And I was having none of it. Not today.
“I really need to talk directly with Police Chief Bruner,” I told the young man in the New Hastings police uniform. “It's a rather sensitive matter.”
He smirked, and I immediately knew that the officer wasn't going to be an ally. “Most police business is. I’ll take down your information. If Chief Bruner needs to get involved, he will.”
I stood my ground. “I'm sorry. I really need to speak directly with Chief Bruner.”
He saw that I was not overawed by his police uniform. In the microcosm of New Hastings, this young man had probably never been challenged before. So he had a decision to make: Was he going to yield, or was he going to escalate? I had bluffed public officials before—but never one who wore a badge and a gun. I figured my odds were fifty-fifty.
Then a lucky break. The cop sighed, put down the clipboard on which he had begun to jot down his notes, and lifted the receiver of his telephone. He dialed three buttons—the chief’s extension.
“Man here says he's got a ‘sensitive matter’ that he needs to discuss with you. Wouldn't give me any more information than that.”
As my questioner hung up the phone, I watched Chief Bruner hang up his phone.
Bruner looked at me through the glass walls of his office. I didn’t think he recognized me; but I couldn’t be sure. He waved me in.
“Chief says you can go on in,” the officer added unnecessarily.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Yeah. Sure thing.”
I passed through the little partition that separated the office area of the police station from the visitor’s lobby. As soon as I stepped into Bruner’s office, the chief began to busy himself with some paperwork that was on his desk blotter. This was a deliberate tactic, I was sure—one designed to inform me that my visit was not his most important priority. I was an interloper here, after all. I had blatantly refused to follow police department protocol. The chief was tolerating me, but clearly there was a price to be paid for my impertinence.
“Have a seat.” The chief gestured to a small visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “Wait—close the door first, please.”
I did as I was asked. At length Bruner looked up and said:
“Haven’t I seen you before?”
“It’s possible. I’m an employee at UP&S.”
“Oh, yes. UP&S.” That bit of information caused the chief to miss a beat, though he quickly recovered. This man wasn't eager to talk about UP&S. But why, exactly?
“You got a name?” he asked.
I decided to give him my assumed name for now. “Craig Parker.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Craig Parker. I believe that you already know my name and role in this community.”
“Yes I do, Chief. And I appreciate your taking time to meet with me.”
I glanced down and noticed a business card on Bruner’s desk: The card bore the name Kurt Myers, Vice President of Strategic Planning, TP Automotive. Partially obscured beneath it was another business card that belonged to Bernie Chapman.
It might be nothing, I told myself. In the course of arresting and releasing the younger Myers, it wasn’t completely unusual that Bruner should have obtained the older Myers’s business card. And Bernie—as the only readily available legal counsel—would have been a part of that business as well.
I decided not to say anything about the business cards—for the moment, at least. Bruner leaned back in his chair. “Well, Mr. Parker, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here to discuss the Shawn Myers situation with you.”
This caused an exaggerated frown that was clearly intended to convey puzzlement. I thought: Maybe I am overstepping my bounds by even being here.
“I see. Are you a lawyer retained by either party in this matter, Mr. Parker? Are you the parent or guardian of the girl involved in the alleged incident?”
“No and no. I’m not a lawyer. Nor am I anyone’s parent or guardian.”
The chief leaned forward and folded his hands atop his desk blotter.
“Then this is most unusual, isn’t it? What is your relationship to this matter, Mr. Parker?”
I could detect that Dave Bruner was not going to be an easy audience for me. Nevertheless, I took the plunge. I was here now and I had no other choice.
“I think, Chief Bruner, that you—the town, that is—may have made a mistake in releasing Shawn Myers. I suspect that Shawn Myers may be lying. And I believe that the girl was telling the truth.”
“Oh? And why is that? Were you present at the time of the alleged incident?”
“No. But I was present a few weeks ago, when a similar incident took place. Another incident between Shawn Myers and the girl.”
I ran through a brief summary of what I had seen in the hallway that night. I left out the part about me slamming Shawn against a wall.
When I was finished talking, Dave Bruner raised his eyebrows. “Did you see Mr. Myers touch the girl?”
I wanted to tell him yes—because I knew that this had been Shawn’s intention, the next step that he would have taken had I not been there. But I had to answer truthfully.
“Well, not exactly.”
“Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Did you hear him say anything obscene?”
“Not exactly—No. But I can tell you that he was speaking to her in an inappropriate manner. And he was making her feel uncomfortable.”
Dave nodded. “What did you actually hear him say? Tell me again, please.”
I remembered most of the verbal exchange from that evening—the one that I had overheard just before I grabbed Shawn by the collar. I repeated my story again, this time focusing on what Shawn Myers had said. I did my best to deliver a word-for-word transcript.
“Mr. Parker. Perhaps you can understand that none of this sounds precisely sexual in nature.”
“It wasn’t what he said,” I began. “But rather the way in which he said it.”
“Uh-huh. ‘The way in which he said it.’”
“And his body language.”
