by Mandie Tepe
Shad studied the caged interior and asked shakily, “Are you going to handcuff me?”
This question stopped her in her tracks. “Do you believe something you’re going to tell us will warrant your arrest?”
He squared his shoulders before admitting, “Yes.” He ignored his father cursing under his breath.
Riley instructed him to put his hands on the hood of her car. “Do you have any weapons?” she inquired—not unkindly. “Anything that might hurt me?”
“No, ma’am. Just my cell phone in my jacket pocket.”
She made a cursory search, but came up with nothing. Then again, she didn’t expect to. “Wait in my car and I’ll be right back.” Although she didn’t cuff him, she did take his phone before she rushed back to command.
Ben looked at his son, “You in on this?”
“In a way,” Shad admitted miserably.
Ben opened the contacts in his phone and tapped a button. He stared across the lawn to where his wife was still huddled. Shad saw her looked down at her phone and connect.
His father said, “Anita. Call your cousin’s husband . . . the lawyer . . . and have him meet us down at the police station.” He paused and Shad saw his mother had gone rigid and was babbling. “I don’t have time to explain. Just tell him Shad is going in to make a voluntary statement, and we want an attorney present.” Another pause. “Yeah. What’s his name again? Stephen Colby. Right. We’re leaving in a minute.” Anita’s eyes darted around until she found them sitting in the back of the cruiser. Shad saw her mouth moving again as she rose and headed their way. “If you can get a ride over there then, okay. If not, I’ll try to keep you posted by phone.”
Ben disconnected but he and his son did not speak. The tension in the car seemed to choke out any possible communication.
Officer Riley returned and slid behind the wheel. “We need to get you out of here,” she stated.
“What’s happening?” Shad asked.
Suddenly—before she might have answered—the other officers fanned out, some herding the bystanders toward the street and others raising their weapons in the direction of the building’s entrance.
With the windows rolled up, the doors shut, and the engine running, Shad couldn’t hear exactly what was being broadcasted through the PA system. Soon enough though, he saw Jimi Alexander making her way slowly through the doorway, her hands clasped on top of her head. Once on the sidewalk, the cop in charge must have told her to turn around and back away from the building and then kneel.
It didn’t seem fair to Shad that they were treating her like a criminal when she was an obvious victim in the whole situation. He continued to watch as several officers rushed her, pulling her arms behind her back, before securing and searching her.
Officer Riley put the cruiser in gear, pulled out into the street and aimed the wheels toward the police station. Shad turned his head and watched what was happening with Jimi until he couldn’t see any more.
When he turned to the front again, he blinked his eyes furiously to keep unexpected tears from falling. She hadn’t appeared to be injured, but she looked scared . . . and cold in her pajamas and bare feet.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Jimi being handcuffed and treated like a criminal was not the most bizarre thing that had happened to her that night. Of course, she was expecting it because they’d explained it would happen that way when she’d called 911.
She was holding things together pretty well as the officers led her to the back of a waiting ambulance. That was when she realized she should have taken the time to find her shoes and maybe a sweater. The chilly early November air cut right through the clingy jersey fabric of her pajamas.
A cop who wore the air of “man-in-charge” positioned himself in the opening of the ambulance door the second she settled on the foot of a stretcher. He launched immediately into peppering her with questions. She’d only answered a few when the middle-aged paramedic requested they uncuff her so he could get her vitals. Jimi was relieved that his request was granted, not understanding that the officer figured that the sooner she was cleared medically he could take her to the station for the real debriefing.
A ruckus erupted outside the vehicle when the Vagabonds crew—led by her parents—demanded to see her. The cops were savvy enough to move away just long enough for Nova and Jock to step up inside the ambulance for hugs and assurances that she was fine but still pretty freaked out. After seeing her mama and pop’s faces she didn’t think she was any more freaked out than they were.
The officers insisted her folks and the other bikers—who were calling out statements of support, comfort, and even vows for retribution (which appeared to set the authorities on edge)—move out so they could get the information they needed from her.
As her Vagabond family faded off, she noticed another family clustered nearby watching her. Jimi almost cried as she realized it was River and both of Chance’s parents—the rest of River’s Edge hanging back. She was very surprised and touched that they were all there and asked for another moment from the paramedic. Luckily the fatherly medic was sympathetic and allowed it. She waved the Loughlin/Reynolds over and accepted hugs from River and Suzanne . . . a shoulder squeeze from an obviously uncomfortable Clark. Suzanne even cried a bit. As grateful as Jimi was to them for being there for support, Chance was the one she really wanted to see.
After they left, her fellow Crosswinds residents filled the doorway calling out their concern. She put on an exaggerated smile and reassured them that she was fine. At last, the paramedics were free to finish giving her a going over and deemed her fit for transport to the station. By the time that happened, a young officer showed up with a pair of warm wool socks donated by Marisol and a fleece throw belonging to Leona Ricci. Her downstairs neighbors had been allowed in accompanied by officers momentarily to gather those things since it appeared the burglars hadn’t spent any time on the bottom floor excluding it as part of the actual crime scene.
