to room 142; they stop at the door and are greeted by the presence of a police officer.
“If you gentlemen need anything, just have the nurse page me and I’ll be up as soon as I can,” Dr. Elkins says.
“We will,” Ed says, “thank you doctor.” Ed and Jeff nod at the police officer as they pass him and go into the room. They notice a large bandage across Tyrone’s forehead and massive swelling and bruising on both sides of his face. Tyrone wakes up and is immediately frightened when he sees Jeff.
“Good afternoon Tyrone, long time no see,” Jeff says with an authentic looking smile. Tyrone squirms around in his bed, not knowing what to say. Ed sits in the chair next to him and Jeff pulls the other chair next to his bed. Jeff puts his hand on Tyrone’s shaking hand.
“No reason to be nervous,” Jeff says, “all is forgiven… I know that it wasn’t personal.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Tyrone slowly mutters.
“No need for apologies,” Jeff says, “what’s done is now in the past and I’m good with leaving it there. Besides, it looks like I am in much better shape than you are in right now.”
Ed leans in, “What happened this morning Tyrone? All we heard was that you got arrested for fighting, got in a fight with a deputy and here you are.”
“I don’t know,” Tyrone says, “I guess I probably said some shit that I probably shouldn’t have said. That’s the first ass whooping I have ever taken in my life. I mean, I’ve lost a couple of fights, but I ain’t never been in a fight where I haven’t gotten a punch in.”
“Yeah,” Ed says, “well Sheriff Flanigan told me that charges have been filed on the cop that did this and I imagine that is the last time he’ll be in the position to do something like that again.”
“For real?” Tyrone asks in confusion, “He got fired for that shit?”
“I wouldn’t imagine that he has been fired yet,” Ed says, “but I think that anytime you commit any kind of assault on any individual you have to go through a review, and there is no excuse for beating a defenseless kid. So yeah, I would imagine that his career as a cop is pretty much toast.”
“Nah man,” Tyrone says, violently shaking his head, “I ain’t pressing charges. Fuck that shit man, just let him go, it was on me, it was my bad.”
“You, young man, don’t have a choice,” Jeff says in an authoritative voice while leaning over him, “you are under our guardianship so we make the ultimate call, not you.”
“Not to mention that it was Sheriff Flanigan who filed the charges anyways, so it doesn’t matter,” Ed chips in, “By the way Tyrone, where were the boys the last time you saw them?”
“I don’t know,” Tyrone says, “I split off away from them early last night and ain’t seen or heard from em’ since.”
“Tyrone,” Jeff says, “it is very important that we know where they are. There are a lot of reasons for that, the first being their overall safety.”
“Last I heard they was planning going to Kansas or something,” Tyrone says, “they said that they were going to drive as far away as they could, they dropped me off at that party and I haven’t seen them since.”
“Did they leave in the same car that was stolen last night from the car dealership on the lake?” Ed asks.
“I don’t know about nothin’ getting stolen from no car dealership,” Tyrone says.
“Sheriff Flanigan told me that he seems to think that a mini-crime wave that occurred in the area last night had something to do with you boys and there is some evidence to back it up,” Ed says. Tyrone shakes his head as if he had nothing to do with it. “So you boys didn’t break into a liquor store, steal a Camaro off of a used car lot and vandalize the bathroom of a Taco Bell?” The Taco Bell reference throws Tyrone off as he wonders if Hiram possibly had something to do with it, but he remains as cool as a cucumber, shaking his head and denying everything.
“So the last vehicle you knew about was the Bronco,” Jeff says.
“Yup,” Tyrone says, “that’s what they dropped me off in.”
“And you know nothing about anything that we just discussed?” Jeff asks.
“Man, I’m already fucked here,” Tyrone says, “y’all got me alright! Why wouldn’t I tell you the truth if it could help me in the end?”
“No one has ever said that it would help you,” Jeff says.
“Maybe not with you,” Tyrone says, “but it will with the police. Man, you know how long I’ve been on the streets; you don’t think I know how it works? If you know something you get something. It’s been that way in the game since day one and it ain’t ever gonna change.”
“So at least tell us what you know from the beginning,” Ed says. “The names and pictures of your friends are now all over the local news and it will only be a matter of time until the police find them. But we need to find them before they get into something they can’t get out of. I just don’t want to see any of them get hurt Tyrone. We just need to find them, please help us.”
“Well,” Tyrone says, “I’ll take it from the beginning. I got into it with Hiram over some racial shit he said, dude here tried to stop it, I hit him and we stole his keys. We stole a Bronco from the parking lot, drove for a while and they dropped me off at a party. I met some girls while I was hanging out there and I got busted for getting into a fight. Then I said some shit I shouldn’t have said to a cop about a conversation he had with another dude in the hallway, I got my ass beat and here we are.”
“So you really don’t know anything,” Ed says with a hint of belief.
