At Inmate Bobby’s cell, Von Holton and Jakob went inside while everyone else waited. They took a cursory glance and Von Holton poked around Inmate Bobby’s toiletries and food. Eventually, he motioned to Jace.
“Shake it.”
“Sir?”
“Shake it down and find my murder weapon. We’ll step out because too many people in a cell is a crowd and like you said, the jail ain’t my kingdom.”
For a second, Jace stood in complete surprise. She’d been so terrified of Von Holton when summoned to an interview, but in reality he was a little man wearing cheap bravado like a bad toupee.
—405 from control—
“Go ahead.”
—no on the hallways . . . going kitchen—
“10-4”
With a deep breath, Jace entered Inmate Bobby’s world. It was a standard cell, built for one. It measured eight feet by ten and included a metal-framed bed along one side bolted to the wall. On the opposite wall was a desk and chair, each bolted to wall or floor, a sink, and a shelf, each metal and bolted to the wall. Over the door was a light fixture behind a thick face of deeply scratched plastic.
After putting on a pair of examination gloves, Jace stood in the middle of the cell and tried to acclimate herself to how Inmate Bobby kept his life ordered. Where’s the scalpel? But the question was about more than location. It was also about safety. If she went too quickly or blindly through the shake, there was a reasonable chance her hand would resemble what the butcher left on the floor.
“Might not even know it,” she said. “ ’Til I saw the blood.”
“Salome?”
“Uh . . . nothing, Major.”
“Not sure what you’re doing?” Von Holton asked.
“Kiss my ass,” Dillon said. “She’s one of the best.”
Jace ignored Von Holton and looked at Dillon. “Nice and slow. Nice and safe.”
“Damn straight.” Dillon nodded. “For God’s sake don’t chop off a finger or something. Christ, I’d have a ton of paperwork to do.”
“Always thinking of his people.”
—405 . . . nada in the kitchen—
“10-4. Check the sally. Gets his phone time in the yard sometimes, too.”
—10-4—
At the academy, Jace had been so uncertain of doing shakedowns that she’d created her own mental map and slavishly followed it. Doing it the same way every time insured she forgot nothing. It began at the door and moved to her right, eventually coming back to where she started. This time, she spent more time inspecting the walls than she usually did. She wanted to ensure there was no loose material that could be pulled out to house a weapon. Then, feeling the heat of their gazes on her back, she moved to the bed and removed the thin sheet. She snapped it like a towel before checking the sewn edges for anything hidden inside them. Squeeze those edges, don’t slide, she thought. Keep yourself out of the medical pod or Zach City Memorial.
When she was certain the sheet was free of contraband, she handed it to Dillon and lifted the thin mattress to the floor. Under the mattress were five small, clear plastic bags.
“He a chef?” Von Holton asked. “ ’Cause that looks like oregano to me. A whole lot of oregano. Maybe thirty grams worth.” The detective laughed as Jace stopped and allowed the crime-scene tech to take pictures and collect the evidence.
“Field test it,” Major Jakob ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” The man dropped some of the contents from one of the bags into a small vial filled with liquid and shook it. Less than thirty seconds later, he nodded. “It’s weed.”
“Bingo.” Von Holton looked satisfied. “Motive to whack Wrubel. Cutting into his profit. Now find me the knife.”
Jace went back to the bed. It was built like a serving tray, with a squared figure eight as the frame. The tray was empty so she went to her knees and focused on the mattress. Ignoring the sweat on her upper lip, she began to check the seams, but then stopped abruptly.
“Salome?” Dillon said.
There was a small brown spot on the floor. It was slightly elongated, as though the spatter had come from an angle. How the hell had she missed it? “Major?”
“Yes?”
“I think it’s blood.” Jace backed carefully away from the spot.
“Double bingo,” the detective said.
The lab tech came in, his hand already full of a cotton swab and a bottle of chemical reactant. On one knee, he peered at the spot, but rather than spraying, he gave Jace a sideways glance. “Hershey’s.”