Finally, Jimi was sitting in the front seat of the CPD supervisor’s SUV with the heater blowing on her full blast. She was still shivering and the paramedic had told her she was probably in some degree of shock. They’d put an oxygen mask on her for a few minutes and given her a large bottle of water insisting she hydrate.
She looked over at the detective who was driving them to the station. “How is Axel?” she asked—her voice quaking.
Detective Xavier was a good-looking forty-something African American man. He wore a wool fedora on his clean-shaven head and a double-breasted dark suit—either navy or black, but it was too dark to tell—buttoned over a substantial paunch. He seemed surprisingly collected after the stress of the past couple of hours.
He glanced first at his partner—sitting in the back seat—by way of the rearview mirror, then at her. “He’s critical and in surgery right now.”
Jimi bit her lip and willed the tears gathering in her eyes away.
Xavier soothed her by saying, “The trauma surgeons at Mercy are good. Really good.”
“Yeah,” she choked out.
“We’ll get your statement as quickly as we can and have someone drive you over to the hospital to be with your family, if you like.”
“That’d be good. Thank you.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
It felt like Shad had been sitting in that dingy interrogation room for hours. There were no clocks, no windows, and he’d turned over his phone to Officer Riley so he had no idea how much time had elapsed.
Mr. Colby—the lawyer that was married to Shad’s mom’s cousin—had listened to his story, the expression on his face going grimmer and grimmer. Mr. Colby and Ben had stepped out into the hallway to talk over everything he’d confessed to them. After a short while Ben—accompanied by a shaky Anita—entered the room.
“What’s happening now?” Shad asked miserably.
“Colby’s talking to
the district attorney,” Ben informed him.
Anita walked over and ran a trembling hand over Shad’s hair. Normally he would have jerked away if she did that. Then again she never would have done it. He was surprised she had. To say that chasms had formed between the three members of their little family would be a gross understatement.
The door popped open and Officer Riley leaned through the doorway. “Anyone need anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?”
“Coffee would be nice,” Anita said in a small voice.
“Yeah,” Ben agreed.
“Shad?” Riley asked.
“Coff—,” he began in a hoarse voice. He broke off at the sight of a couple of detectives accompanying Jimi down the hallway in their direction. She looked pale and exhausted cocooned in a fleece blanket with a St. Louis Cardinals emblem woven into it. He didn’t think she noticed him sitting in his little room. The detectives led her into a different one up the hall.
“Anything else?” Riley continued.
Shad’s eyes swung to hers. “How is Axel doing?” he asked in a fear-tinged voice.
Riley’s eyes softened. “He’s critical and in surgery. That’s all we know.”
Shad nodded jerkily.
After she left to get their coffee, Ben pulled a chair close to Shad’s. He shot a quick look toward the camera near the ceiling in the opposite corner, before staring intensely into his son’s face. “They’re probably listening,” he whispered.
Shad gave a negligent shrug. He didn’t care what they heard, because he was intent on telling everything he knew anyway.
Ben continued, “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to tell them anything. Colby can handle it from here.”
“I’m cooperating,” Shad said stoically, his eyes turned to the table. “Don’t you think it’s the right thing? I mean . . . after what they did to Axel . . .”
Ben sighed. “It is the right thing, but it’s not gonna be an easy thing.”
“Axel’s not going through an easy thing. Jimi didn’t either,” Shad bit out. “And none of this is even their fault.”
A uniformed officer opened the door and Officer Riley brought three disposable coffee cups in and set them on the table.
She turned to leave, but Shad stopped her with another question, “Have they caught any of them?”
“No. We have units patrolling all over town but we haven’t found them. Won’t you give us their names so we can cover their houses?” she implored.
Shad shot a look at his dad. “I’m ready, but they want my attorney in here first,” he said in frustration.
The door swung open again and Colby, District Attorney Staley and a couple of detectives walked in crowding the small room.
Colby spoke up. “The DA wants to go over this paperwork and we need you to sign,” he directed to Ben. It’s a deal that if Shad cooperates and gives them the information they need to prosecute he won’t be charged for any of the offenses committed tonight . . . the burglary, shooting and false imprisonment/kidnapping charges. This deal won’t cover some of the earlier crimes before tonight, though.”
Shad was stunned. It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t be held accountable for tonight’s acts. He choked out, “What if Axel doesn’t make it? Won’t I be charged with murder?”
DA Staley said, “No. As long as you tell us everything, the deal holds. If you withhold information or lie, the deal with become null and void.”
Mr. Colby added, “You’ll have to testify against your friends if this goes to trial. That’s another condition for this deal.”
Shad gulped and looked up at Ben who had risen from his seat. “What do you think, Dad?”
Ben shook his head. “It’s your decision. Your mom and I can’t do it for you. Are you man enough to see it through?”
“Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”
When he saw the relief wash over both his parents’ faces he knew he’d made the right decision.
