"Fucking cop killer," Devanny growled.
"Shut the fuck up," Catalinelli said. "Your men already had their blood."
"It was the wrong guy."
"No shit it was the wrong guy. And I had to do some fancy bullshitting to make it all go away. Get it through your fat head Joe. We're going to keep Avellanos alive until we can transfer him to the state, or, if they want him, the federal government. In the meantime, we chip away at the emergency. We slowly but surely thin out the crowd. I'm planning to speak to them tonight at 8PM."
"Sir," Devanny said. "If we can't keep control of the crowd, we'll have to fire on people to protect you and even then we can't be sure of what will happen. You remember you proclaimed this as America's First Second Amendment Sanctuary City? Lots of those people are armed."
"As every good American should be," Catalinelli said. "My people won't fire on me."
"Don't be too sure about that," Devanny said. "You're not even very popular on the force anymore. They think you're protecting that cop killer."
"Joe," Catalinelli said. "I know your feelings on this. From this point on, keep them to yourself. You know that armored personal carrier we bought last year?"
"Yes."
"That armored personnel carrier Ms. Felton and her liberal friends gave us so much grief about?"
"Yes."
"As soon as you leave, get 25 of your best guys and park it on Reagan Plaza West. At 5, bring in some more riot cops and clear the steps directly behind the armored personnel carrier. At 6, take back some more of the west lawn. At 7, set up a sound system on the steps. You see where I'm going? We expand the perimeter around the building little by little. I speak at 8. Maybe they heckle me. That's fine. Let them get some of that rage out. If it gets too crazy, I jump inside the armored personnel carrier. My guess is it doesn't. By that time, Sullivan's people are already starting to get tired. They need to eat. They need to go to the bathroom and shower. They're already starting to drift away. Tomorrow we take back the rest of Reagan Plaza West. The next day, maybe we take the fountain circle. In a few more days, things are back to normal. We hold a press conference. We transfer Avellanos to the state, or to the feds, if they want him, and we put all this behind us. Got it?"
Devanny shrugged his shoulders as if to say "if you say so."
"Peter," Catalinelli said, after Devanny left the room. "Stay."
"Yes sir," Muffley said.
"Were you able to find out if that girl's still alive? We've got Avellanos for killing Steve Quinn. That gets him the death penalty. To be honest, personally, I'm not going to blame him for it. Do you remember when Quinn threatened that girl, right here, in this room?"
"How could I forget? You were giving him a neck rub."
"Do you think it's possible Avellanos killed Steve Quinn to protect that girl then faked her death to let her get away?"
"I think that's wishful thinking. They found her panties and bra with her DNA inside the West Hill coal breaker. She tried to make a call to 9/11 from the same spot before her cell phone cut off. Jeff Dawson witnessed a scene between them that makes it more than clear Avellanos was obsessed with her and she rejected him. So no, I don't think he'd throw his life away for Cathy Chegoffgan. I do think it's possible he may have killed Detective Quinn to impress her, but, after she persisted in rejecting him, he felt like a dupe and killed her in a fit of rage. I think he probably went into a fugue state and carried her up to the mine fire. I think it's possible he made the 911 call in order to turn himself in, but then decided that oh wow wouldn't it be great if he shot the mayor of Poison Springs, so he came back here."
"Peter. You're a detective, not a psychoanalyst. You've been trained to examine crime scenes not brains. Everything you just said depends on a psychological profile, not on concrete evidence. You're not qualified to make that kind of statement."
"As I told you I'm having him examined by a whole battery of mental health professionals right here, right now, even before we get him into federal custody. If there's anything about that girl he hasn't told us, they'll find out."
"Well it couldn't hurt. Does he have a lawyer yet?"
"He's refused counsel. He seems psychologically unbalanced and quite possibly mentally ill. He even accused officer Donahue of rubbing LSD in his head wounds. If we're going to find out the truth, we have to do it now, and we have to get him to talk to people who are trained in psychoanalysis. In fact, our first mental health professional is going to examine him in a little under an hour. I plan to be in the cell with her. You're welcome to join us."
