On The Inside

by Ted Wood

  The watchman turned a few pages and Ferris got impatient. “It'll be under the P's for Chrissake.”

  “Yeah, I'm gettin’ to it.” The watchman turned a couple of pages more rapidly and then ran his finger down the names. “Yeah, here we are. Unit four, room twen'y-seven.”

  “Which one is unit four?” Ferris snapped.

  “The middle one. Like there's seven units. Go past the headframe of the mine and you'll see ‘em.” He frowned. “You know it. You've been here before.”

  “Too many times,” Ferris said. “Bunch of assholes, all of ‘em.”

  We got back into the car and drove up past the tall entrance to the mine and a hundred yards further to the housing units. They were all the same. Raised four feet from the ground, rows of mobile homes, like you see in retirement villages. Only these were in seven groups, each group connected into a single unit. The lights were on in the fourth unit and we went inside.

  The interior was as I'd expected. Around the rim were the men's rooms. A couple of doors were open and I noticed that each one was about ten feet square with a window, a bed, a chest and a wardrobe built in. Each had a mini-bathroom that probably contained a toilet and a handbasin. The center of the space was divided into a big recreation lounge with Ping-Pong tables and a couple of television sets and lots of comfortable chairs. There was a shelf of books that looked as if it was never touched. Beyond was a doorway that led to the mess hall and the showers and any other facilities. A few guys were sitting in front of one of the television sets with cans of pop beside them. They looked up when we came in. Nobody spoke.

  “John Peterson here?” Ferris asked. The men looked at us without answering.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said. He looked around the numbers on the doors and saw they went only as high as twenty. “Through the door,” he said. He went through and we found ourselves in similar space, only this time the mess hall was in the center. It was deserted at this time of night but I could see that there were enough places for about fifty men. That meant there would be about 350 men in the seven units. I wondered how many of them had spent time with Loretta that evening.

  “There it is.” Ferris pointed to the door of one of the rooms.

  He went over and opened it without knocking. The room was in darkness and he flicked on the light. I was behind him and saw the man in bed sit up, startled.

  “What's this?” he asked.

  “Outta bed,” Ferris ordered.

  “What for? What the hell's wrong with you guys?” the man said. He was frightened but puzzled. He had been sleeping. It didn't look to me as if he knew anything about the attempted murder.

  “Out of bed,” Ferris said again and he reached over and whisked the covers off the man.

  The guy was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and he stood up and reached for his pants, which were hanging on the back of his chair. He was slimly built with a few well-defined muscle groups. He looked stringy and durable.

  “What the hell's goin’ on? I haven't done nothin',” he mumbled.

  “Where were you tonight?” Ferris asked.

  The man looked at us and rubbed his hand over his hair, still puzzled. “I wen’ into town. Why?”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I went to the hotel. Then I went to the campsite an’ got laid.” He could have been a Cub Scout talking about his latest pack outing. He stood and looked from one to the other of us. “What's this all about? The cops were there. There was lots of guys there, like always on paynight. What's goin’ on?”

  “Were you the last guy to visit Loretta?”

  “Could've been,” Peterson said. He was still blinking himself awake. His face was pitted with tiny marks. I guessed he had been a blaster and had not always been careful about getting far enough away from his explosions.

  “This officer saw you there.” Ferris hooked his thumb at me, not turning around.

  “So what? Big deal,” Peterson said angrily. “So was half the goddamn guys in this camp. What's so special?”

  “How was she when you left?” Ferris asked. He was handling the whole thing differently from the way I would have done. I would have started more softly, lulling the guy. This way there was no shock in the question. But from the way Peterson answered I knew he was telling the truth.

  He grinned, almost apologetically. “Same as always. She must've been wore out but she din’ look it. Said she'd see me again on the thirtieth.”

  “So why did you strangle her?”

  “Strangle her?” The man's voice gave out into a squawk. “What the hell are you smokin'? I didn't strangle her. Why would any sonofabitch strangle her?”

