by Sharon Sala
Mike glanced at Kenny. “I told you this one would be the dumb one. You owe me five bucks.”
Rage spread across Marlin’s face. “I ain’t dumb.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Mike said. “I’m standing here telling you we found your fingerprints inside the car of a murdered man and all you decide to do is clam up.”
Like J.T., the word murder sent Marlin into a tailspin.
“What the hell you talkin’ about, man? We didn’t murder no one. We just took the car. I swear!”
“Oh, so you did take the car?”
“Yes. Hell yes, we took the car but we didn’t kill no one.”
Mike shook his head. “That’s not what your friend, J.T. is telling us. He’s pointing the finger at you as the one who pulled the trigger. But why did you do it? Did the man come at you? Were you scared? Did he come at you and you two panicked? Is that how it went down?”
Sweat began running out of Marlin’s hairline, down the back of his neck and into his eyes. He swiped at the sweat with the back of his hand as the tone of his voice rose an octave.
“No, sir. No way. We didn’t see no guy. We didn’t shoot no one.”
Mike kept pushing. “And yet your fingerprints are in his car.”
Marlin started to cry. “Me and J.T. were under the bridge smoking pot, man. Mindin’ our own damn business and smokin’ a little weed. That’s all. I swear.”
Now Marlin was wiping away sweat and tears. The only thing left was for Kenny to draw a little blood to go with it.
“No! That’s not all,” he shouted. “You killed a man just so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain!”
Marlin started to sob. “No, no, that’s not how it went down!”
Mike’s heart skipped a beat. Here it comes, he thought.
“Then how did it go down?” Kenny said.
“We was smoking weed like I said. It started to rain but we thought we’d just wait it out under the bridge. Then the storm got worse and we figured we was just gonna have to get wet to get home. It was thunderin’ and lightnin’ and the wind was blowin’ something fierce. I told J.T. we was gonna get struck by lightnin’ but he said it was either take our chances with the storm or drown in the river so we come up out from under the bridge.”
Kenny tapped the table. “And that’s when you saw the man sitting in his car, right?”
Marlin was shaking his head so hard he was slinging sweat across the table.
“No, no. I keep tellin’ you. We didn’t see no man. We was comin’ up the slope when some crazy old homeless guy come runnin’ through the rain tellin’ us to run, that the devil was comin, that he was on the bridge and we were gonna die.”
Kenny blinked.
Mike took a deep breath. Okay. It wasn’t the confession he’d expected.
“So now you’re claiming a homeless guy was the killer?”
“No, man, no. I’m sayin’ we didn’t see nobody die and we damn sure didn’t see no body layin’ around. Just that homeless guy wavin’ his arms and yellin like a mad man.”
Mike suddenly flashed on Prophet Jones coming out of nowhere on the bridge the day of the downpour and how he’d nearly run him down. He’d been yelling something about the devil, too. What the hell?
“That doesn’t explain your fingerprints,” Mike said.
Marlin yanked at the handcuff around his wrist in frustration. “The crazy man scared us. We was runnin’ away when we saw that car. The door was open, the engine was runnin’ and nobody in sight. We jumped in and drove away, then left it at that all-night gas station. We didn’t steal it, man. We just borrowed it to get away from that crazy man.” The kid shuddered, as if a huge weight had just lifted off his chest. “And that’s the truth, so help me God.”
“So, the fact that J.T. fingered you as the shooter doesn’t change your story?” Mike asked.
“You’re lyin’,” Marlin shouted. “J.T. wouldn’t say that cause it didn’t happen. I’m done talkin’. If you’re gonna accuse me of murder, I want a lawyer.”
Chapter Eight
They headed back to the interrogation room where they’d left J.T. stewing, and paused at the window to look in. The kid was laying across the table with his buried his head in the crook of his arm. His shoulders were shaking.
“Looks like this one’s bawling, too,” Kenny said. “What do you make of all this?”