"No Peter. I've got to stay objective. That little creep held me at gunpoint and I've got to stay focused on saving his ass. I don't think I could deal with him, and with that mob at the same time. And if he's trying to set up an insanity plea, I don't want to poison the well. You've done a great job here over the past few days Peter. You've more than made up for that little fuckup with the keys. So I will defer to your judgment and leave it to the experts."
Muffley smiled. Catalinelli walked over to the window and looked. Muffley joined him.
"Quite a crowd sir, isn't it?"
"My God. Where did they all come from?
Chapter 52 - An innocent man
Deputy Chief Anthony Villani, the head administrative officer of the Poison Springs Metro Police force, sat at the front desk of Poison Springs Metro Police Headquarters in the north wing of the Reagan Center. Villani, who was popular among younger officers, friendly and even tempered, had not had a good couple of days. In fact, he was in a downright foul mood, having had to work three straight 18 hour days, and fend off repeated attempts by members of America's Guard to sneak their way into The Dungeon. He was just about to get up and go back to his own office when two uniformed officers approached him. A man followed along. While the man's expression bespoke a certain determination, his posture and way of moving announced that he was simultaneously hesitant to do what he was about to do. He was very thin. He was in his 40s. He had leathery brown skin, a neatly trimmed goatee, and a slight Mongolian cast to his blue eyes.
"This is Mr. George Kozlowski," the first officer said. "He insists on speaking to someone in charge. He said he has information about the Cathy Chegoffgan, Steve Quinn murders."
"Take him to Muffley," Villani said.
"He's still in a meeting with the Mayor."
“Have him wait."
"No," Kozlowski said. "I don't want to wait. I want to speak to someone in charge. Are you in charge?"
"That depends," Villani said, looking up. "I'm not the lead detective on the case."
"You look like you're in charge. I have information you can use."
"Go on then," Villani said. "Well," he added, when Kozlowski seemed to hesitate. "What do you want to tell me?"
"You have an innocent man in jail for the murder of detective Quinn," Kozlowski finally said.
Villani sighed loudly, as if he had already heard the same thing 20 times before.
“That innocent man held the mayor of this city at gunpoint in front of the whole country."
"He only did that out of a misguided sense of chivalry. He didn't kill Steve Quinn."
"He admitted to killing Steve Quinn and Andy Jackson, and he admitted to throwing Cathy Chegoffgan into the West Hill mine fire."
"He did so out of a misguided sense of chivalry. Cathy Chegoffgan killed Steve Quinn. He did it to cover up for her."
Villani started to laugh.
"Why did you let this lunatic in here?" he bellowed. "Get him out."
"I'm not a lunatic," Kozlowski said.
"Did she kill Andy Jackson too?"
"I'm pretty sure Quinn did that."
Villani's jaw tightened.
"So you're accusing a decorated police officer of murder," he said. "Get this lunatic out of here before I throw him out myself," he shouted over to one of the uniformed officers. "I'm serious. I've got a job to do."
"I'm not accusing him of anything. I have no idea who killed Andy Jackson. What I do
know is that Cathy Chegoffgan is still alive."
Villani sighed even more loudly.
"It just isn't my day is it?"
“She burglarized my house," Kozlowski said. "She stole over 35,000 dollars in gold. She got into my liquor cabinet and drank a pint of my best whiskey. I've known her for a long time. She's a troubled girl. And I've always tried to defend her. But that gold was my nest egg. I'm not a rich man. I need it back. I kept the rest of it in a safe deposit box at the bank or I'm sure she would have taken that too."
"So you'd like to report it stolen?"
"Yes. I'd like to report Cathy Chegoffgan for stealing my gold."
"Have you seen her?"
“No, but dust my house for fingerprints. She's in the system. She's done time."
"What makes you think it was her?"
"Because she knew it was there, and because Avellanos asked me to help cover how she killed Steve Quinn."