  “For her money,” Ferris said. He glanced around the room. “Mind if we take a look through this place?”

  “Help yourself.” Peterson threw up his hands. “Strangle her? That's unbelievable.”

  Ferris nodded grimly. “Believe it,” he said. “Who all was in the car with you?”

  “Why?” Peterson asked.

  Ferris straightened his forefinger and stuck it an inch from Peterson's face. “I ask the questions. You answer them. Got it?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Peterson shook his head slowly, clearing it. “There was Jeff an’ Bill. Jeff Watkins, Bill Lesnevich.”

  “What rooms they in?”

  “Fourteen and thirty-four. Why?”

  Ferris glanced around at me. “Get the pair of them in here, lock their rooms after them.”

  “Right.” I went to the other rooms and brought the men back. One of them was in bed when I got there, the other was in the shower. They wanted to know what was going on and I told them the sergeant wanted to talk to them.

  When we got back to Peterson's room, Ferris was conducting his search. The bed was wrecked, the covers peeled apart, one by one, the pillow out of its case, the mattress on its end. By the time we got there he was going through Peterson's closet, examining each item. There was a leather holdall in the bottom of the closet and he checked that last. It was empty.

  When he had searched everywhere he turned out all the pockets in Peterson's clothes. There was $170 in his wallet. The two men with me watched in silence, looking more and more puzzled. One of them asked at last, “What's goin’ on here?”

  “Some bastard strangled Loretta,” Peterson said. “We was the last guys there. They figure I done it.”

  “Come with me,” Ferris said to him. “Bring your coat, we're gonna take a look at your car in a minute.”

  One of the men started to splutter. “Lookit. You ain’ gonna go through my stuff like this. Where's your warrant?”

  “Right here,” Ferris said and he patted his holster and grinned.

  “This is illegal,” the man said.

  “We're in hot pursuit of a wanted man,” Ferris said. We weren't. Technically we were breaking the law and anything he found could be dismissed in a court of law. But he was like a terrier, hanging on to the best chance he had. I figured the worried guy had a stash of grass in his clothes so I stepped in.

  “All we're looking for is anything that came from that woman's RV. We're not looking for illegal substances, anything like that. We're not going to do anything if we find any. We'd like your cooperation so we can clear you of suspicion in this attempted homicide and we can all get to bed.”

  Ferris turned his head sharply, narrowing his eyes. But he didn't overrule me. He knew he was overstepping the mark.

  The two men looked at one another. The one who had not said anything shrugged, and the complainer nodded. “Okay. Like I had another guy in my room before me. He could've left somethin’ I don’ know about.”

  “As long as it's not a pile of money we won't ask questions,” Ferris said.

  “It sure as hell ain't.” The man walked away. “Come on, come an’ see.”

  We went to his room and he unlocked it. Sure enough he had a plastic bag of grass in his chest of drawers, tucked away in a spare pair of socks. Ferris dropped it on the floor. “Did he leave the socks as well?
” he asked drily.

  But there was nothing there to tie the man to the murder attempt. No money, no souvenirs from the Winnebago. And it was the same with the third guy. They were just three more of the ships that had crossed her path that night. We took them out to Peterson's car, which was also empty except for a bottle of rye in the trunk. Alcohol was forbidden in the single men's quarters.

  Ferris held it up, without speaking.

  Peterson gulped. “Hey, I'd forgot all about that. Sorry, off'cer.”

  “Get rid of it,” Ferris said. “Pass it around, drop it on a rock, whatever. If it's still here in the morning you'll be off the site by noon.”

  Peterson nodded. He unscrewed the cap and offered it to the others. One by one all three of them took a deep drink. Then he screwed the cap back on, swore softly and smashed the bottle against the tow hitch on the back of his car. The cold air was filled with whisky fumes and he stood for a moment, crushing the broken bottle under his work boots. Then he said, “'preciate you not reporting this, off'cer. I need this job, eh.”

