Here Comes the Night

by Linda McDonald

  “We bond you out downstairs.”

  “Mrs. Wesner will be there?” Buck tried to sound casual.

  “Yes, since time is of the essence,” Hackman explained.

  Hackman said, “You are alright with that, I assume. The bank putting up bail for you?”

  Buck looked at him, wondering if he had any idea what was going on. “I just feel bad, her coming down here when her husband just died.”

  “I know. I hated to ask, but she didn’t have a problem with it when I called.” Hackman offered.

  “I’m grateful for it,” Buck said. If only there would be some small chance to talk to her for a moment. Nothing seemed more important.

  Chapter 80

  Angie understood it was no time to lose their heads. She would drop off the money to Buck’s lawyer and get out of there. She did not know him at all, but he was with Indigo’s firm, so she had to be cautious. Under no circumstances could she give him any reason to second guess what was going on.

  Then she would head to the O.K. Corral and wrangle an address or phone number for this waitress. After that, she would drop Gordon’s jewelry and clothes off at the funeral home. She had an agenda firmly in her head. So when Angie ran into the waitress right inside the Police Station entrance, it threw her for a loop. All she could do was stare dumbfounded.

  When Erika looked up and saw her, she was speechless as well. After a moment, she said, “Mrs. Wesner? What are you doing at the police station?”

  Angie looked around and didn’t see anyone paying them any attention. She went over and sat beside her. “Actually, this is quite a coincidence. I was here on some other business, but I was going to try to find you later.”

  “Me? Why?” Erika looked puzzled.

  Angie wanted to confront her right then and there, but the room was too public, especially if the girl should balk at being called out on what happened. “I just had a couple of questions about the cameo, that’s all. No big deal.” Angie looked at her watch in frustration. “Listen, I have to take care of this other thing right away, but could I come back in a few minutes so we can talk? It’s very important.”

  Erika didn’t look too sure. “I guess so, but I’m waiting for the detectives now.”

  “Detectives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they call you in?” Angie asked.

  “Not exactly. I just need to talk to them.” She ducked her eyes toward the floor.

  Angie felt a moment of panic. “When are they supposed to be here?”

  “I don’t know. Not too long, they said.”

  “Listen, I won’t be but a minute,” Angie said, getting up. “Wait for me?”

  Erika still looked unsure. “Sure, but if they come…”

  “Please, I‘ll be right back, okay?”

  The girl nodded. “Unless they show up.”

  “I know, I know. Thank you,” Angie said. Then she hurried to the reception desk and asked where to go to post bail.

  A few minutes later she was at the right window, but they didn’t seem to know what had happened yet with the hearing. Just as she turned away in frustration, a handsome black man hurried up to her.

  “Mrs. Wesner?” he said.

  “Yes?”

  He seemed relieved. “I’m Terrence Hackman.” They shook hands and he ushered her over to a bolted down set of plastic-formed chairs. “Thank you so much for doing this. I know Mr. Dearmore is profoundly grateful.”

  Angie was looking around to see if Buck was in the vicinity. “Where is he?”

  “He’s still in holding. We’re just waiting for the paperwork to be faxed over and then we can bond him out.”

  “So they are letting him go?”

  “Oh yes,” Hackman assured her. “The judge was very understanding.”

  “How much do you need?” Angie asked, fumbling for her purse.

  Hackman lowered his voice. “Fifty thousand cash.”

  “I’ve got it,” Angie assured him.

  “Just leave it in your purse for now. As soon as they get the court order, you’ll have to identify yourself and sign some forms. That way you’ll be the one to get it back. It should be just a few minutes for them to fax it down.”

  Angie sat, her hands on her purse clasp. “How is Mr. Dearmore?”

  “Frankly? Not well. He was badly beaten by those thugs. They cut off his pinkie finger.”

  “What?” Angie felt her knees go weak. She had seen his swollen face earlier in the hall, but had no idea about the finger.

  Hackman looked concerned. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

  Angie pulled herself together and nodded.

  “I’m sorry. You’ve had so many shocks this morning.”

  “It’s alright.”

  “We’ll be out of your hair in just a minute. I’m planning to take Mr. Dearmore directly to a doctor from here, just to make sure he’s receiving the best care.”

  “Yes,” she managed. “Good idea.”

  At that moment a large woman behind the window called out, “Terrence Hackman?”

  “Yes, right here,” Hackman said and hurried to the window. After a few moments, he signaled Angie to join him. Within five minutes, the bond was posted.

  “How long will it take now?” Angie asked Hackman.

  The clerk answered for him. “About five or ten minutes. You can wait over there.”

  After they sat back down, Hackman said, “If you need to go on, please do.”

  Everything in Angie knew to go. But she couldn’t make her feet or body move. She had to see him. Even if she couldn’t touch him, she had to be in the same space as him. Finally, she told Hackman, “As long as I’m here, I can tell him how sorry I am about all his troubles.”

  Hackman nodded and seemed appreciative. “I’m sure that will mean a lot to him.”

  Every minute then seemed like an hour. Hackman inquired about Gordon’s services and they made small talk about the arrangements.