"That little girl killed Steve Quinn? First you accuse Steve of being a murderer. Now you accuse him of being a weakling."
"She was a little girl 10 years ago when that photo was taken, but that was a long time ago. She can be a pretty rough customer when she wants to be. Don't let that pretty face fool you. I don't know how it happened. Maybe she surprised him. Who knows? And I don't want her to go to jail. But you've got an innocent man in jail, and I don't want that either."
"You were supposed to cover it up how?"
"Avellanos said he kidnapped her and that he had handcuffed to a bed in a motel. I was supposed to get her out of town in my truck but she wasn't there when I got there, only the handcuffs. When I got back home, my house had been robbed and by someone who knew her way around. She knew I kept spare keys under the mat, and she took advantage of it, or maybe she climbed up through the window. She's good at that."
Villani sighed. Then he noticed Muffley, who had come back down to Poison Springs Metro Police Headquarters while he had been talking to George Kozlowski, and was chatting with two DHS agents.
"Hey Pete," he called over to Muffley. "We have our 20th or 30th, I'm not sure of the count anymore, lunatic of the day. You want to talk to him?"
Muffley walked over to Villani’s desk.
"Here's Lieutenant Muffley. He's the lead detective on the case. Maybe you can walk out with him and explain what you just explained to me."
"This kid?" Kozlowski said, pounding on the desk. "You're not going to fob me off on this wet behind the ears boy. I said I wanted to speak to someone in charge and that someone is you."
Muffley smiled and started to walk out of the room.
"Good luck Tony," he said to Villani. "I've got to go."
"Good luck to you too Pete," Villani said.
Kozlowski pounded the desk again after Muffley left the room.
"I'm not leaving until you investigate my gold. I'm not leaving until you let John Avellanos go."
“You'll leave when I tell you to," Villani said, smiling.
"I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Kozlowski said, pounding the desk for the third time and making Villani wince. "Look," he added. "I know this seems strange. I wouldn't believe it myself. Maybe they were both involved. He knew I had the gold too. Please, you have to believe me."
"I believe you."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
Villani called two uniformed officers over to his desk.
"Put this man in handcuffs and take him downstairs," he said. "He's confessed to being an accessory after the fact to the murder of Steve Quinn."
The two officers had the handcuffs on Kozlowski before he could escape.
"You," Villani said to the first officer. "Take him outside into the hallway."
"John Avellanos is an innocent man," Kozlowski said, struggling against the handcuffs as the first officer dragged him out into the hallway. "John Avellanos is an innocent man."
"You," Villani said to the second officer. "Come here."
The second officer stood by Villani’s desk.
"Send him through the system?"
"No. I'm just trying to scare him so he doesn't come back."
"What do you want us to do with him?"
"Just march him back outside into the parking lot. Uncuff him and don't let him back in. God I'm sick of these lunatics. I'm sick of this whole fucking mess."
Villani stood up and went back to his office as the second officer joined his companion out in the hallway. The two men marched George Kozlowski out the back entrance through the parking lot and out to the sidewalk, where they uncuffed him.
"It's your lucky day Mr. Kozlowski," the first officer said. "You've just been paroled under the Cathy M. Chegoffgan Memorial Amnesty for non-violent offenders.
Chapter 53 – Sprung
Detective Lieutenant Peter Muffley descended to the lower level of the Reagan Center. He walked past The Dungeon, and down the long corridor to the south side of the building. He paused when he heard the bells in the clock tower sound out that it was four o'clock, looking up at the Entrance and Exit sign and laughing when he saw that "Exit" was still broken.
"We're going to have to get that fixed," he said to himself.
Muffley opened the door and continued on through the old courtroom, admiring the beautiful old wooden benches, looking up and noticing, for the first time, the pro-labor murals on the ceiling. He walked around the judge's chair opened the door, and nodded to Deneen, who had not yet been relieved.
"How you doing Paul?" he said, leaning over and putting his hands on the desk.
"Bored as hell," Deneen said.