Von Holton pressed forward. “What?”
“Sorry,” the lab tech whispered to Jace. He then cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “Chocolate. But it could have been dried blood. Sometimes brown is chocolate, sometimes it’s sh—feces. Sometimes it’s dried blood.”
Von Holton snickered. “One of the best, huh?”
Jace pressed a finger to her temple. Damn it, Bobby, what’d you do with that knife? “Seams are good.” She tried to keep the anxiety from her voice even as her stomach twittered. “All sewn up.”
Their collective gaze was as stony as a quarry, except for Dillon, who gave her a tiny, approving nod.
—405 from control . . . no on the sally port . . . no on the rec yard—
Jakob cast her gaze over to Dillon.
“Where’s our boy?” Von Holton asked.
Dillon waved the question away, as though it were a silly thing to ask, but Jace saw a tiny knot of tension worrying Dillon’s eyes. “10-4. Check medical. 405 to dead shift. Keep an eye out for our subject. Do not—repeat, do not—bring him home. And be careful; if he knows he’s up, he might lash out. Corporal Kleopping?”
—10-4 405—
Kleopping was running roll-call tonight while Dillon was here. The last unspoken command had been for the corporal to let the entire dead shift know who the subject was. Thus far, Inmate Bobby’s name hadn’t been uttered over the radio and Dillon wanted to keep it that way.
Where’d you go, Bobby? Are you invisible again?
“Maybe visitors?” Jace looked at Dillon. “I’ve found him asleep there before.”
Dillon passed the message on to the control room.
“Sounds like your boy has the run of the place,” Von Holton said.
“Oh, he’s my boy now? He was our boy a few seconds ago.” Dillon sniffed loudly.
“That was before you managed to lose him.”
“You know what, Von Holton, you can suck—”
“Sergeant,” Jakob said. “Leave it be. Salome, get on with it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jace moved over the mattress’s entire surface, pressing down with one hand while she bent the mattress over the pressing hand.
“Aren’t you going to roll it?” Von Holton asked.
“Why?” Dillon said.
“Mattress won’t roll with a knife hidden in it. Quickest way to discovery.”
“Maybe . . . if the knife is big enough or in there head to toe,” Jace said. “I always check for the smallest thing. By doing that, I can find the big thing. If, instead, we check for the big thing—”
“I’ve got it,” Von Holton said. “Don’t treat me like a . . . worm.”
“Worm’s doing pretty well at this point,” Dillon said.
“Except for the chocolate . . . excuse me, the blood.”
Trying to slow the freight train booming through her, Jace returned the mattress to the bed. Before moving on, she wiped the sweat from her face.
“Salome?”
“I’m okay, Sarge.”
Dillon came to her side. “Take a deep breath, concentrate on your job. On this job, I mean.”
“What’s that mean?”
He imitated a running man with two of his fingers. Dillon chuckled. “You did a great job last night, and you’re doing a great job now. Do it the way we always do it. Don’t change anything because you have this audience.”
“Yeah, but does that son of a bitch have to watch this?”
“Gee, great, boss. I might cut myself to pieces but as long as he’s an idiot . . .”
“Wounds are easy. Healing is hard.”
Jace frowned. “More of your non-sequiturs?”
“Don’t cuss at me.”
She chuckled and some of the pressure disappeared.
“Good job calling Jakob, by the way.” Dillon winked at her. “She filled me in. I think you’re exactly right. Mercer wasn’t our guy but Bobby . . . ?”
“You think he did something stupid? I mean . . . really?”
“I don’t know, but nothing surprises me anymore.”
Jace hesitated. “Does Inmate Bobby have any medical problems?”
Dillon shrugged. “I have no idea . . . not that I remember.”
“Not on any drug regimen?”
Now her sergeant gave her a curious eye. “Why?”
“Maybe he took some pills and they put him to sleep somewhere or something.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “Uh-huh. You hear that?”
“What?”
“Your own wheels, turning and turning and turning. Spill.”
“Nothing to spill, sir. Uh . . . not yet.”
