by William Mark
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Gregory was hesitant, but he had given Curt enough to move forward. He needed to track down this paperwork and find out who this third suspect was. But first, he needed to talk to Helton.
Curt looked up the pod where Helton was housed and made a bee-line for that Unit. He asked a deputy to call ahead and have the inmate meet him in the Unit, just like Gregory. As Curt walked across the open center of the jail, he heard a commotion up before him and saw a deputy scurry out of the Unit and down the hallway toward the pod. He was carrying a med-bag.
A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach crept in as he watched the deputy run with haste. As Curt made it to the other Unit to await Helton, another deputy ran out nearly knocking him over carrying a portable defibrillator. It must be an inmate having a medical issue he thought, and his mind eased. He walked into the unit, but Helton wasn’t there. He could have been held up due to the medical issue taking priority. He looked over at the civilian aide sitting inside the control booth in the front of the unit working the electronic door and the radio. She stared back at him with questioning eyes.
“You looking for Helton?” she asked, her voice was muffled by the large metal door and thick safety glass inset.
“Yes.”
She looked down, and with no emotion and like it was a matter of habit, she said, “Well, hope you didn’t need to talk to him; he just hung himself.”
Chapter 39
Helton’s side of the pod was cleared out and taped off. Detectives from the Sheriff’s Office were already on their way over to work the death investigation. Curt quietly stood by, trying to get as much information as possible without being noticed as an outsider. The timing of this “suicide” was too suspicious. He managed to get a peek into the small pod at the crime scene. He heard Helton hanged himself by leaning forward on his knees and laying his neck across a taut bed sheet tied to the bed post and the bars of the cell door. It was simple yet very effective and ultimately quick. Curt studied the scene for just a moment but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He was disappointed by the simplistic manner with which Helton took his own life. Curt would have preferred doing it himself or at least to see him dangling lifeless from a noose.
Coward. He wanted to see the man tried for his crime, but he would be amiss if he said he was sad to see him dead. Good riddance.
Curt grew angry at the dead man. Gregory had just given him a direction to follow in finding out who was really behind his son’s abduction, but that lead was now dead in a jail cell. He stood outside the pod thinking about his next move. He refused to let this go.
Before leaving the pod, Curt overheard one of the deputies telling his supervisor that he had escorted Helton to the visitor’s booth earlier that morning and he seemed fine. Curt thought about the suspicious timing and grew even more wary at the mention of a visitor. There was no way that was a coincidence.
“Okay, pull his phone calls and check the visitor log. The detectives will want to see that,” the supervisor ordered.
Good idea, Curt thought as he listened in.
“I checked his account for phone calls, but he hasn’t activated it yet, so nothing there. I’ll go check his visitors and let you know.”
Curt slipped away from the pod and back into the Unit while everyone was busy managing the crime scene. He went back to The Unit computer and pulled up the jail information system, accessing Helton’s visitor log. He typed in the command, and the log popped up on the screen.
Curt felt his heart beating faster than normal in his chest. It was possible that the person on the visitor log could be the man who took Josh. He held his breath as he scrolled down. There was only one entry, the mysterious visitor earlier that morning.
In the jail lobby, where the red tape was spun, biographical information from the inmates’ visitors was captured along with their addresses and pictures taken at the time of the visits. Curt looked at the photograph of the visitor but grew more confused. He didn’t know this person and felt confident that it wasn’t someone close to him, as Gregory had led him to believe. This person didn’t fit at all.
“Bobby Richards? Who the hell is that?” Curt said out loud.
The name wasn’t familiar. Neither was his face. Richards was a black man in his late twenties who wore a look of perpetual contempt. Curt knew the look well. He saw it on the faces of the disenfranchised while working the lower, socio-economic neighborhoods, better known as the “hood” or “ghetto” to its inhabitants. It was no surprise that Richards had a few drug charges, dealing and simple possession in his past. How he fit in with Helton and the kidnapping of his son made absolutely no sense; it only created more questions.
Curt read off Richard’s address on the visitor log. He knew exactly where it was. He printed out the log and quickly left the jail. On his way out, he passed the Sheriff’s office detectives on their way up to Helton’s body. He knew one of the detectives from the academy.
“Hey man, how are you doing?” the detective asked.
“Good, thanks.” They quickly shook hands.
“Hey man, sorry to hear about your son, but I’m glad you got him back. I read all about it in the papers. That was some wild ass shit.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’m glad too.” Curt grew uneasy and tried to pull away without causing a stir. He didn’t want any attention about why he was really there; plus he needed to get to Richards, before anyone else did.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Back at work already?”
“Yeah, no rest for the weary. Got to pay the bills, you know.” Curt hoped the superficial answer would placate the detective.
He turned to leave, but the detective said, “Okay, well…that’s weird.”
“What?” Curt said innocently.
“We’re on our way to work an inmate death. Actually, one of the guys in your son’s case, believe it or not. Apparently, he offed himself in his pod this morning.”