“You’re an expert in body language, are you, Mr. Parker?”
“No, but I saw what I saw. He was leaning close to the girl.”
“But he didn’t touch her.”
“No, but he was going to.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I could tell.”
“You could tell.”
I could feel my own frustration rising. “Listen, Mister—Chief—Bruner. I’m just a concerned citizen discussing an important issue with you—one that may involve illegal acts against a minor. Do you want to hear me out? Or do you want to mince logic with me?”
Dave Bruner’s face reddened. I could see that I was going to have to handle him carefully. The man might already be thinking about locking me up instead of Shawn.
“No—I don’t want to mince logic with you, Mr. Parker. As a matter of fact, I have a police department to run. And you still haven’t told me exactly what you heard Shawn Myers say to this girl that was incriminating. Nor have you related any incriminating actions.”
I took a long breath, and once more recounted Shawn’s words to Dave Bruner. As I spoke, the chief’s face registered no reaction. I got the distinct impression that he wasn’t buying any of it. In the daylight glare of Chief Bruner’s office, a verbatim transcript of what Shawn had said could be interpreted either way. Depending on what you wanted to believe. Or—more to the point—who you wanted to believe.
“Let’s go through this one last time, Mr. Parker. Mr. Myers stated, in so many words, that the girl lacked social graces and manners. And you interpreted that as sexual harassment.”
“Yes—or, no. Yes.”
“I see. And what did you do? Did you intervene in any way? Did you inform Mr. Myers that you found his behavior, or choice of words to this girl, to be inappropriate?”
“Yes, I intervened.”
“How did you intervene, Mr. Par
ker?”
This was the part that might ruin whatever credibility I had. But I had to reveal it. Otherwise, it would come out later, and the focus of attention might shift from Shawn’s conduct to my omission of all the relevant facts.
“I slammed Shawn Myers up against a wall.”
“Ah—now it comes out. Let me get this straight: You’re an employee of UP&S, and you slammed Shawn Myers up against a wall?” The police chief shook his head. “That sounds like the sort of thing that a man would be fired for. It could also be an assault charge.”
This was Bruner’s first sign of indignation about anything that had taken place that night. The chief paused deliberately and stared at me.
Have the Myers gotten to this man? I wondered. Does he already know about the confrontation between Shawn and me?
“Excuse me, Chief. Could we get back to the topic? I’m not on trial here.”
“No,” he allowed. “You’re not. Lucky for you that Shawn Myers didn’t fire you and then file an assault charge.”
“Let me ask you this, Chief: Did you already know about the confrontation between myself and Shawn Myers?”
Once again I had overstepped my bounds. But I didn’t care. The chief froze for an instant; and I knew that his next words would in all probability be a lie.
“No,” he said.
“Because I sort of get the feeling that you have.”
“You’re calling me a liar?”
The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Of course I was calling him a liar. Because everything that this man had said so far added up to that conclusion.
“You tell me, Chief.”
The skin around Bruner’s collar visibly reddened. Some diplomat I was.
“You’ve just stepped over the line, Mr. Parker.”
The chief stood up, like a man in a bar who has just been told that his wife is sleeping around behind his back. I thought: Surely, he isn’t going to take a swing at me, is he? Yet everything about the chief’s body language told me that this was exactly what he had in mind.
Almost against my own will, I got to my feet as well. Not a fistfight with a police chief, I thought. Anything but that. I had a momentary flash of myself making license plates at one of Ohio’s correctional facilities for men.
Then I heard the door click open behind me. The young New Hastings policeman.
“Is there a problem, in here, Chief?” he asked. His tone indicated that he rather hoped the chief would answer in the affirmative.
“No, Officer Owen,” Bruner said. “Shut the door. I can handle this. We’re finishing up.”
“I—”
“Please leave, Officer Owen.”
The chief took a deep breath. The interruption had backed us both down a bit, though the police chief and I were still staring each other down. Our faces were less than a foot apart.
I sat back down in the little visitor’s chair. I had almost crossed a fatally dangerous line a moment ago. Then I decided to make one last attempt. “I believe that Shawn Myers is a dangerous man,” I said quietly. “Or a potentially dangerous man, at the very least.”
The chief sat down as well. “And I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe that you are a disgruntled employee of UP&S. By your own admission, you physically assaulted Shawn Myers—”
“Only because he was forcing himself on a fifteen-year-old girl.”
“So you say. But nothing you’ve told me so far establishes that as a fact.”
I pointed to the business cards on the chief’s desk.
“It looks to me like you’ve made up your mind,” I said. “And it looks like Kurt Myers has already beaten me here.”
Chief Bruner didn’t rise to the bait. He eased himself back into his chair and sighed.
“Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Parker. I will make note of your statement today. And let me leave you with a piece of advice in closing: It's never a good idea to assault anyone. Especially if that person happens to be your employer.”
