“Who knows,” Smith replied. “Been sputtering all sorts of mumbo jumbo since we caught her.”
“Might be that meth junk.” Sheriff Hullinger assumed. “Terrible stuff. Thought we might have a problem with some of their kind around here at one time. Me and my boys here at the station—” Hullinger adjusted his gun belt. “We took care of them, if you take my meaning.”
And by take care of, do you mean took a bit of their money to look the other way? Garrett had heard the rumors. No way he would say a word of that here though. The marshal and his deputies seemed to him they could be involved in darker deals than the sheriff.
Hullinger motioned for the rest to follow and led them inside. “Yep, we got us a nice, clean town here. Couldn’t find a safer place in the state, I’d warrant.”
Garrett half-expected to hear inmates yelling somewhere deep in the jailhouse, but the only sounds came from their shoes scuffing the waxed marble flooring. An imposing Indiana state seal glowed in the dim light of the office, and the collection of flags fluttered in the slight breeze they created as the group walked past.
Hullinger stopped at the end of the hallway. He fumbled with the keys attached to his belt loop. “Sorry about this, marshal,” he said, trying a silver key in the door. “I work days and this is usually open then. Can’t ever seem to find what key unlocks it.”
The first key did not work, nor did the second, not even the third. After Hullinger’s seventh try, and having tried both the second and third keys again, he had enough.
“Campbell?” Hullinger banged on the door, his face darkening until it resembled a beet. “You in there? Murphy? Open up!”
“Sheriff,” Bryant said. “Is there someone you could radio to unlock the door? Maybe someone already inside?”
Now there’s an idea. Garrett turned his head to grin at the marshal, let him know he thought the same. The marshal moved his toothpick from one side to the other as if to reply he didn’t care. Garrett faced forward again.
Hullinger snapped the radio loose from his belt and flicked it on. “This is Sheriff Hullinger! Who’s on duty?”
“Yeah, sheriff,” a garbled voice came back over static. “This is Murphy, over.”
“Get down here and unlock the south entrance!” Hullinger paused in wait for a reply that did not come. “Murphy!”
“Uh, copy, Dick…that door’s always unlocked except during a lockdown. Did you try opening it?”
Garrett had never seen Sheriff Hullinger so cowed as when he pushed down on the handle and the door swung open. He didn’t bother to give an apology or even turn around.
“Dick?” the radio voice said. “Did you get it unlocked?”
Hullinger led them onwards. “Yeah, we got it! Next time follow the protocol!”
“Protocol? But, Dick, we don’t have a prot—”
Hullinger flicked off his radio. He led them down the hallway past several darkened doors numbered one through five.
“This here’s our conference area,” he said, turning down another hall. “Down that way to your right is our officer’s entrance, lockers, showers, and so forth.”
Garrett glanced over his shoulder. All three men and the girl watched him rather than paying attention to Hullinger’s tour. For someone used to being stared at, Garrett could tell their focus on him had nothing to do with his vitiligo disorder. The four pairs of eyes following his every move now came with a different sort of intent; one that both made Garrett feel curious and weirdly compelled to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness for whatever sin he had committed.
When they reached a gated door, Hullinger looked to the upper left corner at a security camera. He waved at it, and the gates buzzed unlocked.
Inside, a wiry officer slumped behind a desk, flipping through a magazine about firearms and occasionally watching the evening news.
“Hey, Dick, what—”
“Murphy, I need you to sign in Garrett Weaver.”
The officer sat up straight in his chair when he saw Hullinger accompanied by several others. “Okay, which one’s he?”
Hullinger pointed. “Him. Sign him in.”
Murphy complied, typing the name into the desk computer. He gave the three marshals and the girl a curious glance. “We’ll need to sign them in too, right?”
“Of course you do,” Sheriff Hullinger said. “It’s part of the protocol, ain’t it? This here’s U.S. Marshal David Bryant. These other fellas…”
“They’re my deputies,” Bryant said. “Smith and Foster.”
