by Tony Wiley
The deputy walked him to the holding tank. It was an open space of fifteen by fifteen feet, set in a corner with low benches coursing the two cinder-block walls and another one lying in the middle of the tank. Angry Eyes was already in there, lying on his back on the farthest bench.
The deputy unlocked the heavy steel door and slid it open. Told Morrison to step in and stop right in the entryway. Then he removed his cuffs, slid the door shut again and disappeared down the hallway.
Angry Eyes looked up from his bench, taking in his presence. Morrison went to sit on the lowlying bench bolted in the middle of the place.
“Congratulations,” he said in a low voice. “That was real brilliant.”
Angry Eyes sneered at him. “It was only payback for what you did,” he said.
“And you decided to do that at a function that the county sheriff was attending. Very smart, buddy, very smart. Your mother must be very proud of you.”
Angry Eyes stiffened up. “Keep on talking like that and I swear you’re gonna get some more,” he said.
Morrison ignored his threat. “Now, how do you think Harris will react to this brilliant move, huh?” he said.
Angry Eyes looked surprised.
“That’s right,” Morrison said, “I know that your boss is Roger Harris. And I know him well enough to know that when he’s real pissed at somebody, things don’t go down so easy. They really don’t.”
Angry Eyes appeared confused, unsure how to react. Exactly like at Flanagan’s. This was proof enough for Morrison that the man was only a low-level operative. Barely one rung above that of club bouncer or debt collector. A guy like that had no business being involved in even the most basic ATM-skimming operation. Harris must have been pretty desperate to rely on him.
Morrison continued. “I bet you didn’t tell him I knocked you out the other night, right? You probably cooked up some half-assed excuse to explain the ATM bust and why you couldn’t do anything about it. But you sure as hell didn’t mention anything about being knocked out by a small guy like me, huh?”
Angry Eyes looked away. He cursed between his teeth.
“Now here’s what we’re going to do,” Morrison said. “I’m not going to press charges against you. We’re both going to say we’re sorry, that this was just a misunderstanding and be on our merry way. And hopefully, I’m never gonna see you again.”
“It’s your fault we’re stuck in here,” Angry Eyes said. “That sheriff, she’s got something personal against you. It was obvious. Otherwise she wouldn’t have brought us in for a stupid fight.”
Perhaps Morrison had judged him too hard. The man was capable of at least making a little sense. “There may be some truth to this, but I don’t suggest you pursue the matter,” he said. “For the time being, just keep quiet and follow my lead. Understood?”
Angry Eyes didn’t respond. He just reclined on his bench and stared at the ceiling. Good, Morrison thought, at least that’s settled.
From his position on the bench, he had a clear view of the desk sergeant through a short corridor. The guy was staring down, probably reading a newspaper or a magazine to kill time. He was tempted to call out to him and ask for a section or two of his paper, but he decided against it. It was better to lay low and keep quiet.
His thoughts went back to that USB flash drive. That small device had cost him twenty-five bucks at the store.
But with its content, it was really worth eight million dollars.
And Sheriff Sanford was the one who had removed it from his pockets and taken it away.
No one else.
Morrison drummed his fingers on the bench. Up until now, he hadn’t had any incentive to remember the USB flash drive because he thought that only his partners could have been guilty of stealing the money. Only they knew enough about the planned hits to be able to leverage them. Or so he had thought. Because now that he knew his partners were clean, it only made more sense that the information embedded in that USB flash drive would have been used to get to the money.
Suddenly, a lot of items that appeared strange when considered separately were finding their place in a cohesive narrative.
No wonder Sheriff Sanford wanted to keep him behind bars for as long as she could.
No wonder she met up with him on his release to tell him never to set foot within her county lines again.
No wonder she drove a shiny Mercedes convertible. With eight million dollars, she could afford a whole stable of them if she wanted.
And no wonder she put him back behind bars so fast after a mere bar brawl.
Bloody Sanford.
This all made sense now.
He heard some commotion coming from the desk. He looked up. The sergeant was with the deputy with the buzz cut. They were having a three-way conversation with somebody else on the phone.
“Yeah, he’s still there,” he heard the desk sergeant say. The two officers went silent for a beat, then he heard the sergeant say, “Are you sure? … Release immediately? … All right.”
The officer put the phone down and nodded in their direction to the other deputy. Angry Eyes heard that too. They both got up. Looked at each other. Didn’t say a word.
The deputy with the buzz cut walked up to them. There was something different in his attitude now.
Minutes ago, he had appeared relaxed and almost friendly toward him. But now, his whole body had firmed up. The deputy glared at him, his face closed and filled with contempt. At the same time, he grabbed the key to the sliding door. “You,” he said to Angry Eyes, “come over here.”
Angry Eyes stepped forward. The deputy unlocked the sliding door. “You can go now,” he said.
Angry Eyes flashed Morrison a sideways smile. Morrison started after him but the deputy stopped him dead in his tracks.