Chapter 47
I walked out of Chief Bruner’s office, the reproachful stare of Officer Owen following me to my car. My attempt to make things right had been an utter disaster. Not only had I failed to help Donna and her daughter—I had also made an enemy here in town. Even worse, I had taken tangible steps to undermine my client. Surely my obligation to speak on the girl’s behalf outweighed my obligations to the TP Automotive management team. But I doubted that any of them—most of all Kurt and Shawn Myers—would see it that way.
I started my car—not the Lexus, but the Camry that I had rented for my undercover identity. This could go one of two ways from here: Dave Bruner might be the sort of public official who merely wanted to avoid conflict. In that case, he would simply file away his notes from our meeting, and do his best to forget that I had ever entered his office. Kurt Myers and the other managers of TP Automotive would never know about my turncoat operation.
On the other hand, Bruner might be the type who would actively try to ingratiate himself with a powerful man like Kurt Myers. If that were the case, then he was probably already calling Kurt Myers to report this treachery from within his own ranks.
I had no way of knowing. And since I had no way of knowing, I had only one choice: I would have to continue my work at UP&S as if the meeting with Chief Bruner had never taken place.
I drove back to the plant and arrived at around 12:45 p.m. This gave me enough time to join Lucy in the cafeteria. She was eating one of her usual salads—typical of the overweight person’s perpetual struggle to shed pounds. When she saw me in the entrance of the cafeteria, she beckoned me over with frantic hurry-up gestures.
Lucy’s best friend at UP&S had been gone only a matter of days. She was still inconsolable about Alan. But something that she had noticed in the “Police Beat” section of the New Hastings Journal had brightened her spirits.
It wasn’t much. But it did mention Shawn Myers by name.
December 5: New Hastings police took Shawn Myers into custody regarding an undisclosed incident that occurred at the United Press & Stamping facility at 2345 Plainview Drive. Myers, 34, is a senior manager at the company.
Police released Myers several hours later. No formal charges were filed.
“Whatever it is,” Lucy said. “I’m glad to see that Shawn Myers has finally stepped over the line, and that someone who can do something about it has noticed.”
“I’m glad, too,” I said honestly. The Myers and TP Automotive might have been able to buy or cajole the New Hastings Police Department into silence; but at least they hadn’t been able to muzzle the town’s only newspaper.
“What do you think the son-of-a-bitch did?” she asked.
I shrugged, almost tempted to tell Lucy what I knew about Shawn’s unwholesome interest in the cleaning woman’s daughter. I could easily imagine how much Lucy would enjoy learning about the dark side of the boss she so despised. But, of course, that was out of the question.
This little turn of events was what a dramatist would call a deus ex machina; and it could possibly serve to pull my chestnuts out of the fire. When a person is distracted by large problems, he tends to overlook the smaller ones. I hoped that this new bout of trouble would deflect any suspicions that Kurt Myers had developed about me. With a bit of luck, I might yet be able to complete this job without becoming further enmeshed in the sordid misconduct of Shawn Myers.
“What do you think he did?” Lucy repeated.
“How would I know?” I said.
Chapter 48
It was a few mornings later that I arrived at work to find the note from Donna folded on my desk.
The note was a simple sheet of legal paper, folded once in the middle and placed in the center of the desk, where she could be sure that I would not miss it.
Having spent years in the workplace as an undercover consultant, and a few years before that as a regular employee, I’d learned that first-thing-in-the-morning notes on your desk are usually harbingers of bad things to come.
But this was more than just a thank-you note. Beneath the line of thanks was a single sentence suggesting that this was about to get much, much more complicated.
“There’s more to this. Can we talk? Please. Call me.”
At the bottom of the page was a cell phone number.
I quickly folded the paper and stuffed it into my breast pocket. Questions were racing through my mind: Did anyone see Donna Chalmers leave the note? Even worse: Had anyone else read it? I knew that no one on the TP Automotive management team would think twice about reading a private message written by the mother of Shawn’s accuser to their undercover consultant.
I considered throwing the note away, and then playing dumb the next time I saw Donna Chalmers. In fact, I could swing things so that I never crossed paths with Donna Chalmers again. Donna never arrived at the factory earlier than 6:30 p.m., and I could easily make myself scarce by then, without seriously jeopardizing my undercover identity.
This thought persisted for about ten seconds. I knew that I would call Donna Chalmers. Somehow she had gotten under my skin during that short meeting in the parking lot, working her way into my head as few people had over the years. Maybe it was my desire to somehow atone for my recent sins against Kevin Lang and Alan Ferguson by helping her teenaged daughter. Maybe it was the fact that while she was not nearly as glamorous or stunning as my current bedmate, I found her contrast with Claire to be refreshing.
There was another possibility as well: Perhaps I was developing an interest in her that had nothing to do with my desire to atone for my many petty sins. It could be a mild case of thirtysomething puppy love, a whimsical crush.
No—on closer examination, I didn’t think it could be that. It was simply that recent developments in my professional and personal life had given me a bad case of self-doubt—something that I had almost never experienced before. That self-doubt had made me open to someone else who was feeling vulnerable.
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