Garrett’s dad always told him it didn’t take a liar to recognize a bad one. To his mind, the marshal gave the names up too fast for them to be true. Garrett couldn’t help himself when the officer bought the line without requesting to see their IDs. “Pretty common names, don’t you think?”
The marshal’s lip curled. “He wanted names, I gave him some.” He turned back to Officer Murphy. “Sign the girl in as Jane Doe.”
Murphy typed the names in along with the time and date. “Well, hot dang! Real live marshals, here in our jail! Where you based out of?”
“The only place real marshals come from,” Bryant said.
“Texas, huh?” Murphy assumed with a dumb grin. “You’re a long way from home. What brings you to Indiana?”
“That’s classified.”
“Oh, sure. Sure. Classified, right.”
Murphy’s eyes wandered from Garrett to the girl, trying to work out what either could have done to deserve such a distinguished escort.
Garrett felt sweat drip from his armpits.
Hullinger slapped the desk. “Murphy, quit bugging them. We need one of the conference rooms. They locked too?”
“Yeah,” Murphy answered. He pulled open a drawer from the desk. From it, he removed a long wooden plunger handle with a key dangling from the end. “Here’s the key. It’ll work on any of the doors.”
The younger deputy laughed. “The newest and greatest stuff, huh, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Hullinger snatched the key and started toward the conference rooms.
Bryant stopped him. “No need to show me the way. You gave an excellent…tour on the way in. I’m sure Garrett and I can find it on our own.”
Me? Now he wants to take me in a room alone? Garrett searched the sheriff’s face for help; a fool’s hope and he knew it.
Hullinger had already slumped like an athlete benched before the championship game. “Oh…right. Holler if you need anything.”
Bryant took the key and rod. “Sheriff, you mind showing Deputy Foster where he can lock up our young friend, Miss Doe?”
Murphy studied the girl in handcuffs. “You’re going to lock her up? She don’t look dangerous. Sides, you’ve already got her cuffed.”
Bryant twirled the rod by the key. “All your officers smart as this one, Hullinger?”
Maybe you should’ve told Murphy not to embarrass you, Sheriff.
“Pipe down, Murphy!” Hullinger bristled. “And turn that TV back to the security cameras watching all the prisoners!”
“But we only got two prisoners.”
“Flip it back!”
Murphy turned the channel to the prison cells. “All right then. You get to the cells back through that door,” he pointed to the far left corner. “Then down the hallway. I’ll buzz you through.”
“Foster, you stay back there with her.” Bryant said to the younger deputy.
“Guard duty?”
“It’ll be good for you, pup.”
“Pup?” Murphy’s forehead wrinkled. “That some kinda new name for rookies out in Texas?”
“I’ve never been to Texas,” said Foster. He grabbed the girl by the cuffs and led her toward the cells. “Don’t plan to either.”
Murphy leaned over to Hullinger. “Dick…you want me to buzz them through?”
“No, you just hold on. Now listen, marshal. This is my jail—”
“And you’re welcome to have it back once we’re done with it,” Bryant interrupted. “Last time I checked,
a federal marshal outranks a local sheriff from some backwoods town by a country mile.” Bryant turned to Murphy. “Buzz them through.”
Murphy did so in a hurry.
“Now…” said Bryant. “My good friend, Deputy Smith, he’s gonna stay out here with you gentleman to answer any questions you might have.” The stone-faced cowboy turned his attention to Garrett. “Shall we?”
“Sherriff,” said Garrett. “I don’t think—”
“Come on,” said Bryant, grabbing him by the bicep. “Won’t kill ya to answer a few questions, will it?”
Garrett didn’t know how to respond to that. He let the marshal lead him back the way they had come, and he listened to Bryant’s cowboy boots scuff the floor with each heavy stride.
Bryant unlocked the first conference room door and flipped the lights on.
Garrett looked around the mostly bare room. “Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of double-sided mirror for the good guys to watch from the other side?”