“I promise that I don’t know nothing,” Tyrone says. Jeff pats Tyrone on the leg and he and Ed get up from their chairs and head for the door.
“We’re going to get something to eat,” Ed says, “We’ll be back in about an hour. You want anything?”
“This hospital food is nasty,” Tyrone says, “can you hook me up with some McDonald’s?”
“Sure,” Ed says as he and Jeff walk into the hallway and shut the door. Tyrone grabs the remote from off of the nightstand and begins watching television.
Chapter 17
Jim Flanigan pulls into the long, circular driveway of the Edward’s home in Pinewood, nestled in a very affluent part of town. He walks up to the doorway and rings the doorbell. Nobody answers, so he looks through the window and checks to see if anyone is inside. He rings the doorbell again. A tall, thin woman in an evening dress opens the door.
“Yes,” she says with an elegant accent.
“I am looking to speak to Blaine or Lynn Edwards,” Flanigan says.
“In regards to what, might I ask?” the woman says in an almost confrontational elitist tone.
“I am Sheriff Jim Flanigan and I need to speak to them in regards to their son, Kris,” he says.
“Oh,” she snidely says, “come in, my husband is in the r
eading room.” Jim follows her into the house and is amazed at its enormity, finely crafted furniture and upscale décor. He walks down a long hallway and finds a man reading a magazine with a yacht on the cover. Classical music is softly playing throughout the house.
“Isabella!” Lynn screams. A Latina woman in her forties runs into the room.
“Turn the music off,” Lynn says, “and if I ever have to answer a door again you may consider yourself unemployed.”
“Yes ma’am,” Isabella quickly apologizes as she runs out of the room; the music stops seconds later. Lynn sits down on the sofa next to her husband, who is still fixated on his magazine and isn’t even aware that Flanigan is in the room.
“Sorry about that,” she says, “you just can’t find any good help anymore. Would you care for a cup of tea?” she asks as she takes a diamond-encrusted tea pot from the coffee table and pours one for herself.
“No thank you,” Jim says as he sits down in a chair across from them. Blaine looks up from his magazine and finally notices Sheriff Flanigan, who uncomfortably smiles.
“I know you,” Blaine says, “You are the police officer that has been chasing that madman around for the better part of the century.”
“Yes sir,” Flanigan says, “that would be me.”
“Well,” Blaine says, “what brings you here my good man?”
“I stopped by to ask a few questions about your son Kris who recently escaped a psychiatric facility,” Flanigan says.
“Don’t you have bigger fish to fry?” Blaine asks, “I do read the papers.”
“I have a lot of fish to fry sir, but I’m just here to ask a few questions to see if we can’t find your son,” Flanigan responds.
“Have you ever sailed the Mediterranean?” Blaine asks as he puts his magazine down.
“No sir, I haven’t,” Flanigan says, thrown off by the redirection of the conversation and the obvious lack of concern for his own missing son.
“Of course you haven’t,” Blaine says with a cocky tone, “what was I thinking?”
“Well sir, I was wondering if your son has tried to make any contact with you in the last few days,” Flanigan asks.
“You know,” Blaine says, “that Butcher is a fascinating character isn’t he? I’ve followed your pursuit of him in the paper for quite some time and even seen a few cable television programs about it.”
“Yes sir, the case is fascinating,” Flanigan says, “but I need to know…”
Blaine interrupts, “You know it is such a sad thing that your department has been so unsuccessful in catching him… a bit of an embarrassment really. I would offer to assist you if my practice wasn’t so demanding; I do so admire public service.”
“I’m sure you would sir,” Jim says, “now can you tell me if your son…”
“You know this Baptist Butcher character,” Blaine interrupts again, “could easily be identified if I were involved in the case somehow. It really can’t be so difficult, he is obviously a sadist… you do know what a sadist is don’t you?”
“Yes,” Jim says, trying not to show his frustration through his tone.
“Well, I would imagine someone like that would frequent homosexual or S&M bars and adult bookstores,” Blaine says, “because in my opinion sadism is the ultimate form of sexual deviance and in it’s roots you will find a history of such past deviant acts, which I am sure the killer still probably resumes on a daily basis. Have you checked out such places?”
“No we haven’t,” Jim says, “now about…”
“Of course you haven’t,” Blaine interrupts, “you don’t have access to the knowledge of such intricacies. So tell me more about the crime scenes, I am sure that with my insight we could catch this unsavory character in no time at all.”
“That information is kept from the general public for a reason sir,” Jim says.
“General public?” Blaine quizzically asks, “really, come on now, do I look like an individual that could be classified as a member of the general public?”
“Unless you are officially involved with this case sir, you are considered a member the general public,” Flanigan says.
“Well, I am an expert at the top of my profession and I am discussing this case with an official involved,” Blaine says, “does that not make our discussion relevant to the case one of an official involvement?”
“No sir, it doesn’t,” Flanigan says.