  “Thank you for your willing cooperation,” Ferris said coldly. “Now we got work to do.”

  We went back to the scout car and drove off. The watchman was alert this time and he swung the barrier up as we approached. I waved to him as we passed.

  “Wasn't them,” Ferris said as he drove, more alertly now.

  “It had to be somebody from that end of town. I didn't see any cars moving as I came up to the campsite. The woman had been attacked only a couple of minutes before I got there. Should we look at the houses out by the mill? See if anybody's come home late?”

  “All o’ the folks out there are old,” Ferris said. “We'll go back to the site, check with the chief, see what he says.”

  When we got to the trailer we found the chief and Walker. Ferris reported to him and the chief nodded grimly. “Okay. There's not much more we can do tonight. Take Bennett back to the station and get his statement. I'll join you there.”

  I drove the police car back. Ferris followed in his own car. When we got there I put Sam in my car and went inside. Ferris was waiting at the typewriter with a statement form in place. “Okay,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Let's have the sordid details.”

  I gave him the facts and he typed them up and gave me the form to sign. I signed it and he checked his watch. “Three-fifteen, you might as well call it a night.”

  I thanked him and handed over my notebook, then began changing into plain clothes. I was almost finished when the chief walked in. He stood without speaking while I buttoned my shirt. Then he picked up my lunch pail.

  “Mind if I look inside?”

  I glanced at him in surprise. “In my lunch box? What for?”

  “Do you mind?” he repeated coldly.

  “Help yourself, chief,” I shrugged.

  He opened it and looked in. The sandwich bag I had emptied and folded flat was puffy, full. He opened it and pulled out a handful of money, in big bills mostly, fifties, hundreds.

  “Where did this come from?” he asked.

  TEN

  “This is a plant,” I said softly. “I don't know where this money came from.”

  Harding was suddenly angry. “Well I do,” he said. “It came from that woman's Winnebago. Did you take it before you strangled her or after?”

  I was angry enough to accuse him, to tell him I knew about his arrangement with the girls, about his cut from the hotel. But I didn't. I said nothing. Ferris spoke first. To Harding.

  “Do I charge him with the attempted murder as well?”

  “Not yet,” Harding said softly. “Count this money and charge him with theft.”

  Ferris nodded and turned to me, pulling out the card from his notebook that contains the caution and the Charter of Rights formula we read to prisoners, the equivalent of the American Miranda.

  “Okay,” Harding said. “Do you have anything to say?”

  “Not to you. I want to make a telephone call to my wife.”

  “One call,” Harding said.

  I dialed the house, and after eight rings Fred came to the phone. “Hello.”

  “This is Reid. I've been charged with theft. I want you to call my buddy in Toronto and tell him. Then can you come down here and see me please.”

  Her voice was sleepy, puzzled. “Reid? What's happening?”

  “It's a frame-up, love. But they've charged me. Can you do what I asked, please?”

  “Of course.” There was a pause and she came back, her voice clearer as she woke up completely. “They're evil, Reid. Don't worry, it won't stick.”

  “You're right.” I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me but Ferris and Harding were either side of me, listening hard. “I'll tell you all about it when you come in.”

  “Take care, love,” she said and I hung up.

  “Very touching,” Harding sneered. “What's she going to say when she knows where the money came from?”

  I said nothing. With me in the cells and Sam still outside in my car, Freda was on her own. I didn't want to put her in any danger from these two. I'd seen the way they worked.

  “I'll take your gun,” Ferris said.

  I drew it, broke the action and tipped out the shells. Then I passed it to him. He swung the cylinder shut and rattled the shells in his left hand. “And your spares,” he said.

  I handed them over, then my stick and cuffs. “Take that belt off, and the laces outta your boots,” Ferris said.

  I was arrested once before, in Toronto, when I killed a couple of bikers. That time, like now, I had been arrested by men I worked with. They had given me a cup of coffee and sat and talked to me until my lawyer arrived and arranged for me to go home. Harding was different.

