Suit yourself, he texted back. You guys must not get out much.
Not half the fun of you big city cops.
Sitting on his cuffed hands in the back of the squad, Mannock whined and cried and moaned. “C’mon! You can take the cuffs off! They’re killin’ me.”
“You think I want you comfortable?” Boone said. “Is Max comfortable?”
“Listen, here’s all I know about that. I—”
“Not now, Mannock!” Jack barked. “I told you. Downtown. You have the right to remain silent, and I suggest you exercise it.”
“Drake, you wanna hear, don’t you?”
“Put a sock in it, DeWayne,” Boone said, desperate as he was for any news. How a man could be involved in the kidnapping of his own biological son was beyond him. But the more they frustrated Mannock, the more they forced him to wait to be heard, the more they’d likely get from him. Hopefully he’d gush everything he knew. Plus they wanted the first interview in this case air tight, recorded, and with witnesses watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.
“I’m tellin’ you guys! You’re gonna be apologizing to me. I was nothing in this, a pawn. None of it really traces to me.”
“Good one, DeWayne,” Boone said. “Tell you what: if you’re right and we’re wrong and we misunderstood everything we overheard you say the last eighteen hours, I guarantee I’ll personally apologize and beg your pardon.”
“You will?”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll personally see that you get to keep your money.”
“And buy my car?”
“It’ll be yours to do with as you please.”
“You serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“’Cause that’s gonna be how it goes down. You’ll see I’m innocent. A hundred percent.”
Boone rested his hand on the butt of his Beretta, wishing DeWayne would give him reason to whirl and put one between his eyes. They already had more than enough on him to put him away for years. Proclamations of innocence were nothing new, but Boone was intrigued about what they’d hear once Mannock had been assigned an interrogation room.
“I’m tellin’ you guys, you’re gonna feel like fools.”
“I need to tell you something, Mannock,” Jack Keller said.
“What?”
“Are you listening?”
“I said ‘What?’!”
“I need to know you’re hearing me, so you don’t get hurt.”
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
“I’ve never been charged with police brutality.”
“Well, I’ll charge you with it if you try something on me!”
“See? You’re not listening. What I should have said is that I’ve been accused of brutality many times—which goes with the job, doesn’t it, Chief Drake?”
“It does,” Boone said, wondering where Jack was going with this.
“But I’ve never had it stick. You know why?”
“I don’t give a—”
“Yes, you do, Mannock. Because today it may be your turn. You follow?”
“No! What’re you saying?”
“Just that if I hear another word out of you before we get to Chicago, you’re gonna feel like you’ve been abused.”
“You threatening me?”
“Yes. So you’re listening?”
“I am now.”
“It won’t be anything you can get a handle on. Maybe I squeeze your arm too tight when I pull you out of the car. Maybe I’m not careful enough to keep from banging your head on the way out. Maybe before I get the cuffs off you for fingerprinting, I mistakenly tighten them more first.”
“They’re already too tight!”
“Well, see?”
“You better not—”
“Have you heard about our famous garage elevator door, DeWayne?”
“What about it?”
“It’s the old-fashioned kind that doesn’t stop automatically when a light beam is tripped. It was made with one of those old rubber coated vertical bars that’s supposed to push the door back if it hits anything. But you know what? Some pranksters, maybe some colleagues of Drake’s and mine from the 11th, they removed that thing several years ago. Now when we take someone from the parking garage to the booking room, we have to be very careful to get them in the elevator before that door starts to close. It can leave a real bruise. Some guys have even been caught in there until we can find the Open button.”
“I’ll sue! You’ll lose your job!”
“For being careless? I don’t think so, DeWayne. Like I say, I’ve been accused a lot of times, but there’s never been enough to make anything stick. Wonder why? Because I’ve had such an illustrious career? Is it my reputation, DeWayne? Or is it because the accusations always come from lowlifes like you?”
“Maybe you just know how to get around the system and not make it obvious.”