  Then there he came, out of a door with a guard guiding him to the check out desk. Angie watched as he waited, head down, for his things they’d taken when they brought him in. His billfold, his key chain. He looked up and saw Hackman and nodded.

  Angie studied Buck, searching for any sign, clues, as to how he was holding up. His face was sickly pale except for the discolorations, and one eye was almost swollen shut. The bandaged hand was stained with blood where his pinkie used to be.

  Hackman waited for him and whispered a greeting when they finally cut his nylon flex-ties and released him. Buck’s face registered relief when he moved to the other side of the counter. Hackman gestured toward Angie.

  Buck’s face colored for a moment when he saw her, then looked down. Angie couldn’t hear what Hackman was saying to Buck, but figured it was about her posting bond for him.

  Buck glanced at her again, seemed unsure of himself, then walked toward her. His voice sounded oddly formal. “I appreciate the bank helping me out, Mrs. Wesner, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Angie touched his hand without the thick bandage, like a condolence gesture. “Thank you, Mr. Dearmore. I’m so sorry about what all has happened to you, too.”

  Their eyes met, holding it in check. The space of inches between them might as well have been miles. Finally, he said, “Thanks. It’s been a rough night all around.”

  At that moment, the bond clerk called Hackman back over for something else to sign, and they had a moment together.

  “You shouldn’t be posting bond,” Buck whispered.

  “It’s in the bank’s name,” she said. “Since Gordon couldn’t arrange for it.”

  “What’s going on?” he murmured.

  “Nobody knows. What happened yesterday?”

  “They grabbed me.”

  “Who?” Then Angie’s face changed as she saw Hackman moving toward them.

  “Okay, we’re set,” Hackman said, looking at them, sensing he’d missed something. “There’s always one more form, it seems like.”


  Angie kept it casual. “So you’re headed out to see the doctor?”

  Hackman looked at Buck. “It’s up to you, Buck. I’m going to insist you get checked out, but you may need to eat something first. How long’s it been?”

  Buck shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

  “That’s what I thought. Tell you what. We’ll have some food brought in to my office, I’ll have the doctor meet us there. Then you can rest there, or I can take you back to your apartment. But I want you checked out. And then after you’ve rested, we’ll put our heads together, alright?”

  They all said goodbyes like casual acquaintances, although Angie was having a hard time holding it in. The sight of Buck, hurt and lost, was too much.

  As Hackman and Buck turned and walked away, everything flooded in. Tears streamed down her face as she watched them walk away.

  “Mrs. Wesner?” Somebody from behind the desk was saying her name.

  Angie blinked, then turned, mouth open, barely holding back a sob.

  James Edgars stood there at the clerk’s window, studying her face with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

  She just stood there, caught, pinned in a unforgiving spotlight.

  Edgars frowned, then glanced down the hall where she’d been looking and saw Buck and Hackman leaving. He looked back at her, his eyes widening. The detective didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

  When Angie could finally make her body move, she hurried away. She didn’t trust herself to speak to him. Edgars would have picked up on the slightest vibe, like a parent who knows his child all too well.

  She was still scolding herself as she arrived back in the front area. With a quick sweep Angie realized the bench where Erika had been sitting was empty. It was a body blow. She practically ran out the front door of the Police Station.

  By the time Angie had made it out to the BMW in the parking lot, she had already lost it. Nothing she did seemed to help. She was just a cog in a game machine, getting thumped every round, no matter what. She got in and inserted the key, but before she could start the engine, she began slamming the steering wheel with her fists. Banging until it shook.

  Furious, starting to bawl, she turned the key over and roared out of the lot.

  The first exit onto the Interstate she could find was Western, so she took it and found herself on I-40 speeding west. Along the highway the air was choked with the odors of oily asphalt and burned up machines. She could smell it even with the vents closed.

  Usually, when she was this distraught, she would go running. Pull on her jogging shoes and sweats and head for a nearby park. But that wouldn’t be fast enough today. She needed to blow something away.

  The BMW warmed up to the task with an easy hum. It was always ready. By the time Angie whizzed past the fairgrounds, the BMW was purring at 85. And she was just getting started.

  Angie didn’t plan to stop until she scared herself to death.

  Chapter 81

  Erika was surprised but relieved when the old rumpled detective she had served the BLT to earlier, showed up to lead her to an interview room. He remembered her from the O.K. Corral, too, it turned out, and now seemed to know exactly who she was: Tony Bonner’s girlfriend.

  He didn’t wait for the official session to begin before he started talking. “Tony used your apartment address as his place of residence when he did his intake with the Parole Officer,” the detective explained as he set up a digital recorder. “Do you know where he is now?”

  “No, he was at my place earlier, but I had to leave for work.”

  “Yeah, we went by there to try to find him.”

  “Really.” That probably meant he had gotten all his stuff and left, but she doubted it. She couldn’t tell if the detective already knew Tony had stolen the Mustang last night, or if his questions were about some other infraction. God knows Tony had broken plenty of parole restrictions.

  She figured he would get on a bus and head anywhere out of state, because if they found him, she didn’t think he’d ever see the outside of prison again. As disgusted as she was with him, that thought choked her up. She couldn’t help it.