“No such luck, kid. I like to keep it old school…just mano-a-mano.”
The door slammed behind the marshal, and stole any other jokes Garrett had in mind with it.
Bryant walked to the opposite side of the table. He removed his jacket, draped it over a chair. Garrett saw the marshal had two guns holstered—one at his hip, the other hung to the opposite side near his ribs.
Bryant took out his smartphone. “Have a seat.”
Garrett looked at the closed door, wondered if it had locked them in automatically.
“Nervous?”
Do I tell the truth? “Y-yes.”
“Good.” Bryant used his finger to scroll across the screen of his phone. “More people should feel nervous these days. Keep them all out of more trouble. You oughta count yourself lucky though.”
I’m supposed to feel lucky right now? What do you do to the guys you want to feel unlucky?
Bryant noticed Garrett fidget. He put his phone down. “You and I haven’t gotten off to a good start. I’m thinking I’m responsible for half that problem and you the other half. What’s say we get back on the right track here?”
“S-sure,” Garrett said.
“Okay. I’m United States Marshal David Bryant.” He extended his left hand across the table.
Garrett put his right hand forward without thinking. “Uh…you’re shaking with the wrong hand.”
“Oh, right.” Bryant grinned. He switched hands. “Honest mistake. I’m a lefty, ya see.”
He’s one of them! Garrett shook his hand. He felt and heard his own knuckles shift as Bryant tightened his grip.
“You call yourself a man, Garrett Weaver?” the marshal asked.
“What?”
“I asked if you’d call yourself a man?”
“Y-yeah,” Garrett said.
“Then shake like one.”
“Huh?”
“Quit gripping my hand like you’re some damned girl,” Bryant said. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. Put something on it, son.”
“Did you just call me a girl?”
Bryant tilted his head to the side. “You shake like one.”
Garrett poured all his strength into the squeeze.
“There you go,” Bryant said. Then he tightened his grip so hard Garrett nearly yelped. “That’s how you shake a man’s hand, son. Nice to meet you, Garrett.”
“You too.”
Bryant held the grip a while longer before releasing him. “Now that we know each other, you wanna tell me what happened today at the zoo?”
I wouldn’t like to, but it doesn’t sound like I have a choice. “I went on a field trip.”
Bryant frowned. “I’d prefer we don’t get too smart-alecky tonight. I’ll rephrase my question to get more specific and maybe you will too. Now, you were in the room when the hammerhead tank exploded, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Any of your friends in the vicinity?”
“No,” Garrett said. “My friend Johnny was with me earlier, but he left before I went in to see the exhibit.”
“Johnny?”
“Johnny Hickey.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Bryant seemed displeased, but made a note on his phone. “So you didn’t have any other friends with you today?”
“I…I don’t have many friends. I was with Johnny all day,” Garrett said, careful to leave Sydney’s name out. “Call him and ask if you want.”
“What about this,” Bryant slid his phone across the table. “You telling me you decided to strike up a conversation with some strangers?”
Garrett picked up the phone. On its screen, he saw a dark photo of himself, his back against the wall. Eddie Bennett and Juan Marrero stood in front of him. In the bottom corner of the picture, a dwarf, a preppy kid, and the older chaperone appeared paused in their run at the tank.
Cameras…of course they had cameras in the exhibit! Garrett slouched.
“Now,” Bryant said. “What about those friends?”
“They’re not my friends,” Garrett’s voice rose. “Two of those guys followed me in there to beat me up. The midge, I mean the dwarf—er—I mean the little person. He’s some punk that tried picking a fight with my friend.”
Bryant nodded. “So you did run into them earlier in the day? What started the argument?”
“This guy,” Garrett pointed at the picture of the dwarf. “He got all offended because I accidentally ran into him. I wasn’t paying attention and I…well, I didn’t see him there. He kind kind of stood in the shadows.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Bryant said. “Had you ever met any of those three before today?”