“I want to hear the last half of his story again before I make a call,” Mike said. “He didn’t mention anything about a homeless man before.”
Walker’s head came up as the door opened. When he saw the cops, he began swiping the tears off his face.
Mike sat and leaned back in the chair, balancing it on the back two legs as he eyed the teenager.
“You boys didn’t get your stories straight. Marlin’s got a different story to tell.”
“Like how?” J.T. cried. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“Then tell me again,” Mike said. “You were under the bridge smoking weed and it started to rain, right?”
The kid nodded. “Yeah, yeah, man. That’s right. Smokin’ weed. It started to rain. We thought we’d wait it out but it just kept getting worse. Thunder was so bad sometimes it would thunder one right after the other... and lightning was bad, man, and the water was rising.”
“Thunder doesn’t come in multiple rumbles. It thunders. Then it will lightning. But thunder doesn’t go boom boom boom boom,” Kenny said.
“Well it fuckin’ did. It thundered three times in a row cause I heard it,” J.T. said.
His hand was shaking as he reached up and scratched his head. The blue Mohawk was so weighed down with hair gel that it all moved in one piece.
Mike struggled with the urge to lean back, hoping there weren’t any lice in it, too. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to delouse an interrogation room but it always gave him the creeps for days afterward.
“We won’t quibble about the thunder,” Mike said. “So the water was rising. Then what?”
“So we ran out from under the bridge toward the river bank. The lightning was striking all around us and I thought we’d get hit and-” J.T. paused. “Oh hey, wait. I almost forgot about that crazy man.”
“What crazy man,” Mike asked.
“You know, that old homeless guy. Sometimes he preaches in the park. I think they call him Preacher or something like that.”
“Are you talking about Prophet Jones?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, yeah, Prophet. That’s the one.”
“So you saw Prophet. So what does he have to do with you boys killing a man and stealing his car?”
Mike saw J.T.’s eyes begin to water. He was scared and that was good. Scared meant he still wanted to talk his way out of it. When they got pissed or knew they were caught, that’s when they lawyered up.
“We didn’t kill no one,” J.T. cried. “That crazy man was shouting at us, telling us the devil was on the bridge or something like that. He was yelling ‘run, run, run,” and so we did. We came up on that car and just like I told you before, it was abandoned. The door was open with the keys in the ignition and the engine running. We just got in and drove away.”
Mike kept a hard edge in his voice as he fired back at the kid. “You’ve told us two different stories now. The first one didn’t have a homeless man in it. Now this one does. What’s the truth?”
J.T. hit the table with his fist. “I didn’t lie. I just forgot about him the first time. It’s all still the same story. We didn’t kill anyone and we didn’t really steal a car. It was abandoned and we needed to get out of that storm.”
Kenny glanced at Mike and then nodded.
Mike stood.
“So do you believe me? Are you gonna let us go?” J.T. asked.
“Oh hell no,” Kenny said. “Your fingerprints were inside a dead man’s car. You’re going to jail, and unless someone tells us otherwise, you and your buddy are going to be charged with theft and murder. Sit tight. There’s an officer
coming to take you to booking, after which he will show you to the jail cell of his choice. You have a nice day.”
J.T. Walker was too shocked to move. He was still staring at the mirror when Mike and Kenny passed by outside the interrogation room.
“What do you think now?” Kenny asked.
“I think we need to find Prophet Jones,” Mike said.
Kenny frowned. “You can’t take anything he says as fact. He’s crazy, man.”
“Still, if he saw something no one else saw, it might point us in another direction,” Mike said.
“You don’t think those boys are guilty, do you?” Kenny asked.
Mike shrugged.
Kenny sighed. “I thought I taught you better than that.”
“My instincts tell me to keep looking, that’s all, and I don’t ignore my instincts.”
“So where are we gonna find a crazy homeless man?” Kenny muttered.
