“No!”
“After evading the authorities for twenty-four hours you found your way to your daughter’s residence and then remained hidden until a neighbor woman showed up, who you then killed.”
“No no no no no!” CJ slammed his hands on the table. “I have killed no one!” he shouted, shaking off Gianna’s hands.
“She wasn’t even a prostitute,” Stratton continued, seeming pleased with CJ’s outburst. “She had a husband and a two-year-old son. Becoming desperate, you broke away from your MO and got sloppy, started leaving clues behind.”
By this time CJ was on his feet, waving his free arm in the air. “No! You’ve got it all wrong.”
Gianna jumped to her feet and held her arm, palm out to the agents who were moving toward him. “This interview is over.” She snagged CJ’s arm. “Clinton Joshua Washburn!” The strident use of his full name brought him around to look at her. “Sit down and shut up,” she said with a controlled, even voice.
He blinked a couple of times and then sat, dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes. He resumed his rocking.
Gianna turned to the Agents. “Out.”
“We’re not removing the cuffs this time, counselor.”
“Fine. Just go.”
After they’d left CJ said, “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, CJ. They were goading you. You didn’t say anything I wouldn’t have said, so everything is fine.”
“Do you believe me?”
“It’s not my job to believe you. It’s my job to defend you.”
He looked at her. “I know that, but do you believe me? Doesn’t it help to defend someone if you actually believe they're innocent?”
“I’ll say this once, CJ. I believe you. I’m only saying it once because I cannot get emotionally involved with your plight. I don’t believe I can adequately defend you if my judgment becomes clouded by the emotion of it all. When we get in court it is only the facts that will weigh for or against you. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”
He put his hand on hers. “Thank you. Yes, I understand. But do you understand that I can’t not get emotionally involved? This is my child and she's in danger because of me.”
She considered him for a moment. “What would you want me to do?”
“Talk to Stratton and his goons. Convince them that they have it all wrong. Talk to…” CJ leaned back and put his free hand to his forehead. “Oh, Christ. What’s happened to Dan?”
“Detective Payne?” Gianna asked.
“Yes. Do you know? The last time I saw him he was racing across the desert with a helicopter in pursuit.”
“I don’t know anything about him, but I’ll try to find out.”
“He may need an attorney as well.” He stared up at the ceiling for a time and then said, “I guess there isn’t much else you can do. Help Stella get released. Help Dan if he needs counsel. Turn Dave McDermott loose on the case if he’s able and willing. I’ll sit here on ice and hope to hell someone figures it all out.”
Chapter 34
It was forty-five minutes before Agent Stratton gave in to CJ’s request to call his daughter, by which time CJ’s blood pressure and agitation had dropped. He was in fact able to ease the stress and tension by convincing himself that as long as he was in jail, Trish was safe. The perp would have no need to go after her.
Crane escorted him to a room with a phone, handcuffed him to the table and left him alone. He dialed and waited, reversed the charges and waited some more until finally he heard her voice.
“Daddy?”
“Hi, Gumdrop.”
“Is everything okay now? Where are you?”
“I’m in Tucson. Don’t say anything about how I got here, okay? I’m sure this phone is being monitored.”
“Monitored? Where are you?”
“I turned myself in this morning. I’m in FBI and police custody.”
“Oh.”
The sound in her voice nearly broke CJ’s heart.
“But you didn’t do any of it,” she said. “Why did you give up?”
“It’s very complicated, but basically the last three women he killed were because of me. He was trying to frame me.” CJ had decided he wasn’t going to say anything about the perp’s reason for killing one of Trish’s neighbors. He didn’t want to frighten her.
“So you’re thinking he’ll stop while you’re in jail?”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence and then Trish said, “Maria Rodston lived across the street from me. Did you know that?”
CJ looked up at the ceiling. “Yes. I just found that out.”
“I knew her, Daddy. I babysat her little boy, Billy, a couple of times.”
“I’m so sorry, Trish.”
“And that’s not the worst of it.” Her voice went up an octave. “Well, maybe that is the worst of it because Maria is dead and Billy is without a mother. The other worst part is that the word is out that I’m the daughter of the Dumpster Killer!” The last two words had CJ pulling the phone away from his year. And then she yelled, “I’m like a leper now!”
CJ didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry I yelled, Dad, but this morning someone broke a jar of red paint on my car. I’m surprised it didn’t crack the windshield.”
“Oh God.”
“Oh God is right! How did you get involved in this? How did you let this happen?”
CJ couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“You still there, Dad?”
“Yes,” he said. His mouth felt like he’d fallen face-first in the Southern Arizona desert.
“Then tell me. What the hell did you do that this guy is trying to frame you?”
“Wrong place at the wrong time. Then you do believe that I didn’t do any of it?”
“Of course I believe you. I know where you were when Maria was killed. What I’m still trying to figure out is how not to blame you.”