  “Put him in the cells,” he said.

  Ferris laid my pistol and shells on the guardroom table and nodded to me. “You heard.”

  I walked in front of him, through the doorway to the cells and into the first one. He clanged the door shut behind me and I sat down on the wooden bunk and looked at him, not speaking.

  Ferris looked at me in silence then left, slamming the outer door behind him. I heard voices from the other room. Then a typewriter began to click, and I sat there listening to it and to the hissing of the central heating system, getting more and more tense. I couldn't help thinking what life would be like for me and for Fred over the next little while. The people of Elliot didn't like the police anyway. As a crooked cop, arrested by his own partners, I would be an outcast. Fred would come in for her share of the local anger. She had to get away, I decided. Probably I would be forced to stay in town, but she didn't have to put up with it. She could head back to the anonymity of her apartment in Toronto.

  The second thought that nagged me was so unpleasant that I couldn't face it. Would she think that I was guilty? The first time I was arrested it broke up my marriage. That marriage had been rocky anyway, but I wondered whether Freda could find herself believing I had done what they said.

  I knew it was nonsense, but alone, in the small hours, sorry for myself, I almost enjoyed thinking the worst. The thought made me stand up and pace, shuffling in my unlaced boots, back and forth, from the bars to the toilet and back, three paces each way like a big cat in a cage.

  It must have been only twenty minutes before I heard her voice outside. She was calm and her voice was strong. I couldn't hear the words, only the tone, steady and firm. She talked back and forth with Ferris for about a minute before the door opened and he came in, a nasty half grin on his face.

  “Visitor for you,” he said and stood there as Fred brushed past him and reached through the bars, pressing herself against them.

  I took her hands in mine and poked my face as far through the bars as it would go to kiss her. She had tears in her eyes.

  Ferris stood watching us, the same sneaky grin on his face.

  She spoke first. “Are you all right?”

  “I'm okay. You don't think I did this, do you?”

  She
tried a little grin. It was lopsided but it cheered me. “You? Come on, you're too much of a Boy Scout.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Did you make the call?”

  She nodded. We had pulled apart, just holding hands through the bars. “The lawyer will be here around ten. There's a flight to Olympia at eighty-thirty and he'll drive up.”

  “They'll probably keep me in until then.” I squeezed her hand. “Listen. The whole case is ugly. I found one of the prostitutes strangled. I called in and gave her CPR. She came back, heart and breathing. When she comes to she'll be able to say who attacked her. Tell the lawyer to go to the hospital. I'm worried about her.”

  She said nothing, just tightened her grip on my hands. Ferris spoke up. “Okay, that's long enough.”

  “No it's not,” I said. “I want my wife to have my dog. She has to bring him in.”

  “I'm not doing any goddamn animal tricks,” Ferris exploded.

  Fred let go of my hand, winked at me and walked out. “Wait here,” she told Ferris. I watched him stand, spluttering, but her show of confidence had startled him. He turned and looked at me, mouth open, searching for words, and in about thirty seconds Fred came back in, leading Sam.

  I reached through the bars and patted his head. “Good boy,” I told him. “Easy.” He relaxed and stood looking at me until I told him, “Go with Freda.”

  His stance didn't change but after she had reached in and held my hand again he left with her, oblivious of me.

  Ferris banged the door shut behind her and I sat on the bunk, feeling easier in my mind. Fred didn't need any warnings. She knew how I felt about the chief. She would keep Sam close to her until I got out. She was safe. That was the thought that finally let me put my own problems out of my mind and sink into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  I woke up when the morning shift man arrived. I heard a car drive up outside and then the banging of the outer door. A minute later the door to the cell block burst open and Levesque came in.

  “Jeez Christ. I don’ believe it,” he said. He waved back over his shoulder towards the guardroom. “I just seen the book, eh?”