“And that is probably the reason that you are where you are on the case,” Blaine says with a smug chuckle, “the blind leading the blind.” Jim looks at Blaine and fantasizes about knocking him off of his sofa and beating the shit out of him. He keeps a cool outwards appearance though, even though he would thoroughly enjoy beating the arrogance out of him. He sits quietly as Blaine goes on and on about his several accomplishments in his field, his many publications and awards. He boasts about how he came from a poor tobacco farming family and put himself through graduate school.
Jim says nothing as Blaine continues on about his theories about the Butcher case. He looks at Lynn as Blaine babbles on, stroking her pearl necklace with a look of cold disinterest on her face. He sits and waits, and waits. He looks down at his watch, an hour has passed. This isn’t like it is down at the station, when someone doesn’t want to talk there you can just leave them isolated and alone until they want to talk. He wishes that he was at the station right now and Blaine was trapped in that room. Men like that always talk because without the ability to be viewed as important or above the rest of society in some way, they are worthless to the rest of the world in their own eyes. Jim cannot wait any longer, he is going to have to make his move and get out of here.
“Well,” Jim says, interrupting Blaine’s one-sided discussion that has now moved to the over-taxation of America, “I need to get going so that I can get back to the station, but I have a question to ask of you sir.”
“Well that was quite rude,” Blaine says with a short tone, “you cut me off at mid-sentence.”
“And I apologize for that sir,” Jim says, “but I really need to get the information I came here to get and get back to the station as soon as possible.”
“Fine then, I am a man who can appreciate the importance of getting back to work,” Blaine grumbles, “go on with it.”
“Has your son contacted you in the last few days or do you have any idea where he might be?” Flanigan asks.
“First of all,” Blaine says, “You may not refer to him as my son due to the embarrassment he had caused to the family, but I will allow you to call him by his first name to suit your desire to make inquiries about him.”
“Okay,” Flanigan says, “Has Kris tried to contact you in the last few days or do you have any idea where Kris might possibly be?”
“No,” Blaine says, “and I honestly don’t care, so you may leave my home now. I’m sure that you can find your way out.” Jim collects his interview paper, which happens to be blank and makes his way down the hallway.
He hears Blaine mutter in the distance, “Has he no social grace? He didn’t even thank us for our time.”
Jim gets in his cruiser and punches the dashboard. “Asshole!” he yells as he starts the car. He lights a cigarette, which he has been craving for about an hour and begins his short voyage home. He is a bit hungry, but wants to get home as fast as possible. He cruises through town, wondering about what is going to happen to his young protégé, thinking about the Butcher case and how he came off during the press conference that was held earlier in the afternoon. Just as he finally gets home and pulls into his driveway his, cell phone begins to vibrate. He looks at it and finds several missed calls.
He picks up and answers, “Flanigan.” The voice on the other end is one of his other deputies, Tom Clark. Tom is a good man, but is bit slow compared to others in the department and is usually relegated to duties that are simple in nature and require the least amount of competence.
“Jim,” Tom says.
“Yeah Tom, what is going on,” Flan
igan asks.
“Has anybody got a hold of you yet?” he asks.
“No Tom, nobody has called me tonight, why? What’s going on? Do you need something?” Flanigan asks.
“Jones didn’t call you?” Tom says.
“No,” Flanigan says, “get to it Tom, I just got home.”
“Sorry sir, but Jones called me and told me that Ryan’s little boy passed away about an hour ago,” Tom says.
“That is terrible,” Jim says as he stops on his porch, “thanks for calling and letting me know.” He hangs up his cell phone and tries not to cry. He wipes the tears from his face and he quietly enters the house. He throws his keys on the coffee table and goes to the kitchen to open a beer. He makes his way to the bedroom and finds his wife reading a book. He leans against the wall, staring at her, breaking her concentration.
“You’re home early,” Joan says, “nine o’clock is rare for you. Did you have a long day?” Joan asks.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jim says.
“Try me,” Joan says as Jim flops onto the bed.
“Well, to start things off, I feel really bad for Ryan,” Jim says.
“Why is that?” Joan asks.
“I got a call from the station just as I got home and learned that his son passed away tonight,” Jim says.
“No,” Joan says in shock.
“And if you can’t believe it, that isn’t even the worst of it,” Jim says.
“How can it possibly be any worse than that?” Joan asks, sitting up and now fully alert.
“He was in jail when it happened,” Jim says as he rubs his forehead.
“JAIL!” Joan says surprised, “why on Earth was he in jail?”
“I had to put him in bracelets today because he beat the hell out of a kid during an interview,” Jim says, “and I don’t mean he shoved him or slapped him around, I mean that the kid is in the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” Joan says, “what would make him go and do a thing like that?”
“Apparently the kid overheard us talking about his son in the hallway and he told Ryan during the interview that he hoped he died when Ryan was pushing him,” Jim says.
The Light In the Dark Page 15