“Bingo! You win the prize, DeWayne! So here’s what you do to make sure I’m extra considerate while we’re getting you to booking—listening?”
“Yeah.”
“You keep your mouth shut the rest of the way. If I’m tired of hearing you, I know Chief Drake is. Am I right, Chief Drake?”
“You’re right, Chief Keller.”
“So, not another word. If I hear one, even one, I can’t promise you’ll be as comfortable in the interrogation room as you are now. And you’re not really that comfortable now, are you?”
Mannock sucked in a breath through his teeth, as if preparing to say something.
“Ah-ah-ah, DeWayne,” Jack said. “Not another word.”
Octavia Frazier sat in her office in Calona, Michigan, putting the finishing touches on her monthly report for the city council that night. Two of her four police officers were on duty, and the civilian dispatcher-receptionist-assistant Madge poked her head in the door.
“Fed Ex for you, Chief,” she said. “You order something?”
Ms. Frazier held out an open palm without looking up. “Back to your desk, Madge. I’ll let you know if it concerns you.”
The small box was light, and the sending information had been blacked out. The chief tore it open to find what looked like a brand-new cell phone and a note that appeared to have been written by a child, or by an adult with his opposite hand.
Free phone just for you, Chief. All charged up and ready to go. Just use it to call Lieutenant Tidwell of the Hammond, Indiana PD, and it’s all yours. User manual available on line. Love ya. J.B.
“Madge!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How much is a phone call to Hammond?”
“Indiana? Can’t be that much. Why?”
“Darndest thing. C’mere and look at this.”
“You just banished me back to my desk, Chief!”
“Get in here.”
The women studied the phone and the letter. “On this kinda phone, it’s probably free,” Madge said.
Octavia turned on the phone and colorful icons appeared. “This is like a mystery, Madge. We haven’t had a mystery since that guy in County killed himself.”
“See whose it is.”
“How do I do that?”
“Give me that,” Madge muttered. “I shoulda been chief; don’t even know how to use a phone. Here, see? Oh, it’s blank.”
“Well, ’course it’s blank, Mrs. Smarty-pants. If they wanted me to know who J.B. was, they woulda signed their whole name.”
“You gonna call the number?”
“They didn’t give me a number.”
“They gave you a name, silly! You want me to get the number?”
“Okay, but let me make the call.”
Madge dialed information and asked for the Hammond, Indiana, Police Department. “No thanks,” she told the operator, “we’ll dial it ourselves.”
Lefty Tidwell sat in the passenger seat of the surveillance van on the way back to headquarters while one of his techies drove and the other monitored the equipment in the back. They had all enj
oyed listening in on the conversation between DeWayne Mannock and the two Chicago cops. Tidwell had been hooting over Jack’s threats.
“Keller’s a piece a work, ain’t he? Huh? Am I right or am I right? Huh?”
“Whoa!” That came from the techie in the back.
Tidwell whirled in his seat. “What’s up?”
“Just got a ping on the phone used to send the picture to Mrs. Quigley.”
“AKA’s?”
“It’s on; that’s all I know. Pinging off a tower in northern Michigan. Way up there. Western side of the state. Now here’s a call. Hang on.” He turned on the speaker and heard a woman ask for the number for the Hammond PD.”
“Curious,” Tidwell said.
Two minutes later, Lefty’s cell chirped.
“Tidwell.”
“Got a call for you, Lieutenant. A police chief in Michigan.”
“Put it through.” Click. “This is Tidwell.”
“Yes, hello, sir. Chief Frazier here in Calona, Michigan.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She told him the story of the phone. “. . . and that’s everything I know.”
“Have you touched it, Chief?”
“I’m afraid I have. It’s in my hand.”
“It’s evidence in an open investigation. Could you do me a favor and overnight it to the name and address I give you?”
“Absolutely. Um, we’re on a real small budget here, Lieutenant. There’s only six full-time people—”
“Just pop an invoice in there, Chief. Chicago PD will be glad to reimburse you.” He gave her Jack Keller’s name and address. “Now, Ms. Frazier, I’m going to read you off a list of names. If any one of them sounds at all familiar, stop me, okay?”
