The front desk was unoccupied as I slid past it and reached for the double doors of the cafeteria. A moment before my hand got there they burst open, a very startled Watts standing on the other side.
Her phone was in her left hand, a coffee cup in her right. A stream of brown liquid ran over the back of her thumb and dripped to the floor, the consequence of running into me unexpectedly.
"Sorry," I mumbled, standing to the side for her to pass.
"Never mind that," she hissed, motioning for me to follow her. She pressed the phone tighter to her head and said, "No, that wasn't for you. Haul his ass to the station right now. Nobody talks to him until I get there!"
Adrenaline surged through my temples, doing a far better job of getting me going than any coffee on the planet could have. I took three quick jog steps to draw even with her and matched her pace back out into the cool night air. A hundred questions pulsed through my mind, all of them waiting for her to get off the phone so they could pour forth.
They never got the chance.
Watts snapped her phone shut without signing off and tossed her coffee into a trash can as we stomped by. Her face was grim and her eyes locked on the front row of cars ahead of us.
"This time we're taking my car," was all she said.
Chapter Nineteen
"There's a flasher on the floor behind your seat. Grab it," Watts said. It was definitely an order. There was no wiggle room on her intent. This was a good thing, we were finally getting somewhere. Movement was back afoot.
I rotated in my seat and fished the hard plastic light up off the floorboard, throwing aside a mountain of empty coffee cups. They fell away without objection as I lifted it free, landing with the sound of empty cardboard rolling around. Swinging back to face forward, I ran my sleeve over the clear plastic to wipe away a few errant streams of liquid and flipped the switch on the base of it, filling the car with a pulsating blue and red strobe.
Watts operated my window from her door, lowering it as a blast of cool night air flooded in. I ran a hand over the suction cup along the bottom of it before jamming it down against the hood. It was probably done harder than it needed to be, but I wasn't taking a chance at it flying off behind us.
As we were climbing into the car, Watts told me that the call had just come in that her men grabbed someone trying to sneak into the parking lot. He was a young male, alone, and put up only a token flight attempt before being arrested. Both he and the money were waiting at the police station for us to arrive.
Well, for Watts to arrive. I don't think my presence mattered much to anybody. She only invited me because I almost ran her over going to the cafeteria.
Watts angled her BMW 3-Series through the empty streets on the west side of Columbus. The strobe light allowed us to pass through every stop sign and traffic light unabated, though it wouldn't have mattered. At this time of night, there wasn't a soul around to stop us anyway. Her tires screeched in protest every time she made a turn, the car traveling at a rate of speed far exceeding safe maneuvering within city limits.
Neither one of us cared.
The Hilliard branch of the Columbus Police Department sat in an enormous brick building on the corner of Moore and Whittier Streets. First a school house, it had been converted years before when the department grew too large to be housed entirely downtown. The building still contained the red brick façade and evenly spaced windows, but that was about all of the school that remained. The entire front lawn had been converted into a parking lot and an enormous flag pole sat in the middle of it. A concrete retaining wall encircled the pole, a thick tangle of flowers within.
Several lights burned bright from the building as we approached. A large church and a bank stood on either side of it, both dark. A handful of police cruisers filled a quarter of the parking lot, all of them aligned in a haphazard row oblivious to the stalls painted on the ground.
Watts joined the club by slamming the BMW to a stop diagonally across two handicapped stalls. She ripped the keys from the ignition and we both hopped out, the flasher still going strong atop the car.
Neither one of us even gave it a second glance as we headed inside.
I let Watts pull a half step ahead of me as we entered the building, both as a sign of deference and so she could lead the way. She took me straight past an unmanned desk and used her key fob to get us through a glass door crisscrossed with chicken wire. Not once did she glance back to make sure I was still with her or pause to ensure I followed. It would have been a waste of effort if she did. I had to will myself to slow down and not fly right past her.
Behind the door a hallway led us straight back through a row of identical offices, each one with a name and rank stenciled on the window. I noticed Watts's as we walked past, three down from the Branch Chief. Not the top dog, but she definitely had some clout.
At the end of the hallway we hooked a hard right and went past a row of holding cells. All three were empty, as was the guard desk that sat overlooking them. My guess is whoever was assigned to it was down watching the festivities along with the guy from the front door.
Watts continued to stomp straight ahead, her gait and face both urgent. She keyed us through another door just past the holding cells and into a small hallway, this one alive with voices. We walked forward a few more steps and circled into a viewing room housing every single officer I'd seen in the cafeteria a couple of hours earlier. In addition there were a couple of new faces in the crowd, no doubt the guys from the vacant desks.
Probably the most action they'd seen around there in a long time. Had to be more interesting than putting up with drunks like most Saturday nights.
A few of them gave me sideways looks as I entered behind Watts, stopping just inside the door. Their gazes lingered for a moment as she took center stage in the room, reverting to her the moment she began to speak.
"Alright, give me everything we've got," she said. She stood with her hands on her hips as she addressed them, her suit jacket bunched behind her wrists. Her left leg jutted out to the side and she scanned the room, entreating someone to speak.
