by Ian Jones
The bastards.
‘What happened to her? I didn’t do this,’ he whispered, his face pushed into his shoulder.
‘Well, we need to see about that,’ Slater replied.
There were people everywhere in the room, everything getting picked up, and brushed and looked through.
The policemen took John outside and back down the stairs, Slater following. They led him over to a patrol car and pushed him hard up against the side of it, the Hispanic cop snapping handcuffs on to the front. Slater stood to one side, silently watching.
‘John Smith, I believe you to be involved in the murder of Rita Gellar. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and to have one present during any questioning,’ he relayed. The big cop pulled the rear door open.
John looked at the cop and then at Slater, and the familiar anger welled up inside, replacing the grief and shock. He pulled away from the cop and stared over at the sheriff, who was standing on the other side of the car watching and smirking.
‘Hey fat man!’ he called out. ‘You did this. You and you’re fucked up bosses. And I am making you a promise, I will be back here. I will be free and clear, I did not do this and you know it. So you better start counting the minutes, because I’m coming after you. You, and all your fucking mates have fucked up. You are fucked. You will be fucking sorry, you all will be. You start looking over your shoulder you fat useless lump of shit. You are going to pay. You all will. You make sure you pass that on.’
The sheriff’s eyes opened wide, and what little colour he had fell from his face. His mouth opened, then closed. He spun around looking wildly at everyone in the car park
‘You hear that? He threatened me! He threatened an officer of the law! You all heard that right?’ he shrieked, his voice becoming shriller. ‘He threatened me! He …’
The squeaking voice was cut off after the big officer pushed John into the car and slammed the door shut. There was a pause while the two officers spoke with Slater and then the young Hispanic man climbed into the front passenger seat. The big one trudged slowly around the car looking at the sheriff who was now wandering around still speaking to nobody with his high pitched voice. John caught site of Gilbey walking across the road from the diner. John didn’t want to think about what he would be feeling.
The big officer got into the driver’s seat and started the car. He carefully negotiated a turn through all the other vehicles and then set off up the hill past the plant on the same road that John had just driven down fifteen minutes earlier.
John sat in the back saying nothing, staring out through the black steel mesh that separated him from the front. His mind was numb, nothing seemed to connect together. The two officers didn’t speak either, the Hispanic man would turn and look back at him occasionally, then about an hour into the journey after they had cleared Marathon and the road had improved he turned again and tapped on the mesh.
‘Hey!’ he called out.
John looked at him, but said nothing in reply.
‘What did you mean?’ the cop asked.
‘What did I mean about what?’ John replied.
‘What you said, about the sheriff back there. Carter.’
‘What, did I mean I’ll make him pay? Yeah, I meant that.’
‘I know you did. You said “You did this” to him. Why did you say that?’
‘Because he did. There’s something wrong with that town, and he is up to his neck in it.’
The big officer grunted something and the Hispanic cop shrugged and turned back to the front. John sat back and waited.
Abel parked his car haphazardly on the drive at Barlow’s house and hurried up to the front door. He went to knock but it was opened immediately by a man he recognised but didn’t know the name. A man wearing a pale grey polo shirt. He walked in and the man closed the door behind him, waiting there. Abel practically ran into the large living room, expecting pandemonium.
But everyone was relaxed, calm. Barlow was even smiling. He was sitting on the end of the long sofa, Hunter in an armchair opposite on the other side of a coffee table. Cane was standing by the glass doors that led onto the garden which was now in darkness.
‘Abel! Dennis, please sit down,’ Barlow sang out.
Abel sat down in the chair further along from Hunter. He looked around carefully. He had been at the Country Club when Cane had called him saying he needed to get to Barlow’s house urgently, and he had jumped in the car fearing the worst. Now he wondered why he had got the call. But he knew better than to ask, so he sat there quietly.
‘Mr Hunter has done us yet another great service,’ Barlow told him reaching down, picking up a brandy glass from the table and raising it in the air.
Hunter picked up his own glass and reached over, clinking it with Barlow’s. There was a bottle but no other glasses on the table. Abel looked at both men and glanced at Cane, who stood very still looking uncomfortably into the room.
‘It just needed some lateral thinking. It’s my military brain,’ Hunter said and sat deep into his chair.
Barlow smiled and drank from the glass, also settling back.
‘So, what are we celebrating?’ Abel had to ask, it was clear that nobody was going to actually say it. Cane obviously knew, but he was never going to speak out.
‘Celebrating?’ asked Barlow. ‘Yes, I suppose we are. Mr Smith is no longer an issue. It’s back to business as normal. Tomorrow is Friday. We can make sure everything goes well, and we are the hosts with the most over the weekend. Everything will be signed Monday morning and the ink dry. Then we are set for life. Nobody will ever interfere again.’
‘That’s good news,’ Abel replied carefully, still wondering what was going on.
‘No. It isn’t!’
The voice came from behind, confusing everyone. Heads turned. It was remarkable; Cane, had actually said something? He was standing in the same place, trembling slightly, eyes wide.
‘He killed the girl!’ he blurted out.