“Yeah, I was just up there. I heard. Figured I should leave…it looking bad and all.”
“Right. I get it. You didn’t kill him, did you?” The detective asked sarcastically.
“No, of course not.”
“I know; I’m kidding. I wouldn’t blame you though.”
“Yeah. Well, I need to head out; good seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too. Take care.”
***
Bobby Richards lived off one of three streets that made up what was affectionately known as the “horseshoe.” The streets made a “U” shape and were historically rampant with illegal narcotic activity, prostitution, gambling, general indecency, and senseless violence. A few respectable houses sat amongst the damned, but the inhabitants were more or less captives in their own homes, surrounded by the violence around them.
Curt pulled up and sat outside of Richard’s listed address on the jail visitor log. It was a small, wooden house, a carport on the side, and a small, yet clean yard out front. It wasn’t a large house but considered nice given the standards of the poverty-stricken neighborhood. It was a shame that more people in the neighborhood didn’t share the same sense of pride.
Curt thought again about how Richards was connected to Helton and the mysterious suspect or even if he was the mysterious suspect, but pieces didn’t quite fit. He couldn’t place it, no matter what angle he took or how much he thought about it. He knew Richards fit in some way, but how?
Nothing about Richards’ personality or presence made sense. First, there was the revelation of the third suspect by Gregory, and then Richards was the only visitor to Helton, mere hours before he took his life. This was not a coincidence. There was a connection, and he just had to find it.
A short black male, head bowed as he listened to his oversized headphones, walked up from behind Curt and up to the house. He eyed Curt as he strolled up to the porch of the house. Curt slowly exited his car, hoping the kid didn’t run on him.
“You Bobby Richards?”
The black male lifted his head and looked around before answering. Curt recognized him from the picture taken at the jail; he was still wearing the same black hoodie from the morning.
“Yeah, who you?”
“No one; just need to ask you a question.”
“You po-leece?”
“Not really. I mean, yeah, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Nah, I ain’t doing nothing. Ain’t got no warrants. I don’t have to talk to you.”
Curt walked up to the porch to get close to Richards. He was already growing impatient with his attitude. He’d known too many people like him who just didn’t care about anyone outside of their own small worlds, black or white. They wouldn’t lift a finger or exert any effort unless it was directly for their own benefit. Curt felt like snatching up the little punk and beating him into submission based on his contempt for authority alone, but he didn’t have the time to waste nor was it likely to make a difference.
“What man? Why you getting close?” Richards showed signs of fear of the man in the trench coat.
“You went to the jail this morning and saw this man.” Curt pulled out a booking picture of Helton and showed it to Richards. “How do you know him?”
“I don’t know that guy,” Richards shot back instantly with his same indifferent attitude.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I don’t know that dude; never met him. Couldn’t tell you the first thing ’bout him.”
Curt’s brow furrowed in confusion. He searched around for an explanation. He was missing something.
“Then…why did you visit him at the jail this morning?”
“I didn’t.”
“The hell you didn’t; it’s on the log.” Curt pulled out the printed out log with Richards’s picture on it and shoved it in his face. “You went to see him this morning. Tell me how you know this guy.”
“Man, I don’t have to talk to you.” Richards got up from his small, concrete porch and turned to open up the front door.
“Hey!” Curt shouted.
“Man, fuck off.”
Curt stepped up on the porch and pushed the door shut over Richards’ shoulder. He hovered over Richards who was several inches shorter. Richards tried to shove the cop away, but Curt grabbed his arm and spun him around, violently slamming him against the door. Curt jacked Richards up and shoved his left forearm into Richards’ throat. His eyes widened as he gasped in fear. Richards’ feet dangled underneath him, searching for the stable ground.
“I’m not asking anymore, you little fuck! This man took my kid and raped him. You’re not who I’m looking for, but I’m trying to find out who helped him, and you’re standing in my way!”
Richards struggled but was overpowered by the strong man in the trench coat. He answered with a raspy, choking sound, “Then go ask him yourself.”
“I can’t. He’s dead.” Curt emphasized the news of Helton’s death by pushing harder against the man’s throat.
Richard’s attitude changed as he weighed the situation. “He is? Okay, okay. Lemme go.”
Curt eased up, letting him down flat on his feet. He eased his forearm off his throat but kept it across his chest as a matter of insurance.
“How do you know Helton?”
“Listen, I don’t know that guy. That’s the God’s honest truth. Some white guy came up to me in the parking lot and gave me two hundred dollars to say I was visiting that guy Helton.”
“Why would he have you visit him? Did he give you something to give him or a message of some sort?”
“No, I actually visited my girl. He came in too, but asked for her; then we switched booths. I saw my girl…he saw that guy.”
Curt let Richards go and immediately got lost in thought over what he had just heard. Someone was trying to cover his tracks and hiding his connection to Helton. That was the key Curt was looking for, whoever this person was who switched with Richards was the mysterious person or at the very least, directly connected.
“What did he look like?”