“Sure.”
“John or Johnnie Bertalay. DeWayne Mannock. Alfonso Lamonica. Florence Quigley. Kevin Kenleigh, that’s K-E-N-L-E-I-G-H. Jasper or Jammer Pitts.”
“Nothing, Lieutenant. Sorry.”
“Just trying to get a bead on why that phone would have found its way to you.”
“I haven’t the foggiest. I’m sorry.”
“But you’ll box it up for us?”
“And get it to Chief Keller in Chicago, yes, sir.”
“Anyone else touch it?”
“My dispatcher, yes.”
“Do both of you have your fingerprints on file there?”
“Only sworn officers, sir. Mine, not hers. You want me to fingerprint her?”
“That won’t be necessary. Pop a copy of yours in there, and we’ll know whose the others are. We’ll be hoping for one more, one that fits our suspect.”
While Tidwell was thanking her and hanging up, the techie in the back appeared between the front seats.
“What?”
“He’s playing us again, Lieutenant.”
“Who is?”
“AKA, or whoever he is this week. Take a look at this.”
Tidwell accepted a printout bearing the location of the cell tower that had picked up the phone signal. It read, “Calona, MI.”
“We already know that,” Lefty said.
“Read it closely, Lieutenant. He sent that phone all the way there, just because of the anagram. C-A-L-O-N-A-M-I. A little verbal raspberry right in our faces.”
26
Ruse
“Thanks for behaving yourself, Mr. Mannock,” Jack said as he helped DeWayne out of the backseat in the underground garage at the 11th.
Mannock looked wary to Boone, who assumed the man was both struggling to adjust to the low light and keeping an eye out for shenanigans from Keller. He was still quiet when they reached the elevator, Keller on his left, Boone on his right. When it opened, Mannock mince-stepped aboard, careful to avoid the door.
“Can I talk now?” DeWayne said. “’Cause I—”
“I wouldn’t,” Boone said, nodding toward Jack as if the last thing he wanted to do was get that man riled. DeWayne shook his head and puffed out his cheeks.
Boone himself was in crisis mode. It was all he could do to keep from slamming Mannock against the wall of the elevator and demanding to know where Max was. If he was sure of anything, though, it was that DeWayne did not likely know. Who in their right mind would trust a scumbag like him with that kind of information?
Still, Boone imagined holding the cold muzzle of his Beretta against Mannock’s temple and demanding to know how he slept at night, knowing he had put his own offspring in danger. Up till now, Boone had assumed Mannock had never even seen Max. But somebody had been staking out the boy and Haeley and even Florence. And it hadn’t been that long since Boone himself had accosted DeWayne in the cul-de-sac in front of his own house and endured the cockamamie reason Mannock had used for wanting to talk with Haeley.
DeWayne was uncuffed and taken to be fingerprinted. “How many times you guys gotta do this?” he said. “I mean, I been fingerprinted a half-dozen times, at least in Indiana. I’m not in your system?”
“Didja hear that, Chief Drake?” Keller said. “This upstanding citizen has an idea how we can improve our efficiency.”
“Impressive, Chief Keller. Maybe we should give him a form he can put in our suggestion box.”
“Just tired of gettin’ ink all over me.”
“Well, then, welcome to the twenty-first century, DeWayne,” Keller said, sidling close to Mannock. “Guess you Hoosiers haven’t caught up, but here we scan. No ink.” At first it appeared DeWayne was trying to stare Jack down, but when Keller leaned close and said, “Boo!” the prisoner flinched.
“I’m kinda scared of this guy, Chief Drake,” Keller said. “Aren’t you?”
“Shaking, Chief Keller.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, taking Mannock by the arm. “Tough customer. Think we ought to cuff him again for transport to interrogation?”
“Nah, let’s take our chances.”