A middle aged cop with bright orange hair and a healthy smattering of freckles took a half step forward and extended a small Steno pad in front of him. "This young man was apprehended thirty minutes ago cutting through the parking lot of the mini-mart adjacent to Applebee's. He was on foot, dressed in black cargo pants and a black zip-up hooded sweatshirt. He was found carrying a portable music player. No phone, no identification of any kind."
He kept his eyes diverted from her as he spoke, reading the words in front of him in a monotone voice void of emotion. Despite that, I could see a few droplets of sweat forming on his forehead and his budding paunch moving with quick breaths.
"Officers spotted the perpetrator as he slid through a bank of shrubs separating the two properties. A brief attempt at flight was made before the perpetrator abandoned the idea and was arrested without incident."
"Has he said anything?" Watts asked.
"Not one word," the Sergeant with sandy brown hair and the moustache said. As he spoke, Red retreated back into the crowd. "Has refused to answer any questions. We don't even know his name."
"Has he lawyered up yet?" Watts fired back.
"Hasn't said anything," the Sergeant echoed. "He appears to be in a state of shock and is almost catatonic. Doesn't look around much, just kind of sits and stares."
Watts swiveled towards the enormous bank window on the opposite side of the room. She twisted her head to examine it a few seconds before turning back. I knew enough to know it was one-way glass and that the perpetrator was sitting somewhere on the other side of it. From where I was though, I couldn't see a thing beyond the mass of uniformed humanity in front of me.
Watts started to speak again, but thought better of it. Without a word she strode over and disappeared through a side door. A murmur arose from the crowd as they pressed in tight, all jockeying for position at the viewing window. I remained where I was, glad to j
ust be present. This entire situation had not sat right with me. Any second now it would be over, I just had to trust Watts knew what she was doing in there.
The room quieted down in expectation as I assumed Watts had entered. A cop with a head shaved clean and a prodigious stomach hanging over his belt pressed a button along the wall allowing her voice to stream into the room. I still couldn't see anything, but remembered my own time spent in a room like that enough to know what was going on. If given the choice between viewing or listening, I was fine with the current arrangement.
"Good evening," Watts said, her shoes clacking against a solid floor. All evening I had found the sound of boots to be rather annoying, but at the moment I realized they could also be quite imposing.
No response.
The sound of a chair scraped back across the ground. It moaned a bit as Watts lowered herself into it. "What's your name?"
No response. A few heads glanced back and forth amongst the crowd. Nobody even knew I was there.
"You realize it is in your best interests to cooperate, right?" Watts pressed, her voice even. "As it stands, you're looking at kidnapping, child endangerment, attempted murder and extortion. If you don't want to go away for the rest of your natural life, it would be in your best interest to talk to me right now."
The room leaned forward almost as one. The air sucked out in a collective gasp, everyone anxious to see how the perpetrator would react to that.
Again, he said nothing.
"I'm going to let you sit here and think about all that for a few minutes," Watts said. I could hear her shoes cutting a path across the floor again and a moment later, she was back with us.
From what I've seen on TV and read in books, it was classic interrogation technique. Get a young kid, throw a huge stack of charges at them, threaten them with the prospect of going to jail for the rest of their life. It usually doesn't take long for them to have a sudden change of heart.
Thankfully, I never went through the spiel. In truth, it was probably a good thing I didn't. No telling how differently things might have played out.
"Anything?" the Sergeant asked as Watts strode into the room. She slammed the file she was carrying down on the table and paced, her suit jacket back behind her wrist as she put one hand on her hip and the other to her forehead.
"Where is the money now?" Watts asked, ignoring the question.
Red motioned with his chin towards a table off to the side. My eyes slid to follow his motion, landing on the patent leather bag embroidered with Fuego's trademark flames. That thing really needed to go.
Watts sighed and resumed pacing. "One of two things. Either (A), he's really catatonic like you said, or (B), he was just a rabbit for someone that scares him a helluva lot more than we do."
Shit. The thought of him being a rabbit never entered my mind. Maybe he was nothing more than some kid told to walk through the parking lot just to see what would happen. Maybe he wasn't saying anything because he didn't know anything.
Maybe the brilliant plan of the CPD just got my niece killed.
The ball returned to my stomach in a violent way, roiling uncontrollably. Sweat beaded across my upper lip and my breath grew short in my chest. I had to see this little bastard and get some idea for myself.
Careful to drag my feet so they didn't make a sound against the concrete floor, I began working my way to the left. I slid behind a pair of uniforms watching Watts' every move and skirted the outside of the room. As I walked, the viewing window came into sight little by little.
By the time I could see the young man sitting on the other side, I abandoned any attempt at being covert and walked straight for it. An inexplicable expression crossed my face, confusion replacing the anxiety of just a minute before.
Around the room, several heads turned to watch me. None of them said anything at first, but as I walked they began to stare. By the time I reached the window, many were gawking.
I could have cared less.
"Hey, partner, what the hell do you think you're doing?" a man snapped. I didn't recognize the voice, wasn’t about to turn around and answer him.