  It surprised Erika how much she still cared about what happened to Tony, even after all the crap he’d pulled. He might seem like an awful person to most people, but she had been with him a number of times when he had been able to let go of some of his rage and defensiveness. What had been left was a lost little boy inside, his sweetness stripped away.

  Horse went to the door and looked up and down the hall. “My partner seems to be held up, but since we’re recording, we can go ahead and start with your statement, if that’s alright?” Horse said.

  “Fine,” Erika replied, ready to do it.

  Horse recorded the date, time, and their names into the machine, then began. “You told the officer at the desk that you were present at the accident last night involving Buck Dearmore’s Mustang and Miss Candy Myers?”

  “I was riding in the Mustang,” Erika began, but Horse held up his hands in a stop right there motion.

  “Okay, before we go any farther, I need to read you your rights,” he said.

  She noticed his face had flushed with excitement.

  “Oh, well, yes, I guess so.”

  Horse’s partner, a cowboy named Edgars, came in a few minutes later. Over the next hour their questions left her feeling like a plucked chicken.

  As soon as they had gone over every excruciating detail, they would take a breath and start all over again. It seemed painful enough to recount it once, but the detectives remained kind but relentless, plying her with sodas as they went over it just one more time.

  It wore her down to look at the depth of Tony’s cruelty. Erika could own up to her own part. Nobody had made her climb into the Mustang for a joy ride, and, if she had only fought harder, maybe she could have somehow gotten out of the car after the accident to try to help. But remembering how Tony abandoned her to Vivian and her husband, then later bolted from the horrific accident, hardened her against him more each time she remembered it.

  That’s where they were in the interview, the third time around. “I don’t get it,” the young cowboy detective said. “Why do you think he’d just leave you with a strange couple like that?”

  This time her answer surprised even her. “I don’t know, but I would guess now that maybe the lawyer guy must have given Tony money? When I went to the store with his wife?” It was the only scenario that made sense.

  “Why would you think that?” the older detective asked.

  “Because there always has to be something in it for Tony,” she said wearily.

  “But you can’t remember their names? The folks in the R.V.?” Edgars looked dubious.

  “Hers was Vivian. That’s all I remember.” Erika described the motor home again, but they still looked at her like she was holding something back.

  “And he was a lawyer?” Horse asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Any reason to think he was lying?” Edgars asked.

  “Well,” Erika sighed, “everything Tony told him was a lie. Maybe it was the same vice-versa.”

  There was one of those silences where they wait for more.

  “He didn’t seem shifty like that,” she finally said, “but then look what they did to me.”

  After working through the narrative again, they segued back to what they were really after. “Miss Newton,” the cowboy really pressing her now, “you must have some idea of where Tony went. He comes in, he leaves your place after a fight. You see how convenient that is to your story?”

  “It’s not a story.” Her teeth were gritted. “It’s the truth. And what’s convenient about getting my place tossed and all my money stolen?”

  “We’re not talking about robbery here. Frankly, we’ve got bigger rats to kill,” Edgars replied. “We’re working a possible murder case. Here’s our dilemma, see? Somebody tells us about a crime they saw. They were there at the scene, they say, but did
n’t take part in it, just saw it. Great. But then they can’t deliver.”

  Erika was not staying with this line of thought. “What are you driving at?”

  Edgars leaned closer in to her. “They make the accusation but then they can’t take us to the actual suspect. What does that say? I’m talking about the person you’re implicating being conveniently out of reach. What would Tony tell us if he was here? That you were in on the whole thing with him? Maybe, but he’s not here, and that’s what we mean by convenient for you—because we can’t ask him these same questions.”

  Erika sat there, shaking her head. “Is that how you see everyone? Geez. You know who else thinks like that? Tony.”

  Both the detectives were silent for a moment. Then the old one shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little. “She’s got a point,” he said to his cowboy partner.

  “I’ll tell you how you get like this.” The cowboy, undaunted, but with a little grin on his face, looked close at Erika.

  “The other day I was in an adult shop talking to the owner about another case, and I noticed a sign on his counter advertising ‘Plastic Turds’ for sale. ‘Just in,’ the sign says. And I asked him, ‘Buddy, why are you ordering plastic shit?’ And you know what he told me? He says, ‘Because the Plastic Vomit sold so well.’”

  Erika laughed in spite of herself. The air in the room seemed to fall back into place. She might meet “the public” every day, waiting tables, she realized, but these poor guys, they had to climb into humanity’s armpits every shift.

  “Okay,” she said, “I get it. All I know is I came in here today to take care of my own conscience, not to get Tony into trouble. That’s it.”

  “You know what,” the older detective, leaning in to her. “I believe you, Miss Newton. But you’re going to have to bear with us here. There’s a lot to check out about what you’ve told us. We going to need to hold you for a bit.”

  “You’re arresting me then.” Erika had steeled herself for this.

  “Actually, we’ll be holding you as a material witness,” the cowboy assured her. “Just until we’re sure you’re safe. For all we know, Tony might want to shut you up. What if he’s looking for you right now? We can’t risk that.”