Jack had to laugh at that one. “Working for me? You think I’m a pimp?” He planted his feet and sat forward. “When do I do that? In between classes at Fairfield High?”
A smirk formed on Vargas’s lips. “I would believe that a whole lot more than your ‘I’m just a Good Samaritan trying to help’ act. Why else would you fight that guy in the park?”
“Look, I was walking across the park and I thought that guy was attacking that lady. If Stacy Shaw’s murder was a sexual assault that went bad, he could have been the guy who killed her.”
Vargas laughed hard—but it was a forced laugh, and he overdid it. “You thought he was ‘the real killer’?” Vargas made more air quotes. “Oh, that’s right. Your friend Jay Martin is really innocent.”
Jack felt frustration rise up inside him. That was the truth, but now that Vargas had said it aloud, Jack didn’t know that he’d have believed it either. “Jay didn’t kill Stacy Shaw. I think someone she worked with may have had something to do with it. I spoke with her coworkers—”
Vargas stuck his hand in Jack’s face. “Hold on, Miss Marple. Did you just say you spoke to someone at Stacy’s work?”
Jack snapped his mouth shut.
Vargas’s hand slammed down on the table. “I told you to stay the hell away from anyone who has anything to do with this. Are you trying to screw up my case? Are you trying to get your friend off?”
“No. He’s not my friend. But I know it wasn’t him wearing that jacket that night.”
“You’re saying Jay’s brother killed Stacy?”
“No, I didn’t say that. Two Point stole, or more likely found, her wallet, and then he tried to use her debit card at the ATM. But kill her? No. Tommy’s scrawny, and he messed up his wrist when he was a kid. I don’t think he’d be able to strangle her.”
Vargas’s eyes blazed. “How the hell did you know she was strangled?”
“I… When I was in the station, I overheard you and your boss discussing the ME’s report,” Jack admitted.
Vargas pulled back. His hard expression shifted into neutral. Like a poker player who had just received his hold card, he placed one hand casually on the table and relaxed onto his elbow. He drummed his fingers on the table and silently watched Jack.
Jack felt the tone in the room change. “Detective Vargas, let me explain. You don’t know me, and—”
Vargas lifted a hand and held his index finger to his lips. “You’re wrong about that, Stratton. I do know you. See, I go by facts. The fact is, you’re a bad seed. You’re friends with a murder suspect. That’s a fact. You visit him in prison and then conveniently find a body hidden in a pond. Fact. Now you tell me that you just happen to know a piece of information that hasn’t been made public. Last week you were almost arrested for fighting over some old lady’s stolen purse. What was the deal with that? Someone on your crew steals a purse but was going to keep it for himself? Officer Denby said you worked the guy over good. Broke his teeth out. I bet if Denby hadn’t caught you, you’d have kept the purse. Maybe that’s what happened with Stacy. Jay tried to steal her handbag but she didn’t want to give it up.”
“That’s total crap. I didn’t know that junkie. I got the bag back for the lady.”
“Do you know her?”
“She’s Victor Perez’s grandmother.”
“So you’re friends with Victor Perez, too?” Jack didn’t answer, and Vargas smiled without showing any teeth. “You keep good company, Stratton. Murderers, drug dealers, prostitutes. You’re a regular Boy Scout.” He got nose to nose with Jack. “And here’s another fact. You just lied to my face.”
“What? I haven’t lied.”
“I asked you twice if you knew Brittani. You said you’ve never seen her before. But Brittani said she knows you. She said you gave her some money last night. But when I pressed her on that, she closed her mouth and lawyered up.”
“That’s crazy. I never…”
Jack remembered the hungry prostitute in the Dolly Parton wig from the night before. The one he’d left two dollars on the bench for. She must be the same girl caught in the sting. “Wait a minute. She was wearing a wig when I saw her first. You know how prostitutes vary it up for different clients. The look today must be her daytime look, for businessmen. I saw her at night.”
“Actually, I didn’t know hookers did that, Jack. But you seem to know all about it.” Vargas muttered under his breath, “Like a pimp.”
“No. I gave her money, but she was panhandling. She wanted a burger so I dropped a couple of bucks on a bench.”
“Ha!” Vargas laughed. “You’ve got a smooth answer for everything, and it always has a ‘Saint Jack’ feel to it. ‘I wasn’t stealing. I was really rescuing a little old lady’s purse.’ ‘Why, no, Officer, I did give the hooker money, but just so she could get something to eat, and I got no sexual favors in return. My only reward was her happiness.’ Ha!”
Vargas laughed, and even the other cop chuckled.
Jack felt the anger rising in him. He tried to push it down. “Detective Vargas, I can explain. I—”
“Save it, Stratton. I’m done hearing your lies and fairy tales. I’ve seen your type before. You’re nothing but trash that needs to be locked away.” He walked over and yanked open the door. To the policeman he said, “Bring him out to the holding bench and stay with him. I’ve got to go check a few things.” Then he glared at Jack. “Better get used to incarceration, Stratton. You’ll be joining your friend in the Bay soon enough.”