DA Staley slid the papers over and showed Ben several places to sign as his guardian. “This document states that you’re accepting the deal in agreement with Shad’s cooperation.” He flipped to another sheet. “This waiver gives us permission to download the information from his cell phone without a warrant in accordance with his cooperation.” He paused, “I need this box and that one initialed as well.” Staley and Colby took turns signing the documents on their designated lines after Ben signed for his son. In the midst of this, the DA glanced at Shad. “As soon as this is done, you can tell the detectives your story. Every detail.”
Shad studied the imposing men in dark suits, then his gaze swung to Officer Riley still positioned near the door. “What about Officer Riley? Why can’t I talk to her?” he asked.
DA Staley blinked in surprise. “You’d rather she question you about this?”
“Well . . . yeah . . .” Shad answered uncertainly. Would his request ruin the deal?
The older man nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. Turning toward her, he gestured with an arm to the chair across from Shad. “Officer Riley? Mr. Tyler would rather you conduct this interrogation. Would you mind?”
All of the officials in the room seemed off-balance by this turn of events, but none more than Linda Riley. “O-okay,” she said, taking the notebook one of the detectives handed to her as she moved past him to take her seat. Once she was settled with the notebook open and her pen at the ready, she looked into Shad’s face. “You don’t mind if Mr. Staley and Detectives Lyerla and McMullen stay—do you, Shad?”
Shad shook his head. The three men leaned against various walls. In a firm voice, Shad stated, “Jonny Clarke . . . Seamus Fitzhugh—everyone calls him Fitz . . . Hunter Graham . . . Elias Ramirez . . . Pilar Smith . . . Gretchen Conover. Those are the ones that were there when Jonny laid out the plan. I’m sure Jonny was in the building because he was texting my phone while they had Jimi. And if Jonny was there, Fitz would definitely have been with him. For sure. Any of the others could have been along with them, but I don’t know which ones actually were.”
The younger of the two detectives, still jotting down the names hit the floor running, as he headed out the door.
CHAPTER 18
The midday sun shining through the window flooded her face. Jimi, aware she wasn’t home in her own bed, recognized immediately where she was before she even opened her eyes. She kept her eyes closed as she got her bearings, feeling the ancient thin mattress under her. It seemed to hold the imprint of her body from years of growing up in that room . . . sleeping in that bed every night. There was an identical match right next to it on the opposite side of a worn wicker bedside table that stood between them. The only difference was that the other mattress held an imprint of Daisy’s petite body.
Jimi drew in a deep breath and this brought reminders of the differences to her childhood bedroom. Since she and Daisy had moved out her parents had begun using the room for storage. There wasn’t much room in the trailer as it was, so once the room wasn’t being used for its intended purpose—even though they left the beds, dresser, chest and table—the room was fair game. What Jimi was detecting was the smell of motor oil and engine grease. She cracked opened her eyes to take in a plethora of bike engine parts spread out on a plastic sheet on the matted carpet in the corner between her bed and the wall.
Now that she was fully awake, she reflected on the nightmare of the night before, forcing away visions of the actual hostage experience. When she had finished giving her statement at the station one of the uniformed officers drove her to the hospital where she joined her family—both her actual family as well as the Vagabond one—to wait for Axel to get out of surgery. They sat for what seemed like hours. The MC women spent much of that time buzzing around Jimi and mothering her. Some of the nurses did the same, bringing her blankets, slipper socks, and enough herbal tea for her float away on. She was so emotionally and physically exhausted that she didn’t have it in her to be embarrassed that she was still in her pajamas.
Finally, a nu
rse came out to bring Axel’s father and brother to a private room to meet with the surgeons. Zip had none of that and demanded they come out and give the news to the entire MC. Family was family, he’d insisted, and at that time of morning they were the only ones in the waiting room anyway, so confidentiality wasn’t really a factor.
Axel had made it through the surgery and was in recovery until he came out from under the anesthesia and could be moved to ICU.
He’d been shot three times. Twice in the upper right abdomen damaging his spleen and lung, one of those bullets scoring his upper arm before entering the trunk of his body. The final shot had caught him in the hip on the same side. It appeared as though he’d been spinning away and ducking from the shots as they’d been fired.
The doctors were able to retrieve all of the bullets and did what repair they could to his hip, though that would require further surgery. They’d also had to do a partial splenectomy and remove the bottom portion of his right lung that was shredded beyond repair. Axel had lost a lot of blood, and there had been a good deal of internal bleeding, so he’d been given blood transfusions. The doctors were predicting a full recovery after what would be a lengthy rehabilitation period.
After meeting with the surgeons, everyone stayed until Axel was settled in ICU and Zip and Runner went in to see him. When they returned, they reported that he was out of it and hooked up to lots of machines and tubes. Zip was determined to stay in the ICU family waiting room equipped with chairs that unfolded into cots. Gypsy and Runner would stay with him.
The rest of the family left, Nova insisting that Jimi go home with them. Jimi had no desire to set foot in her apartment, so she didn’t put up a fight.
That’s how she found herself waking up in her childhood home, still groggy from an over-the-counter sleep aid her mama had pushed on her before she fell into bed after sunrise.