“White, fortyish, skinny. I wasn’t paying that much attention after he flashed the cash.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“Naw, man. I knew enough not to ask.”
Curt fished out a hundred bucks from his wallet and handed it to Richards after getting the name of his girlfriend. He left the “horseshoe” and encouraged Richards to keep their interaction to himself, knowing that he would probably be visited by detectives who were following the same lead from the visitor’s log. Curt needed to get access to the girlfriend’s visitor log before all of the mystery man’s loose ends were tied.
Chapter 40
He felt lost without access. The answer was out there and needed to be plucked from cyberspace, but it was just out of Curt’s reach. He needed Louis Melton and his computers. Curt knew it was too risky to head back to the jail to get the visitation log of Richards’ girlfriend, so he headed to the only other place he could think of, the police station. He parked in the visitor’s lot out front and walked in through the lobby like a commoner. He asked the duty officer, a young patrol officer working light-duty, for his old sergeant.
Sgt. Melvin Polk told the duty officer to just give him a visitor badge and buzz him up so that he could make his way through the department. The sergeant assured the rookie that Curt knew the way. Curt felt nostalgic, walking down the hallway past the Watch Commander’s office and into the first floor of the crystal palace. It was a name given to the east end expansion of the department due to its overuse of distorted glass tiles that stretched three stories high. He rode the elevator up to the second floor and walked out into the small lobby of the Criminal Investigations Division. An unfamiliar face sat behind the sliding glass window of the administrative aide’s desk. He gave a smile and told her that he was there to see Sgt. Polk.
A rotund black man with a graying mustache jutting out under a wide nose pushed through the door. Upon locking eyes with Curt, he gave him a wide and friendly smile then waved him over.
“C’mon in. I can’t believe you lost your ID badge. Get in here, son.”
“Hey Sarge, how are you?”
“Fine, fine, fine. Let’s go to my office. I’m over in homicide now.”
“Oh, they let you move on from Special Victims?”
“Yeah, I’ve been there almost as long as you’ve been gone. It’s been good so far. We’re getting a new lieutenant soon; Dylan Akers was here but just got moved away to another position…long story.”
“Oh yeah, I remember him. Sharp guy.”
As Curt and Sgt. Polk entered his office, Curt took a seat and Polk shut the door, something he used to frown upon. He made it known he liked everything out in the open.
“How’ve you been, Curt?”
“Good, I mean…horrible for a while as you know, but I found him. So I’m good now, ya know.”
“Yeah, that’s good. I’ve followed the story in the news. That’s incredible, you finding him on your own like that. But then again, I told everyone around here, if anyone was going to find him, it would be you.”
“Thanks.”
Sgt. Polk adjusted in his seat and leaned up and on his desk, getting closer to Curt as if to relay top secret information. Curt grew worried and immediately regretted coming to the station.
“I can’t help you.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Whatever it is you’re working on, and I’m sure it has to do with those men who took your boy, I can’t help you! Hell, one of them was found dead in his jail cell this morning.”
“Why can’t you?” Curt grew angry at the thought of his old sergeant and his own agency not helping him out—unless there was a good reason not to, he thought. A small wave of panic came over him as he wondered what skeleton had been drug out of the closet.
“Curtis,” Polk spoke in a soft tone, “I got two detectives flying in from Vail, Colorado tomorrow, and they want to speak to you about something they are w
orking. Something about a triple homicide up there? Happened sometime last week?”
The blood drained from his face, and the air suddenly got much colder in the small office. He felt like running, but there was a reason Sgt. Polk was letting him know this; it was some type of warning.
“Vail, huh?”
“Yeah, and by the look on your face, I take it you know exactly what they’re here for.”
“But Sarge….”
“Ahh-ahh-ahh, I don’t want to know brother. Nope, keep it to yourself. The less I know, the better…you know?”
“Right.”
“I know you, son. If you were involved in some shit like that, you had a damn good reason, so I trust that will be evident. But, in the meantime, I can’t help you with whatever you’re working on, okay?”
“Okay, I understand.”
“Now, tell me about Josh. How is he doing?”
Curt tried to shake away the shock of the Vail detectives coming all the way to Florida. How his name came to light concerned him the most. He wondered if Tony Mason had anything to do with it. Either way, it was inevitable that this would happen. He shoved the worry aside and answered Polk’s question about his son. He told him about the sleepless nights, post-traumatic stress, and the night terrors but kept the revelation of the third suspect to himself. He was trying to respect the sergeant’s wish not to get involved. After talking about the hopeful recovery of Josh, they spoke a little while longer on the progress of Florida State baseball, both were avid fans. Only Curt had fallen off the last three years, for obvious reasons.
“I need to get going. When are the detectives coming in?”
“Not sure, soon though. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. You’re not going to do anything stupid are you?”
Curt didn’t have a good answer. He wasn’t going to lie to him. No matter what the Vail detectives did, he wasn’t going to let anything come between him and this third suspect. After that, he didn’t care, but he wasn’t planning on doing any more running.