22
Aunt Haddie to the Rescue
Jack sat on a wooden bench in the police station, waiting to be charged. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Police officers went about their day.
The sound of Aunt Haddie’s voice made Jack sit up straight.
Oh no.
Aunt Haddie was standing at the front desk. Luckily she hadn’t seen Jack yet, as he was seated off to one side.
Behind the desk was the old police sergeant, Brian Gibson. Brian had a weathered, dark-brown face, cocoa-brown eyes with a friendly sparkle, and a small smile set permanently beneath his white mustache. And beside Brian stood a poised, trim woman in a dark-blue suit. She stood with her shoulders squared and her arms relaxed and folded in front of her. A small American flag was pinned to her lapel.
“He tackled an undercover officer,” the woman was saying. Jack recognized the woman by her voice: Superintendent Finney. She seemed unaware that Jack was within earshot. Either that, or she didn’t care.
“Who he thought was attacking a woman,” Aunt Haddie explained. “Michelle saw the whole thing. If this Detective Vargas insists on going down that path, I want to file a formal complaint against the police department for putting Michelle and Jack in harm’s way.”
Brian’s bushy white eyebrows arched high as he looked down at Aunt Haddie. “Haddie, don’t you think that’s going a little far?”
Aunt Haddie bristled. “The police obviously did not properly identify themselves, or Jack would never have confused the policeman for a threat. And I would think that someone would have kept children away from that situation.”
The superintendent gave the slightest nod, conceding the point.
Aunt Haddie continued. “What if something had gone wrong? Weren’t there other policemen there to keep these kids safe?”
Brian smoothed the corners of his mustache and glanced over at Superintendent Finney. “Several.”
“If this made the papers,” Haddie said, “wouldn’t this be a black eye on the Fairfield Police Department?”
“Mrs. Williams.” The superintendent’s voice was calm and even. “I do appreciate your concern and bringing this information to light.” She turned to Brian. “Please wait with Mrs. Williams, Sergeant.” Her carefully crafted neutral expression remained in place, but as the superintendent turned around, Jack saw her blue eyes blaze like pilot lights. She headed straight to Detective Vargas’s office and closed the door.
“I’m the one who involved Jack in this whole situation,” Aunt Haddie said, laying a hand on Brian’s arm. “Blame me. But please don’t take it out on Jack. Do you know tomorrow marks eleven years ago that they brought him here?”
“I remember. When the kid figured out he couldn’t go back to his mom, he went ballistic and tried to escape. It was like someone let a rabid raccoon loose. He almost made it out the door.” Brian grinned crookedly. “I think half the cops wanted to open the door and let him go.”
“But you managed to calm him down.”
“Me?” Brian chuckled. “I managed to lure him into an office with a sandwich, that’s all. You’re the only one who could calm him down.”
Superintendent Finney stepped back out of Vargas’s office and beckoned Brian over to her. Although Jack couldn’t hear what was said, it was obvious that what followed was a one-way conversation: the superintendent spoke and Brian listened. When Finney was done, she abruptly turned back into Vargas’s office.
Brian walked back to Aunt Haddie, his small smile now tighter and smaller. “You’ll talk to his parents?” he said.
Aunt Haddie’s chin rose. “I will. Will he be charged?”
“No, ma’am.”
Aunt Haddie let out her breath. “Thank you.”
Brian turned toward where Jack was waiting. The sergeant, at least, knew that Jack had been listening to the entire exchange. He motioned for Jack to get up and come over.
Jack walked over hesitantly. He expected Aunt Haddie to be furious with him, but the look on her face was the opposite. She had the same warm expression that she’d had when he first met her.
I guess that’s what unconditional love looks like.
“Oh, Jackie.” She wrapped her arms around him.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Haddie,” Jack said. “And I’m sorry you had to come down here.”
“Don’t you be sorry about that. What else was I going to do after Michelle told me what happened? Let’s just get you home. We’ll work things out.” They headed for the exit.
“Do my parents know yet?”
Aunt Haddie shook her head. “But Detective Clark said he left messages on both their phones.”
Jack groaned as he held the front door of the police station open. “I’m dead.”
“No you’re not. I’ll speak to both of them.”
“I’m still dead.”
“Let’s get you home and we can discuss your demise calmly.”
They climbed into Aunt Haddie’s station wagon and headed home. Sitting in the front seat beside Haddie as she drove brought the heaviness back to Jack’s chest. Eleven years later, and here he was, in the same car, pulling out of the same police parking lot.
Jack stared out the window. He fought to push the memories of his past into the shadows where he liked them, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape who he was. All his studying, all his training—it was all in vain.
“Vargas was right. I am nothing.”