“No, no, no. Not you. You’re staying right there, Morrison. Sheriff Sanford is coming back to talk to you. Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Chapter 42
The deputy with the buzz cut brought Morrison back to processing room number two. Somewhat roughly. This time, his demeanor was abrupt and curt.
Morrison wondered what warranted that change of attitude.
Unfortunately, he could think of many reasons.
None of them to his advantage.
The feeling that things were taking a turn for the worse crystallized when, just before being ushered into the processing room, he caught a glimpse of two persons making their way into the station.
The young couple he had walked into at the dead hacker’s place.
Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit.
He hadn’t done anything wrong over there. But try to explain this to that thief of a sheriff. Barely forty-eight hours out of prison. Good luck.
After being cuffed back to the table, he was left to wait.
A long twenty minutes that seemed like an eternity.
Then Sheriff Sanford came in through the door. She was still wearing that pretty black dress, but she was all business. Just as she had been at Flanagan’s.
“There’s never a dull moment with you, Morrison,” she said. “A lot of things have happened around here since your release.”
“Are you talking about the ATM-skimming operation that I graciously helped you to bust?” he said.
She shook her head.
“If it’s the fight at Flanagan’s, then you let the wrong guy out,” he said. “He attacked me. It was not the other way around.”
Sanford dismissed that fight with a wave of the hand. “Couldn’t care less about that fight,” she said.
“Then what?”
She leaned toward him. Rested her elbows on the table. Locked her eyes into his.
“My men collected two dead bodies in an apartment building earlier this afternoon. A horrible sight. A father and his young baby. Both shot through the heart.”
“I know, your deputy just told me. But what does it have to do with me?”
“They spent the whole afternoon down
there. They’ve gathered some testimonies.” She paused briefly, her eyes still planted into his. She didn’t want to miss his reaction. “Somebody saw a small wiry guy, full of nerves, swiftly enter the building at about the same time these murders took place. It’s an interesting description, don’t you think, Morrison? Small. Wiry. Full of nerves. What do you make of it?”
Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit. But on the surface, he just shrugged. “I think your imagination is running wild, Sanford. I’ve never killed anyone and I don’t plan on doing it anytime soon. You know I’m not a violent guy. Three years ago, when you arrested me, what weapons did I carry? Eh? Nothing, that’s right. Not even a blade. And besides, I don’t even know those people you’re referring to.”
“My imagination has nothing to do with this,” she said. “Somebody saw you down there, Morrison. We’re going to nail you down.”
She paused again to let that thought sink in.
There was a weird expression on her face, behind the tough woman mask. Some kind of elation, like she couldn’t believe her luck to be able to pin him down so soon for something so serious. Something that would make him disappear behind bars for a long, long time.
And leave her to enjoy the fruits of her theft for an equally long time without fear of retribution.
“You know, you forgot to mention something else that happened since my release,” he said. “Some poor guy died in a motorcycle crash last night. Killed by you. I wonder what that is all about.”
She firmed up. “None of your business,” she said. This was getting personal. Big time.
He continued. “The guy was speeding, he was trying to escape. Fine. But why ram into him? Why not let him go? Speeding bikers are a dime a dozen in this county, especially on a Saturday night. Was there something special with this guy? Maybe you’re the one who’s got some explaining to do.”
“Forget about it, Morrison. You won’t be able to derail this. Not a chance.”
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Sanford shouted. The deputy with the buzz cut opened the door. He was with a man in a dark business suit whom Morrison had never seen before. The man immediately addressed Sanford. “I demand some time alone with my client,” he said. “Please leave the room immediately.”
Sheriff Sanford stared hard at him, then she nodded and got up. “Of course,” she said, “why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?”
Cowgirl, Morrison thought. She sent me a lawyer.
Sanford and her deputy left. The lawyer sat down. He was a fifty-something tall man with thick black hair and a sculpted goatee. He wore blue-tinted glasses set in a black plastic frame. He looked sharp. And somewhat hip for a lawyer.
“Can you get me out of here?” Morrison asked.
“Not right away,” the hip lawyer said.
“Then when?”
“They have the right to detain you twelve hours, no questions asked.”
“On what grounds?”
“Disturbing public peace.”
“Just that? There’s no other charge?”
“That’s what they told me at the desk. Is there something else I should know, Mr. Morrison?”
“You heard about the double murder earlier today?”
The hip lawyer nodded.
“Well, Sheriff Sanford is fishing around. She’s trying to link me to that. Which is ludicrous. I haven’t killed anyone.”
“Officially, you’re still not charged with anything other than disturbing the peace. And from what I understand, the other party in your little incident has been released, so I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. This won’t go anywhere.”
“But I still can’t get out?”
The hip lawyer shook his head. “No. They can keep you in here until 7:00 a.m. tomorrow if that’s what they want. Sorry, I can’t do anything about that. But if they want to keep you beyond that, they will have to come up with detailed and substantiated charges. That’s where I’ll kick in if necessary.”