“But when there is?”
She batted her eyes at him. “Why, sir, you’ll be the first to know.”
His face went blood red. “Get back to work, worm.”
Jace continued around the walls. There were no cracks or holes and nothing inside the light fixture. On the shelf, Jace carefully went through the handful of books and food from the commissary list—most of which was unopened packages of those small chocolate donuts he loved—and found nothing. Then she took a look at the spigot and water controls, and the underside of the shelf and the sink. All were as they should be.
At the jailer’s desk, Smit and the other B-shift jailer watched intently. Jace laid her hand flat, palm up, and waved it back and forth in front of her. A moment later, Smit brought her a mirror. It was attached to the end of a long handle and allowed jailers to see what was under lower-set fixtures without having to get on hands and knees or blindly slide their hands or fingers along those frames.
—405 from control . . . coming up empty . . . need some fresh ideas—
“Unbelievable,” Von Holton said. “Where is this guy?”
Panic bubbled deep in Jace’s blood. Dillon shook his head. “Get back to work, Salome.”
“Uh . . . yes, sir.” She nodded at the jailer. “Thanks, Smitty.”
“You betcha.” When he turned for the desk, he bumped hard into Von Holton. “Excuse me, Detective, I didn’t see you there.”
“Fucking jailers.”
“Detective,” Jakob said. “That’s enough.”
“Well, Major, this is bullshit.” His nostrils flared and his teeth bared. “They’re pissing all over me and they—”
“Give what we get,” Dillon said.
“—can’t even find the prisoner.” Von Holton grabbed the mic at Dillon’s shoulder, keyed it, and shouted, “Where the hell is Bobby? Goddamnit, find him.”
Dillon twisted away, his face a rictus of rage. “If you ever touch me again, we’ll go ’round right there.”
Von Holton laughed.
“You got a question about it?” Dillon stepped up to Von Holton, nose to nose, and very nearly put his hands on the man’s chest. “How about now? I don’t hear any laughing now.”
Jace jumped between the two men, just as one of the other jailers did, too. Gently, Jace moved Dillon backward. “If you’re going to get suspended, let it be for something not quite as . . . useless.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” Von Holton said.
“Detective Von Holton.” Major Jakob’s voice came down like a sledgehammer. “Another word and I’ll suspend you here and now.”
He grinned at her. “Yeah? Without a board of review? That’ll look good to the union.”
“You think I care about the union? I will let you know when you and Adam 1 and I will sit down and discuss this incident.”
“And I’ll bring a union rep, Major . . . so there are no misunderstandings.”
“Not a problem.”
The group stood like that for a moment, as though everyone were trying to decide if they could move on. Eventually, Dillon and Von Holton each backed away a few steps.
“I think what the sergeant meant to say,” Jace said calmly, “is that if Bobby can hear a radio, you’ve just told him we’re looking for him. If he had the murder weapon on him, he’s tossed it.”
Breathing heavily, his face as red as a sunburn blister, Dillon snarled. “Not even close to what I was saying.” His hands were still balled to fists. “If any of my people get hurt because of you . . .”
“Take a breath, Sergeant,” Von Holton said. “You guys have been talking about him over the radio for a half hour.”
“Actually,” Jakob said, “they’ve been neutral. No names, if you’ll remember.”
Breathing hard, Dillon stepped even further away from the group, his face toward the ceiling as though Bobby might somehow be hanging there. As he did, Jace’s phone rang.
“Don’t forget the lawnmowers,” Rory said.
“What? Oh, right. Good.” Jace hung up. “Sarge? The tool shed? We told him to do some maintenance on the summer tools, remember?”
“Right.” The relief was obvious in Dillon’s voice. “I forgot all about it.” He radioed control. “That’s gotta be it.”
“Unless he’s gone to ground.” Von Holton sighed. “If I screwed the pooch and he knows we’re looking for him, he may be in the wind.”
“ ‘In the wind’?” Jace asked. “How’s that possible in a jail?”