Watts appeared by my side. "What is it?"
I raised a finger and tapped it against the glass. "I know this guy."
Chapter Twenty
Watts pressed a finger against the glass just inches from mine. Her head snapped towards me and her jaw dropped open. "What do you mean you know this guy? You mean..."
Clearly she was asking if this was somebody I had come in contact with in prison. I appreciated her not broadcasting that information to the group. Few things in life happen faster than a mood shift when people find out you're an ex-con. I don't even want to speculate how pronounced it is when those people are a room full of cops.
"I mean, I don't know him know him," I said, gazing at her and then back through the glass. "He was working the front desk at the ICU earlier this evening."
Behind me I could hear a buzz go through the crowd.
"Do you know his name?" Watts pressed.
I shook my head. "He wore a badge that said it was Skip, but whether or not that’s true I don’t know."
Watts instantly shifted back into attack mode. "Mezner, get on the phone with Sacred Heart. Tell them we need everything they have on Skip from the ICU. I don't care what time it is or who you have to wake up."
She left me standing at the glass and strode right back through the side door. A wall of cops crowded in around me as she emerged on the other side of the window. A few of them nodded in my direction, while others glared. I guess they took umbrage with an outsider giving them a hand.
The early reports were right. Skip looked catatonic as he sat at the table. He was still dressed in black, his hooded sweatshirt zipped clear to his throat. His dark hair looked disheveled from having been under a hood earlier and dark circles hung beneath both eyes.
His gaze flitted to Watts as she entered before refocusing on the smooth grey table top in front of him. He made no movement as the door slammed shut behind her or as she tossed the file back down between them.
"Soooo, Skip," Watts said, settling herself into the chair across from him.
The comment hit home. He winced at the use of his name, the skin around his eyes tightening. "That is your name isn't it, Skip?"
His mouth dropped open a fraction of an inch, but he said nothing. Instead, he took in deep gulps of air.
"That's what I thought," Watts said. She tilted the file up towards herself and pretended to read through it. From where we were standing we could see there was nothing in it, though she did an excellent job selling it otherwise. "Also says here you work the graveyard shift in the intensive care unit over at Sacred Heart."
Sweat poured down Skip's face. All visible signs of color were gone, his face a ghostly white pallor.
"Is that how it goes, Skip? You seek out families in the area, get some of your boys together, make a play on them? Beat up the dad, punch the mom, swipe the kid? Make a little money? Rinse and repeat?"
Skip was cracking. We could all see it. I only prayed she finished the job before he uttered anything about a lawyer.
"You messed up this time though, didn't you, Skip? You trust your boys to punch the mom, grab the kid, but you don't trust them to pick up the money, do you? Had to be there to handle that part yourself?"
Skip's bottom lip started to tremble. Still, he said nothing.
"Right now, you're on the hook for that entire list I gave you earlier," Watts said, turning the screws further. "You give up your accomplices and you tell me where the kid is, we can talk. I can get the charges knocked down. If not, we're going to throw the book at your sorry ass."
Watts slapped the empty file closed and smacked it flat onto the table in front of her. "And when they send you away for a nice long time, I'm going to make sure everybody knows it was for kidnapping a little girl. I might even tell people you were using her for your own sick pleasure. You know what they do to guys like you in prison, Skip?"
I closed my eyes and set my jaw tight. I knew what Watts was getting at, but hearing the words that someone might be violating Annie made my blood run cold. For both our sakes, I kind of hoped Skip was clean. His because he was too young to die, mine because killing him in front of a roomful of cops would more or less end my life too.
Watts stood up and leaned forward over the table, her palms flat. She moved in until her nose was just inches from his and twisted her head to stare into his eyes. "In prison, you'll be the little girl Skip. And there won't be anybody for you to call out for."
Watts kept her face directly in front of his before sliding to the side. She let her hands linger on the table top as she pushed away, dragging them along and taking up the folder with her left. Every eye was glued to her as we all leaned in, waiting for some response. She made it almost to the door before Skip muttered his first words of the night.
"I didn't take the girl," he whispered. His eyes remained focused downward, glassy.
Watts stopped in front of the door, but said nothing. She made no move to turn around or return to the table either.
Skip swung his eyes to her, now red as moisture lined the bottoms of them. Catatonic had been replaced by wanton fear. "I don't have any boys, and we didn't punch anybody or put anybody in a coma."
Watts dropped her chin to her shoulder. "So who did?"
"I have no idea," Skip said, swinging his head from side to side. The flood gates were opening. Watts had cracked him. "I swear to God I have no idea."
Watts turned and folded her arms across her chest. She kept the folder tucked beneath her right bicep and stared down at him. "You're not making much sense, Skip. We got a ransom demand while you were at work, which just so happened to be right down the hall from the family of the victim. Later you were grabbed going to fetch the money."
"All I know about is the money, I swear," Skip said, staring up at her. His eyes were wide, imploring her to believe him.
Watts narrowed hers. "And what do you know about the money?"
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