“Yeah, and hope he tries something.”
As they led DeWayne into the interview room upstairs, Boone and Jack were met by 11th District Commander Heathcliff Jones, who had always reminded Boone of Fletcher Galloway. Not all commanders dressed in uniform every day, but Jones did. A big man with a deep voice, he always looked the part.
“Everybody’s in place,” he said. “Detective Johnson is on his way. We’ll watch from out here, and sound and video are rolling. Drake, we’re all here for you, man.”
Boone appreciated that, but it went without saying. The brotherhood under the blue had each other’s backs, as the cliché went. Anytime one suffered, the others were there. But all Boone wanted to hear just then was that someone had a solid lead. Something. Anything.
Boone was too antsy to sit, so he stationed himself standing in a corner, thinking it would put him behind Mannock.
But DeWayne had to know he was on stage, that this case was a big deal to the 11th. He also must have felt safe, knowing that Chief Keller was being watched as closely as he was. DeWayne quickly lost his mousy tentativeness, immediately strode to the chair usually reserved for the interrogator, flipped it around, and straddled it as he sat, facing Boone and resting his elbows on the table.
“That’s my chair,” Keller said. “You’re over there.”
Mannock sighed as if disgusted, rose slowly, and sauntered to the other side of the table. When he started to flip that chair around, Keller said, “Just leave it the way it is. This is my house, not yours.”
Mannock lifted the chair and let it bang on the floor, then flopped into it and slouched, arms folded, his back to Boone.
“You’re gonna give me attitude, really?” Jack said, leaning over the chair Mannock had left and resting his palms on the table, putting himself face to face with DeWayne. “Sit up and act like you care about what’s going to happen to you, because I know you do.”
“You don’t know what I care about,” Mannock said.
“Well, there’s truth in that,” Keller said. “You don’t seem to care about much, not even your own progeny.”
“My own what?”
&
nbsp; “Your own kid, DeWayne. You may not be a dad, but biologically you’re a father.”
“What, you and Drake gonna play good cop, bad cop with me now? Like I haven’t been through this before?”
“You worry only about me, Mannock,” Jack said. “I’m your good and bad cop rolled into one today. State your full name for the record, please.”
“DeWayne William Mannock.”
“And will you stipulate that your rights have been read to you, that you understand them, and that you’re choosing to waive them for this interview?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Yeah on all three of those.”
“Just so we’re crystal clear. You acknowledge that you have the right to an attorney and to have that attorney present while you are being questioned, and that if you can’t afford one—
“I said yeah! Can we get on with this?”
Jack straightened up and looked into the two-way mirror. “We’re rolling and you got all that?”
A red light appeared above a squawk box near the ceiling, and Boone heard a staticky woman’s voice: “Yes.” That had to be Ronette, the attractive young uniform in charge of audiovisual at the 11th.
Boone wondered how stupid Mannock could be. Any lawyer would be able to see within sixty seconds that he was into this thing up to his neck and his only prayer was to trade a little of what he knew for a modicum of consideration. But no . . .
“All the way here, you were dying to tell your side of this, DeWayne,” Jack said, finally sitting. “Here’s your chance.”
“Yeah, and now I’m hungry. I didn’t have breakfast.”
“You think this is a restaurant?”
“You want me to talk, give me something to eat.”
“I thought you wanted to talk. You’re not going to like what I’ve got to say.”
“You got nothing to say,” Mannock said, “because you got nothing on me.”
“Nothing that connects you to this case, DeWayne?”
“Well, I didn’t kidnap anybody, and you can’t prove I did, so you gotta let me go.”
“You really need me to walk you through this? You introduced a friend to a former coworker. You borrowed a car from that coworker for that friend. That friend used that car and was the last person seen with a child now missing and unaccounted for. That makes you an accessory to kidnapping, and depending on where that child is taken and what happens to him, your prospects can only get worse. Do I need to go on? Should we go straight to central booking? Or would you like to plead your case now?”
The Breakthrough Page 17