Morrison nodded. “OK, makes sense.”
“Until then, just keep your mouth shut, OK? Don’t talk to her or any of her staff unless I’m with you.” Then he winked and said, “And I won’t be available until tomorrow morning at eight. So in the meantime, just keep your mouth shut and sleep through the night.”
Morrison thought about the prints he’d left in the apartment. The young couple he’d walked into. The witnesses who could’ve seen him flee the scene. Sanford had more than one way to nail him down even if he hadn’t done anything wrong at the dead hacker’s place. But at least he knew she would have to come up with the goods before 7:00 a.m. the next morning. He felt a tremendous amount of pressure, but apparently he was not the only one.
The hip lawyer gave him his business card. “Call me if they formally come up with new charges,” he said, “but otherwise just keep your mouth shut until tomorrow morning.”
He picked up the card, a slick black and blue thing. As hip as the man himself. “Thanks,” he said. “I have a message for you to give to my friend.”
The lawyer nodded.
“First, I want to thank her for sending you over here. I really appreciate it. And second, tell her to start checking Sheriff Sanford out. She needs to find out where she lives, how she lives. How big is her house? Is she married or single? How many cars does she have? We need to know her whole pedigree. And we need it fast.”
The lawyer frowned. Like he was skeptical. But Morrison insisted. “It’s important,” he said. “Tell her to get started on that right away. She has to start digging tonight. It’s very, very important.”
The lawyer shrugged. “OK, fine, I’ll tell her.” Then he got up and knocked on the door. The deputy with the buzz cut opened it and called Sheriff Sanford over.
She came up, still in that lovely black dress of hers, but this time, she wore a curious expression on her face as if she had something up her sleeve. She was very calm. The hip lawyer repeated to her the instructions he’d just given to him. There would be no use trying to fish around. Morrison would remain silent until the morning.
She listened patiently, nodding along the way, and verbally agreed. Morrison kept his gaze focused on her. For someone who had been so intent on fishing, this didn’t seem to trouble her. Not in the least. From the look on her face, he suspected she was ready to counterpunch.
Morrison knew he was right as soon as she opened her mouth.
“No problem,” she said. “He can keep his mouth shut all he wants. In fact, for what he has to do next, it’s mandatory that he doesn’t speak.”
She turned to her deputy and said, “Get him into the room over there. We’re gonna have a nice little lineup with Mr. Morrison.”
Chapter 43
Morrison kept a straight poker face.
It was not easy. This is not good, this is not good at all, he kept thinking as they took him to another room for the lineup.
The young couple from the apartment building was here at the station. In a minute, they would be staring at him safely through a one-way mirror.
No, this is not good at all.
There were four other men assembled to act as fillers. They all looked like they were in their early thirties, between five foot three and five foot seven. All were dressed similarly to him, with blue jeans and a clean shirt.
The deputies passed around some numbers printed in a big bold font on notepad sheets along with some bobby pins. The deputy with the buzz cut instructed them to pin their number over their heart. Morrison inherited number two. Then they were ordered to file into the room all together, in sequential order.
The walls were painted in a bright white. A deluge of neon light fell over them. There was nowhere to hide. No way for him to conceal any of his features. When he was very young, he had first hated his eyes. The fact that they were of different colors singled him out. Provided an excuse for his white trash trailer park friends to deride and mock him. In time, he had come to appreciate them. In fact, they had becom
e his staple. His pickup line when he wanted to meet women in bars. All he had to do was walk up and stare at them with his peculiar gaze and a friendly smile. Nine times out of ten, they would make an inquiring remark about his eyes and the conversation would flow nice and smooth from there. That night, vulnerable as they now made him, he didn’t remember ever hating them more.
The door closed behind them. A canned voice came on the speaker. “Stand two feet apart from each other and face the mirror. Keep your mouths shut. Speak only if we address you.”
He stood there in silence with the fillers for more than a minute.
This was a very long time when you had nothing to do but stare at your own image in the mirror.
Then the voice in the speaker came back. “Turn around to your left,” it said.
They stayed like that for a while.
“Turn around to your right,” the voice said. He turned around with the other guys in the lineup.
Time had never crept so slowly.
He could imagine the young couple alternately focusing on each of them. Inspecting them with all their attention.
It was unbearable.
They were ordered to turn back to face the mirror again and left to wait.
One minute passed. Then two. Then three.
Bloody eyes, he kept thinking, bloody freakin’ eyes.
The voice came back over the speaker.
“Number two, step forward,” it said.
He moved two steps ahead. His gaze fixed on the image of himself.
Two or three minutes passed. Then the voice came back. “Number four, step forward,” it said.
The other man complied. Morrison stared at his reflection in the mirror. Of the five men in the lineup, that guy was the one who looked the most like him. He was the exact same height and had a similar build.
They remained still for a few more minutes, and then the voice dismissed them all.