“On the streets,” Mike said. “We’ll put out a BOLO. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will spot him and bring him in, which means he won’t be transported in our car. He smells to high heaven, not to mention the fleas and lice.”
Kenny shuddered. “Shit. I wasn’t thinking of that.”
“I always think of that,” Mike said. “It’s a holdover from when I was a little kid in grade school. I got lice in my hair in second grade because the kid who hung his coat next to mine had them. My Mom shaved my head and the crap she put on me to kill all the nits and eggs was something I’ll never forget.”
Kenny laughed. “Gives new meaning to the word, egghead, doesn’t it?”
Mike jabbed Kenny’s arm. “Very funny. So let’s go find us a prophet. I have a sudden need to hear God’s truth.”
****
Caulfield Industries was unusually calm. One of Justin’s afternoon appointments had cancelled and he found himself with a couple of hours to spare. His first thought was to go see Callie, but when he called the room to check in with his mother, he found out Callie was in x-ray, which meant even if he went, he’d spend more time waiting in her room for her to come back, than actually getting to see her, so he decided to wait until later. Still, the idea of getting out of the office was too enticing to dismiss. On impulse, he buzzed his secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Caulfield?”
“Frances, I’m going to be gone for awhile. What do I have on the calendar for later this afternoon?”
“A conference call was tentatively scheduled for 4:15 but we never got confirmation.”
Justin glanced down at the list on his desk, and noted he had one last issue pending.
“Did you get through to the company lawyer about confirming Jessup Sadler’s retirement?”
“Yes sir. He said he’d contact the family on your behalf, let them know that the pension will begin immediately, that any extra medical expenses for Mrs. Sadler not covered by the insurance will be picked up by the company, and that the company will be paying for Mr. Sadler’s funeral services, as well.”
Justin glanced up and then out the window toward the river, then looked away.
“That’s perfect. Thank you, Frances. If there’s nothing else pressing, I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off. It will give me some extra time with Callie.”
“Yes sir. I’ll call the necessary parties and make sure they know you’re unavailable in case they were still trying to pull it off.”
“Thank you, Frances. Have a nice evening.”
“You too, Mr. Caulfield, and give Callie my best.”
“I’ll do that,” Justin said.
He hung up the phone, grabbed the morning paper he had yet to read, and headed down to the parking lot with a bounce in his step. It felt a little like skipping school, but Justin was in the mood for rebellion. He’d missed lunch thinking he would be in that meeting and was in the mood for something good. He thought of The Depot’s famous chicken and dumplings and made a quick turn at the corner and headed downtown.
****
Vic Payton was having a rough day. His fiancé called constantly demanding his undivided attention, while his boss/future father-in-law was riding him about rising costs and leaner profit. Vic was up to his eyeballs in paperwork trying to trace the cause. He couldn’t remember any of their suppliers upping costs on anything specific, so it had to be on the customer side. The lady who did their books was off this afternoon and Vic wasn’t the best when it came to numbers, but he was quickly learning that headaches like this were just part of the new job description.
When his phone rang again, he almost let it go to voice mail then saw it was from Michelle again, cursed aloud, then took a deep breath and answered.
“Hi honey, what’s up?”
“Tony and Myra want us to go with them tonight to that new place out on highway 10.”
Vic frowned. “Are you talking about The Blue Duck?”
She giggled. “Yes, that’s the one. Isn’t that the funniest name? But I hear the food is amazing and I want to go.”
The whine in her voice cut straight to his bones. If she’d been standing in front of him, it would have taken everything he had not to slap her silly.
“I can’t baby, I have to work until close tonight.”
“No Vic. I’ll talk to Daddy. He won’t-“
“You do not talk to Daddy,” Vic said shortly. “This is my job. I don’t own this place. Your father does. If I don’t do my job well, he won’t be happy with me. Do you want him to be pissed at me, or what?”
“But Vic, I want to go so bad and Tony and Myra are so much fun. Why can’t you be more like Tony?”