‘Ssshhhh,’ Barlow said shaking his head, but still smiling.
‘What girl?’ Abel asked.
Hunter stood up.
‘It’s not important. It’s ways and means. I saw the opportunity. She is of no consequence, it was for the greater good,’ he announced grandly.
Barlow nodded happily.
‘Rita. You know her,’ Cane told Abel, ignoring Hunter who scowled back at him and sat down heavily.
‘Rita? She worked for us,’ Abel remarked, now looking at Barlow.
‘So what? Lots of people work for us. We aren’t going to miss her. Forget about it,’ Barlow’s smile was slipping fast.
Abel looked at Hunter, who sighed.
‘Like I said, it was a means to an end. Smith is now in the care of the Odessa PD. He ain’t getting out of there quickly I promise you that. A loner, an oddball tourist who just hangs around the town all day and then gets lucky with the local slut and it all goes wrong. Who cares.’
‘This is not right at all. Rita was no slut,’ Cane said.
Hunter flapped a hand at him.
‘Whatever. We’ll need a replacement for Friday,’ Abel said, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘Then find one. Plenty of young girls in this town. In fact, just ask Tiffany to sort it out,’ Barlow replied dismissively.
‘Sure,’ Abel replied, but looking at Cane when he did it.
Barlow poured some more brandy for himself and Hunter. Cane walked stiffly across the room and then out of the house. Hunter grinned at Barlow, who glanced at Abel.
‘Make sure everything gets sorted. And tell Cane from me, that I expect more of him.’
The big guy turned onto the 10 at Fort Stockton and headed west, after a couple of minutes he hit a switch and the roof lights came on, a haze of red and blue lights flashing across the buildings on either side of the road in the dark. Then it was emptiness and he bumped off the road onto concrete, finally
pulling up in front of a long low office. The Hispanic cop got out the car and then walked around and opened the door on John’s side. He had his handgun drawn and aimed in at him. John raised his cuffed hands and shrugged. The big cop appeared and pulled him out of the car, and then the pair of them marched him into the building.
Inside it was a grey painted rectangular room, with a small drunk tank cage on the right and a counter along the wall straight in front. There was a heavy iron gate set in the wall to the left. The drunk tank was empty, and there was a bored looking woman cop sitting behind the counter. She looked up as John was led over and went through the procedure as she had no doubt done before many times over. He answered all her questions, and she entered the details into a computer which was out of sight below the high counter.
‘He been searched?’ she asked.
Both cops nodded.
She stood up and walked over and unlocked the gate.
‘Need to take them boots off,’ she said.
With difficulty in the handcuffs John undid his desert boots and slid them off, and then stood up again. The big cop checked he wasn’t wearing a belt. She walked through the gate and John followed with the Hispanic cop behind. John followed her down past a couple of simple cells and then she stopped and unlocked the next one. He walked through. There was nothing inside, just a stainless-steel toilet with a sink set in the top and a low metal bunk which jutted out from the wall. The front was thick vertical iron bars from top to bottom, the sides and back all painted concrete block walls. All the other cells he could see were empty. She slammed the gate shut and then gestured to him so he walked across.
‘Stick your hands through,’ she told him.
John did so and she uncuffed him.
‘Where are we? Detective Slater said he was from Odessa.’ John said.
‘State Police Office Fort Stockton. You’re here in case they find anything else in Gray Rock. Chances are you’ll stay the night then be taken to Odessa in the morning.’
‘So what now?’ John asked.
‘You sit right there real nice and quiet and wait. Detectives will be here soon enough, and they will want to talk to you.’
‘I need to make my phone call.’
‘You’ll get your chance.’
She walked off, the Hispanic cop gave him a long look and then followed her out. He heard the gate at the end of the corridor slam shut.
He sank down slowly on the bunk and looked around. There wasn’t much to see. The short row of cells went down one side, there was just a another painted block wall in front. No windows anywhere. Fluorescent strip lighting in the corridor and a single bulb behind a wire grille above his head. A clock away to his left high on the wall opposite read 7.55. Next to it he could see a CCTV camera.
He put his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. How could he be so stupid? This was all his fault, he had guessed he was being followed, but he had only considered himself. Now he had Rita’s death on his conscience. She was an innocent, just a young woman who wanted a better, more fulfilling life. She didn’t deserve this, she had done nothing wrong other than mix with him and end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He took his head out of his hands and stared at them. These hands. Hands that had done so much good, and so much wrong. He wasn’t a good man. He had done his share of dirty work.
But he had never killed an innocent. Never.
The anger grew in him again. They would pay. He would go back. And he would make every single one of them sorry.
Chapter Fourteen
They came for him just over an hour later, the clock said 9.05. It was the woman and another cop he had never seen before, a nervous looking guy dangling a pair of handcuffs.
‘Am I going to have trouble with you?’ she asked as she unlocked the cell.
‘Not at all,’ John answered, standing up.