With a resigned nod, Dillon said, “It’s possible, Salome. There are more nooks and crannies in this place than I care to count. And in the old section? Forget it, he could be anywhere.”
“Not to mention the old tunnel,” Jakob said.
“Tunnel?”
“There’s a tunnel between here and the courthouse. Used to use it so inmates weren’t above ground going over. I guess there was a mass escape about a million years ago. So the tunnel got built. We haven’t used it in forever. It’s boarded up at both sides, but who knows.”
Jakob pointed back at Bobby’s cell. “Let Sergeant Bibb do his job and let’s return to ours.”
Von Holton nodded and for a split second, his face cracked and Jace saw something beneath. For just a heartbeat, his face had the same mileage that most other officers at the sheriff’s office had, rather than his infuriating ego.
Manipulating the mirror, Jace checked the underside of the toilet and bed frame and found nothing. She was both relieved and disappointed. “There’s nothing here.”
“No,” Dillon said. “Major? Detective?”
Von Holton shrugged. “He’s got it on him.” He paused. “Unless he dumped it.” He banged a fist against the cell door. “Damn it. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Jakob said. “But we’ll get it done. All right, Deputy, step out and let my lab guy spray his magic.”
Jace came out as the tech went in. He winked and began spraying around the sink and toilet. Almost immediately, the spray around the sink turned a brilliant bright blue.
“Luminol,” Jakob said to Jace’s unasked question. “Tells us if there’s been blood.”
“It’s talking pretty loud.” Von Holton nodded to the tech. “Good job.” After a second, he looked at Jace. “You, too . . . worm.”
The sink was awash in the blue chemical stain. Bobby had washed his hands or cleaned the knife and now blood residue, translated into blue smears, covered the inside of the sink and splashed to the outside of the basin. There were also tiny splashes crawling a few inches up the wall just behind the sink.
“You want to over-spray the backsplash and wall?” Jakob asked her tech.
“I think so. Just in case.”
While the tech worked, the group sweated. Dillon constantly checked his watch and tilted his head in case his shoulder mic squawked news on Bobby. Jakob stood alone, making notes on her phone while Von Holton paced. Behind the jailer’s desk, both B-shifters collected their gear slowly, their eyes never far away from Jace and the shakedown. One gave her a thumbs-up and, with a grin, she shrugged. In a few minutes, the dead shift would appear and the four would pass some information and maybe a joke or two, then the dead shift would be in charge.
The pod was absolutely silent, save for the sound of a spray bottle.
“Holy shit.”
More spraying.
“Uh . . . Major.”
More spraying.
Major Jakob stepped in. “Jesus Mother Mary.” She motioned everyone else over and for a moment, maybe the rest of her career, Jace couldn’t move. Her legs were frozen but even if they hadn’t been, her feet were concrete. Dillon and Von Holton peered inside the cell and the color drained from Dillon’s face. Von Holton stared, bug-eyed.
“Deputy,” Jakob said.
Breathing heavily, Jace dragged herself to the cell door. At that instant, between the first and second thumps of a single heartbeat, when her eyes simply couldn’t register the sheer volume of bright blue smeared across three of the cell’s four walls, Dillon’s radio crackled to life.
—control to all call: lock it down—
The alarm began shrieking and, as ever, the sound was a woman’s scream or the long, anguished wail of a Sonny Rollins tenor saxophone and Sergeant Dillon moved so slowly, his head to his shoulder mic, his eyes roving toward the pod doors.
—lock it down NOW . . . zebra four—
“Son of a bitch,” Von Holton said, his voice nearly lost in the howl of the alarm. “That fucker’s gone.”
—zebra four . . . possible escape . . . repeating: possible escape—
CHAPTER 29
Dillon’s voice cut through the explosion of noise. Into his shoulder mic he said, “ERTs station beta.”
—ERTs beta—
Kleopping confirmed Dillon’s orders. Station beta was a series of two-man posts around the jail from which ERTs could quickly respond to any place they might be needed.
East of the Sun Page 19