It was the worst thing she could have said and he reacted without thought – spitting out words in short angry bursts.
“Because I was born in Coal Town and Tony was born on the other side of the bridge, that’s why. His daddy owns two blocks worth of businesses in downtown Caulfield. My daddy died in a mine when I was eleven. If you don’t like who you got engaged to, all you have to do is say so. I got pride, Michelle. I worked hard to get where I am and I’m not gonna piss it away.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Vic couldn’t believe he’d just said what he’d said, then realized he wouldn’t take one bit of it back. And since she decided not to comment, he finished up with condescending permission she wouldn’t like.
“If you want to go with Tony and Myra, you have my blessing. Tell them I said hello. I have a problem here that your father wants resolved and I need to get back to work. Talk to you later... or not. It’s your call.”
The moment he hung up, he groaned. God. What the fuck was he thinking? If Michelle gave back his ring, would her old man fire him? Fucking hell, why couldn’t Poppy Sadler have given him the time of day? She was the woman he’d wanted, but when she hadn’t been interested, he’d dropped his pursuit. She seemed satisfied with her lot in life and he wanted to be a mover and a shaker like Michelle’s old man. So he’d sold his soul to the devil’s daughter and now he was paying out the ass for someone he no longer wanted.
He frowned at the stack of invoices and in a fit of disgust pushed away from the desk. He wasn’t a damn bookkeeper. He belonged out front, mingling with the customers, and that’s where he was going.
Moments later he was back on the floor, weaving his way through the tables, eyeing what needed busing and how the plates looked as they came out of the kitchen. That’s what he knew. It’s what he did best. When he saw Justin Caulfield coming in, he moved past the hostess, grabbed a menu and greeted him personally.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Caulfield. Are you meeting anyone, or dining alone?”
“Alone,” Justin said. “And somewhere near the windows, please.”
Vic smiled. “Certainly sir! Right this way!” and seated Justin at a table for two with a window view.
“Perfect,” Justin said. He laid his unread newspaper on the table, took the menu Vic offered, then looked up, scanning the room.
Vic caught the move. “Are you looking for someone in particul
ar, sir?”
“Yes. I like that young waitress who works your day shift. You know... the tall slender one with dark hair, but I don’t see her.”
Vic fidgeted nervously. He hated to disappoint a man of Caulfield’s stature.
“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s off for a few days. She had a death in her family. Two actually. It’s quite the tragedy.”
Justin frowned. “That’s too bad, but now that I think of it, I don’t think I ever knew her name.”
“Her name is Poppy Sadler. Her father was the man who was murdered just yesterday. The one they found in the river.”
Justin frowned. “How unfortunate. Yes, that is a tragedy.”
“But not the entire story,” Vic said. “Her mother died of cancer the same morning her father’s body was found. But I’m sure that’s more dismal news than you care to hear. I’ll send Jewel right over. She’ll take good care of you and enjoy your meal.”
“Fine. Thank you,” Justin said, and then reached for the paper. Curious, he opened it to the obituaries and then began to scan the page, looking for a Sadler obit then found it.
Helen “Sunny” Roberts Sadler – born July 4th, 1962 – deceased September 12th, 2011.
Justin read the name, and then read it again. Sunny Roberts. He read the entire obituary three times, folded up the newspaper and set it aside.
The waitress appeared with water, coffee and a menu. He ordered the chicken and dumplings he’d come for and then reached for the sugar as she walked away, only to realize his hands were shaking.
****
It was nearly 4:15 when Poppy got home. She was exhausted both physically and mentally, and walking into a warm house filled with enticing smells and a half-dozen pots of colorful chrysanthemums was a welcome she hadn’t expected.
Gladys came out of the kitchen wearing one of her mama’s aprons and for a moment Poppy couldn’t think what to say beyond ‘take that off’. Thankfully she refrained and handed Gladys the keys to her car.