‘Good enough. After you,’ she gestured back down the corridor and stood there with the gate open behind her. The nervous guy snapped the cuffs on in front, not too tight. John walked down after the woman and got to the gate at the end. The nervous guy squeezed past and opened it, and John was standing back in the booking area. He could now see there was a door directly opposite behind the drunk tank, which was still empty. But it was early he supposed.
The woman walked past and punched in a code on a pad alongside and the door opened, they walked through into a short corridor. There was an open office at the end, and a door on either side. She rapped hard on the left hand one and opened it, motioning inside. John walked in. Detective Slater was standing there with a younger man, also wearing a suit. In the room there was just a square table pushed against a side wall with four simple plastic chairs, two on either side, and some recording equipment on a shelf above.
‘Please Mr Smith, sit down,’ Slater said, his deep voice seeming loud in the small room.
John did as he was told, and Slater and the other man took their seats opposite. The nervous guy removed the cuffs and with a loud cough, left the room.
‘So would you like us to provide you with an attorney Mr Smith? We are happy to wait if necessary,’ Slater asked as they made themselves comfortable.
‘No, I don’t need one. But I would like my phone call,’ John replied.
‘Yes of course, in time. Mr Smith, I am chief of detectives, Slater, and this is detective Myers,’ Slater announced while Myers fiddled with the recording machine. There was a beep and a red light came on, and John saw there was a camera high on the wall opposite, also now with a glowing light showing. He nodded but said nothing.
Slater went through the introductions for the benefit of the tape, who was in the room, the time and date, and took John’s full details down, including his address in St John’s Wood. Then he placed a brown cardboard folder on the table and opened it. John hung his head and didn’t look at it.
‘Well, this is serious shit alright,’ Myers said brightly.
John’s head snapped up.
‘Of course this is serious. A young woman, a total innocent has been murdered. Yeah, this is very fucking serious you idiot,’ John told him, eyes flashing.
Myers stared back at him, speechless.
‘Ok, ok, ok, let’s just concentrate on what we know and what we need to find out,’ Slater interjected smoothly.
He picked up a sheet of paper from the folder. Myers slowly and deliberately slid out some photos and spread them on the table. Crime scene photographs. He had done it to shock. John looked at them carefully and spotted something immediately.
‘So her body was dumped in my room then,’ he said.
Myers went to speak but Slater got in first.
‘What makes you think that?’
John sighed averting his eyes. He did not want to look at the pictures laid out in front of him. He knew exactly why it had been done. Myers needed a kicking.
‘The blood. She’s covered in it, but there’s hardly any on the floor.’
Slater said nothing, just read the sheet in front of him.
‘So this is the preliminary report,’ he said eventually. ‘Not a great deal here but it’s a start. The body has been taken to Carline hospital, they got a mortuary there. PM will be done tonight.’
‘Well?’ John asked.
‘Ok. Rita Geller was raped and murdered. Cause of death severe head trauma but she also had deep wounds to the chest and abdomen. She had been beaten. We have witnesses state that she was with you last night, and you were seen together earlier today. Her body was found in your room. Now, as you say, she was not murdered there, in fact the report states that she was placed there post mortem.’
John shook his head slowly, tears pricked his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He swallowed.
‘She was raped?’ he whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘And what time of death do you have?’
‘Again, this is unconfirmed, but the initial findings are between two and four-thirty this afternoon.’
They were tal
king about Rita, who had been so full of life when he had said goodbye to her at the plant. He recovered himself with an effort.
‘Right. So ask me,’ John sat upright looking hard at Slater.
‘Ask you what, asshole?’ Myers asked.
John ignored him, focussing only on Slater.
‘Mr Smith, please can you verify your whereabouts today, listing all your movements that would be relevant to my investigation,’ Slater asked very properly and politely.
And John told them. Everything, from waking up next to Rita, breakfast, taking her home to get changed, then to the plant, getting coffee, driving out to look at the base. And then he dropped his bombshell.
His visit to the prison.
Slater had been scribbling furiously while John had spoken but now he froze. John paused, waiting. It would be funny if it wasn’t so terrible.
Slater looked up slowly.
‘Mr Smith, are you saying you were visiting at Howarth prison this afternoon?’
‘Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.’
Slater puffed out his cheeks and glanced at Myers.
‘Thank you. Please, just go over the timeline for me again, your travel and so on. Try and be as accurate as you can.’
So John repeated it, then remembered something.
‘Actually, Rita called me. About one thirty or so. That will be on my phone, you can check.’
Slater made more notes.
‘Why did she call?’ he asked.
‘We had plans for this evening. I gave her my number, she said she wanted to check it was real.’
John smiled at the memory. Poor Rita.
‘Where was she when she called?’
‘Still up at the plant. She was doing this hostess thing there, she’s done it before.’
John stopped, thinking back.
‘Yeah, we were chatting, then she said she had to go. I can’t remember exactly, she told me some assholes had showed up or something like that.’
‘Ok. And how did you meet Miss Geller?’
‘At Big Lil’s, it’s a bar near Gray Rock.’
‘Yeah, I know it.’
‘We met there last night, I was introduced to her by Gilbey. Sorry, I can’t recall his first name but everyone knows him. And the barman, he can tell you.’