"Let's hope it stays that way. Has Sister Mary Elizabeth showed up?"
"Not yet. I'm telling you. That is one cute nun. I've never seen a nun under 50. How do you know she isn't someone Grossinger or Randy Sullivan or one of those right wing idiots sent?"
"What if she is?" Muffley said. "Let her see him. Then she can go back outside and tell everybody we haven't snuck him out of the building."
"Or she can go outside and tell them where he is so they can storm the building and try to lynch him."
"That's what I like about Victorian Gothic architecture," Muffley said, rapping on the wall. "Getting down here means going through a maze. If you see anybody just lock yourself in and call for backup."
"How about that door in the back."
"Do you have a key for that door?"
Deneen shook his head.
"Do you know anybody who does?"
"No."
“The only people who have keys to that door are either trustworthy or dead."
"They could break it down."
"That's a reinforced, steel door," Muffley said. "If you want to batter it down, you'd have to get a running start, and you can't because it's at the end of a narrow winding staircase. That's why I love Victorian Gothic architecture. Now I'm going down to see maniac," he added, taking out his keys to the heavy iron gate. "Let Sister Mary Elizabeth in when she comes."
Muffley opened the gate and closed it behind him.
Only a few minutes later, "Sister Mary Elizabeth McCarthy" walked through the old courtroom, knocked on the door behind the judges chair the way she had seen Mitty do the day before, and, after it opened, walked past Deneen, who let her inside. She continued past the door to the Archives on to the "strong, reinforced, steel door" Muffley had referred to and took a key out of her pocket. She was about to test the key in the door when, at the last minute, she pulled back.
"Either it works or it doesn't," she said to herself. "No need to set off an alarm."
She turned around and walked back to the door opposite the archives, opened it, then walked down the stairwell.
"You're late," Donahue, who was still at the security desk, said. "He's already down there."
"Has he left any instructions?"
"Just go down. He's waiting for you."
Donahue took out his keys, opened the door and let "Sister Mary Elizab
eth McCarthy" inside. She winced when she heard it slam behind her, but quickly composed herself and continued down the stairs into the cell block. Muffley was talking to Avellanos, his back turned to the entrance. He did not turn around when she addressed him.
"Detective Muffley?"
"You're late sister," he said, turning around.
A curious expression came over his face when he saw her.
"Do I know you?"
"So you are John Avellanos?" she said to Avellanos, who was sitting on the bench with his faced pressed into the monogrammed scarf.
When he looked up to see the youthful looking nun, he jumped up and pressed his face to the bars.
"I am," he said in an unsteady voice. "I am."
"Your soul is imprisoned. Would you like to be free?"
Muffley stared at the young woman. He seemed almost hypnotized.
"Yes," Avellanos said. "If this isn't an illusion, if I'm not hallucinating because of the drugs Peter Muffley has given me, my soul yearns to be free."
"Are you sure?" she said. "Because while your soul is imprisoned, your hands are perfectly free."
"Yes," Avellanos said, reaching quickly through the bars, grabbing Muffley by the hair, and pulling him up against the bars. "I want my freedom."
Muffley was so surprised that Avellanos was able to get his other arm around his neck before he could react, and, even though he struggled violently, he was caught. Cathy Chegoffgan, who, of course, was the woman dressed up as the nun, took the 38 caliber revolver out of her waistband, pointed it at Muffley and put her finger up to her lips.
"I've already killed one cop. What makes you so sure I won't kill you?"
"She's lying," Avellanos said, tightening his grip on Muffley as if to emphasize his great physical strength. "I killed Steven Quinn."
Avellanos let go of Muffley's hair and slipped his other arm around his torso. He had regained his strength through a pure shot of adrenaline, and had no trouble keeping the bewildered Muffley pinned down while Cathy Chegoffgan searched through his pockets and found his gun, cell phone, keys, identification, and, to her great delight, handcuffs. She tried each key in the cell door, breathing violently. She crossed herself before she tried the last key, and almost fell to her knees when it opened the cell door.
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