All CJ could do was shake his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, Dad. Do the police believe that you did it?”
“It appears so. The thing is…”
“What?”
“As long as I’m in jail he likely won’t kill again.”
“That’ll just make it look like you’re guilty.”
“I know. I’ve thought of that. I just couldn’t bare hearing of another woman being found in a dumpster. This was the only way I could stop it.”
CJ heard a sigh and then some noise in the background. “Are you by yourself?”
“Dillon is here.”
“Good.”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean you hope so?”
“Well…”
“Is he not being supportive?”
“You could say that.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“At this point I’m not.”
“I don’t think you should be alone. Is there anyone you could stay with, girlfriend, neighbor, or someone who could stay with you?”
“I would have thought there was until the paint started flying, but not anymore.”
The door opened and Agent Crane stuck his head in. “Time’s up.”
“I’ve got to go,” CJ said to his daughter. “Whatever you have to do make sure you’re not alone tonight.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’m just pissed off is all. Nobody died from being pissed off.”
“Still, please find someone.”
“I will. Oh! How is Stella doing?”
“I don’t know. We both turned ourselves in. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Oh. What do they think she’s done?”
“Aiding and abetting or some such thing. They really don’t have anything to hold her on so I expect she should be out before long. I’ve hired a good lawyer for both of us. You probably remember Gianna Onassis.”
“Yeah, sort of. I never paid much attention to what you did.”
“I should have a report from
her before long that Stella has been released.”
The door opened again and Crane stepped in.
“My phone time is up. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, Daddy. I love you.”
“I love you too, Gumdrop.”
Chapter 35
It was still dark when CJ awoke with a jerk. At least it seemed like it was still dark with the subdued lights. He was sweating worse than the other half dozen times he had jerked awake from one nightmare after another. The memory of them faded fast but he was sure they all had something to do with Trish and the killer. He sat up on the edge of the cot and thought about the one dark image he was still able to hold onto this time, a killer all in black with a face he couldn’t see.
He stood, stretched and began pacing.
And then it suddenly came to him that not only was it a cop but it had to be one who not only knew him, but knew him well. How else could he get to Trish so fast? The suspect list could be narrowed very quickly. It had to be someone he had either worked with at one time or crossed paths with a number of times. Either that or this guy had a ready source of personal information about ex-police officers. It had been eight years since CJ had been on the force so any personal information would be old. Who could get a hold of Trish’s current address? What source could be tapped on a moment’s notice to find that kind of information? Trish had moved out of the dorm into that apartment less than a year ago. What CJ needed was a roster of all the past and present police officers and sheriff deputies from which he could check off names he recognized to create a new list of suspects. Bounce that against the vacation and time-off schedule, then add the FBI’s profile, which they certainly should have up and running by now, and the suspect list could be whittled down to just a handful, if that many.
But of course they wouldn’t have a profile. They think they’ve got their man in one CJ Washburn. They’re probably getting ready to go home, satisfied to turn him over to the legal system to be tried and prosecuted.
He sat down on the bunk and put his head in his hands. He had no clue where his life was going to end up. When they dumped him in the holding cell for the night he was told he would be fetched at 9:45 in the morning for his Initial Appearance before a judge. He knew that was strictly a formality, that the Preliminary Hearing before a Grand Jury would come a few days later followed by the Arraignment before the Superior Court. The later could be a month out and then another three months until the trial, and during all this time he’d be sitting in jail, stressed and depressed, unable to do anything to help himself.
And they hadn’t released Stella yet. Although he fell into another depression when he was told, Gianna assured him that she would be released after the Initial Appearance. He really wished she hadn’t turned herself in.
He lay back down on the cot and closed his eyes. There would be no more sleep, however.
CJ opened his eyes sometime later to the sound of footsteps outside his door. “Breakfast!” a voice said. With that came the sound of the pass-through opening from the jailer’s side, and then closing. “Get it while it’s hot,” the voice said and then clip-clopped away.
CJ stood and opened his side of the pass-through, pulled out the box and carried it to the cot. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and juice; a spoon made of cardboard. No coffee. He considered putting it back but realized it did no one any good if he didn’t keep his strength up. After one bite of the egg which tasted like ground up recycled wood pulp with yellow food dye, he ate only the bacon and toast and drank the juice.
He wondered what time it was.
While he sat and waited, his stomach growled. No way was he eating the egg.
CJ was still on the cot, leaning against the wall, when the cell door opened.
“Time to go,” a uniformed officer said. Another stood just outside. Together they looked like a pair of refrigerators, one black, one white. “Standup, turn around and present your wrists.”
CJ did as he was told so that the handcuffs could be applied. With that the two officers escorted him out, a big, beefy hand on each arm.
In the courtroom there were only a half dozen people plus the judge. CJ sat at the opposite end of a table from Stella, Gianna between them. All he and Stella managed to say to each other was, “Hi,” along with an exchange of assurances that each was okay.