“No,” Garrett said. “Look sir, I-I didn’t have any differences, or problems with these guys, okay? I just went to look at the shark tank, and yes, I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I didn’t make the thing explode!”
“So what did?”
The shark-man, Garrett wanted to say. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
Bryant leaned forward. “Try me.”
It doesn’t take a liar to recognize a bad one. Garrett took a deep breath.
“Okay, so those jerks from my school followed me inside. They beat me up and the other three guys, the guys on your phone, they showed up…and I don’t remember much after that.”
“Why?”
“I…uh…I don’t know,” said Garrett. “Everything went fuzzy. The older guy…he tried to tackle me or…I don’t know. I got angry and pushed back against him and we sorta just crashed into the tank. Then it exploded and—”
Bryant sat back, unamused. “That pane is too thick. No way the two of you could have cracked it, let alone break it. I’ll ask you again, how did the tank break?”
Garrett shrugged. “Like I said. We both crashed into it, and it broke.”
“No!” Bryant said. “It’s too thick! Did you feel anything before it broke? See anything suspicious?”
“No.”
“You had to,” Bryant implied.
“I didn’t see anything.”
“There had to have been something.”
“Th-there wasn’t.”
Bryant’s questions came faster, more accusing. “Sure about that?”
“Y-yeah.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
Garrett felt hot. “Well, I—”
“Sounds to me like you’re withholding valuable information.”
“But I’m not.”
The marshal pursed his lips. “Go on, keep it up. See where lying gets you.”
You want the truth dude. Fine. “Okay, fine…I saw a shark-man.”
“A shark…man?” Bryant asked.
“Yeah. You wanted the truth? There it is.” Garrett folded his arms. “I saw a shark-man get mad and charge the tank. He hit the glass with his forehead over and over again! That’s what I saw.”
Bryant sat back.
“What?” Garrett asked. “Does that not fit in with your theories? Huh? That’s what I saw! Right before that other guy tackled me and the tank burst!”
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Bryant’s phone vibrated with an incoming text. He sighed. Cleared it.
“Who was that?” Garrett asked. “Another marshal?”
“So you never saw these three before?”
“Never.”
“Did you talk to any of them after your altercation at the shark tank?”
“No,” Garrett answered. “Once the tank burst we all kind of got swept away by the water.”
“And you’re sure you’ve never seen them before? Never met them anywhere?”
“How many times do I have to say it?” Garrett said. “No. I never met them before.”
“That’s funny. The girl we pulled outta our car, Jane Doe,” he said. “She says you do know them. See, she was in the room at the same time. Says you seemed like a bunch of good ole’ boys till the older guy got involved.”
“Wait—what?” Garrett said. “I’ve never seen her before! She wasn’t there!”
Bryant pulled out a new toothpick from his jacket pocket and toyed with it. “Here’s the deal. I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or not. You seem like a slick kid to me and I don’t know if you might be pulling a fast one over on me.
“Your mother has a pretty good reputation around here from the people we’ve talked to and, aside from you getting in trouble at school every now and again, the word around town is you’re an okay kid.”
Guess he didn’t talk to Ms. Morgan.
“My bet is you don’t know these others very well, if at all,” Bryant continued. “So I’m going to give you a bit of information on who you’re dealing with.”
Bryant tapped his phone a few times, and then slid it across the table. “Look through those.”
Garrett scrolled through the pictures.
One showed the preppy kid standing in front of a seal exhibit at another aquarium. The next showed the chaperone man with his arm draped around a young, gorgeous black girl that Garrett swore he’d seen before but couldn’t quite place.
He continued scrolling through the pictures, stopping when he came across the grumpy dwarf with his arms crossed.
“Ah, so it is him…” Bryant said. “Leonard Dolan, though I hear he hates being called that. Goes by Lenny instead. That pic you’re looking at, and the one after, those were taken a few weeks ago at the New England Aquarium in Boston.”
Garrett scrolled to the next photo of Lenny arguing with the chaperone. “That looks familiar.”
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