“You don’t say anything unless asked directly by the judge,” Gianna said to him, “which he likely won’t. If he does, I’ll speak for you.”
They all stood and the judge entered, she, not he. She sat and then everyone in the room sat, except for the two officers who never took their eyes off of CJ.
“Give me a minute to read the points that have been given me,” she said. After a few minutes she looked down at the individuals seated across the aisle from Gianna and her charges. “Detective Bunko?”
Bunko stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Do you have anything to add to this, Detective?”
“No, ma’am.”
“There is nothing here as to why Ms. Summers is being held.”
“We felt that she assisted Mr. Washburn in his evasion from law enforcement, state and federal.”
“Is that all you have, Detective; a feeling? You have no evidence?”
Bunko looked around nervously, then back at the judge. “No, ma’am.”
“Detective Bunko, when we are out in public, say bowling or playing badminton for example, I’ll call you Bunko and you can call me, ma’am. In this courtroom you call me, Your Honor. Is that clear, Detective?”
Bunko’s face turned red. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge looked at Stella. “It says here that you surrendered to the police along with Mister Washburn. What compelled you to do that?”
Gianna put her hand on Stella’s arm and then stood. “Your Honor. Gianna Onassis, council for Ms. Summers and Mister Washburn. Ms. Summers had become aware that there was a bolo out on her and her car as part of the efforts by law enforcement to locate and bring into custody Clinton Washburn. He is her boss after all. It was partly through her efforts that Mister Washburn made the decision to turn himself in. Because of the bolo she felt she needed to surrender as well.”
The judge appraised Stella for a time and then said, “Cut her loose, Detective. As for Mister Washburn have him here 10:00 Monday morning for the Preliminary Hearing. No discussion.”
“Certainly, Your Honor.”
Everyone rose as the judge left the chamber. Before CJ had a chance to get words in with Stella, the beefy refrigerators had him by the arms. As they left the chamber there was a small swarm of people with microphones and cameras suddenly shouting his name, followed by a barrage of questions. CJ was very appreciative of the two massive officers mowing people to the side. Just as they reached the door where the reporters couldn’t go, CJ twisted to look over his shoulder. Between heads and cameras he was able to see Gianna and Stella attempting to make their escape out the other end of the hall. Surprising the two officers he held his ground for a few seconds, attempting to turn as if to make a statement.
Just as the two ladies disappeared from view, the officers gave him a hard jerk. “Don’t go and do something stupid, Washburn,” the white one said.
“Have a nice day,” CJ called to the crowd and for a second lost contact with the floor. The door slammed closed behind them and he regained his feet. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Just thank you. You guys are doing a great job. When I start my own police force I expect to see your resumes.”
“Why do we always get the comedians?” the black one said, and then all went silent.
Chapter 36
The weekend was the longest in CJ’s entire life. He was allowed a phone call twice and in both cases was not able to raise anybody, not Stella, not Trish, not Gianna, not even his ex-wife. Why he thought to call her he had no idea; maybe to ensure himself that Trish was okay, that maybe Pat had talked to her.
Sunday night, an hour or so afte
r the box of crap they called food came and went, CJ was in the middle of a tattered Clive Cussler novel when two officers, not the beefy refrigerator types, fetched him to an interrogation room. They left him alone, as before, handcuffed to the table. After a half hour of waiting CJ began wishing he’d brought the novel with him. He was halfway through a Dirk Pitt adventure for the second time, liking it even less than the first time. He wondered if Cussler actually made a living writing the stuff. At least it helped the time pass, though.
He had just laid his head on the table when both FBI agents came in. Stratton sat while Crane remained standing. Crane looked nervous. Stratton clasped his hands together and cleared his throat.
“What?” CJ asked, more of a demand than a question.
“It seems that we have lost your daughter.”
CJ came straight up in his chair, blinked a couple times and said, “Trish? What do you mean you lost her?”
“We had the city police keeping an eye on her, just in case your claims were right. She disappeared.”
“Just in case my claims were right!” He burst to his feet. The chair slammed over backwards as he jerked to the end of the handcuffs, knocking him off balance. He caught himself on the edge of the table and leaned forward into Stratton’s face. “Damn straight my claims were right and I asked you to protect her. Seems like a simple thing, don’t you think?”
Stratton hadn’t moved. He put out his hand. “Settle down Mister Washburn. She knew they were keeping an eye on her and she likely just gave them the slip, figuring they were invading her privacy. She’s just a kid after all. Probably doesn’t know the seriousness of the situation.”
“She’s not a damn kid!” He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. “She 21 years old and there’s a damn killer out there who wouldn’t blink an eye at killing her. And she knows the situation because I talked to her Friday night. She was angry and scared.”
“Sit down,” Stratton said, a firm edge to his voice.
CJ glared at him and then wrestled the chair upright with his free hand and sat, still breathing hard.
Deserving of Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 1) Page 15