Aunt Haddie patted his shoulder. “Don’t you ever say such a thing, Jackie. We’ll get this mess untangled. I’ll explain everything to your parents.”
“There’s no explaining. My father’s going to… Can we just forget it happened?”
“You did nothing wrong. Well, you should have called the police first, but”—she pressed her lips together as if she was about to give him foul-tasting medicine—“I do know something that could help soften the news of your being brought down to the police station.”
“Name it.”
“You know what tomorrow is?”
“Garbage Day.”
“Stop calling it that. It’s your birthday.”
“Same thing. She threw me away. Like garbage. I really don’t understand why everyone wants to celebrate that.”
“It’s a day that I thank the Lord for. It’s your birthday.”
Jack chuckled bitterly. “Just because the social worker wrote that date on the form doesn’t make it my birthday. I don’t know when my real birthday is.”
Aunt Haddie shook her head. “Then let every day be your birthday. Today’s a new day. Besides, the day doesn’t belong to you or anyone else. It’s the Lord’s. He’s just letting you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure having a blast with this one,” Jack muttered.
She whacked his shoulder playfully.
“Ouch! Is that where Chandler gets it from?” Jack rubbed his arm.
Aunt Haddie laughed. She took a right and pulled onto her street. “Your mom would really like to make you a cake, you know.”
Jack groaned. “Please tell her not to. Is Chandler around?”
“He’s helping Mr. Emerson. I suggest you go over there and give them a hand.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to go explain to your father that I just picked you up at the police station. Jackie, I know you were just trying to help that woman. I know, too, that your taking me and Mrs. Martin to the prison to see Jay made you look bad to that Detective Vargas. You’ve done all you can. You need to leave it to the police. I’ll explain all that. But that explanation will go over a lot better if I can add that you’re currently helping a widower.”
“Right now, every time I help someone, I get jacked up.”
“Don’t be silly. Jewels in your crown in Heaven.”
Jack grumbled, “With the way everything’s going, the angels are going to accuse me of stealing those jewels.”
Jack spent the rest of the day helping Mr. Emerson and Chandler install a washer and dryer for Mrs. McDermott. First they had to take the old units down three flights of stairs. Then they discovered that part of the floor was rotted, so they had to rip it up and patch it. Finally they were able to install the appliances that Mr. Emerson had rebuilt.
By the time they were done, it was almost eight and Jack was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go home, enjoy his mom’s cooking, wash up, and go to bed. But he wasn’t ready to face his mom and dad yet. At least, not until he’d spoken to Aunt Haddie. Maybe she could give him some idea of just how much trouble he was in.
So when he drove Chandler back to Aunt Haddie’s, he followed him inside. They were greeted by the aroma of her baked mac and cheese, and Jack smiled.
His smile vanished when Michelle held the phone out to him. “Jack, it’s your dad.”
Chandler gave Jack a look that said, Good luck.
I’ll need it, Jack thought. Guess it’s time to face the music.
“Hello?” Jack said.
His father cleared his throat. “Jack… would you care to explain to me what happened today? I’ve heard Aunt Haddie’s version, and I just got off a call with Detective Clark. But I haven’t yet heard a word from my own son. Would you care to fill me in?”
Jack took a deep breath, then ran down everything that had happened in the park. When he finished, there was a long silence.
“Dad? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” his father said. Jack pictured him cleaning off his glasses while he gathered his thoughts. “If you believed that man was attacking that woman, you should have gotten the police, not tackled him yourself.”
“There wasn’t time to get the cops. What was I supposed to do?”
“Get the cops anyway.”
“I sent Michelle.”
“You should have waited for them.”
“Dad, I’m going to be a policeman.”
“You’re not one yet.”
Aunt Haddie set some baked mac and cheese and buttered biscuits on the table, along with a pitcher of lemonade. “Supper time, Jack.” She said it loudly enough that his father would hear.
Jack covered the receiver. “It’s my dad.”
“Oh, good. I need to speak with him.” Aunt Haddie held out a hand and smiled.
“Ah, Dad. Aunt Haddie wants to talk to you.” Jack quickly handed the phone to her.
“Hi, Ted. I just wanted to assure you that everything is fine. After I spoke with you, I had a long talk with Jack, an
d we discussed everything you said. I just put supper down for him. He sure did work so hard today helping Mrs. McDermott, poor woman.” She gave Jack a wink. “With him being so tired, would you mind if he spent the night?”
There was a slight pause.
“Thank you, Ted. I’ll be sure to send him home first thing in the morning, with it being his birthday.”
Aunt Haddie listened and nodded.
“Okay. Give my love to Laura.”
Jack raised his glass of lemonade in salute. “Aunt Haddie, you’re the best.”
“I try. I know it was because of me and Mrs. Martin that you got caught between the switches today. Now eat your supper and get to bed. You boys both look like you need it.”
Jack lay on the bed in his old bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Despite his physical exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep.
When the clock on the little table flipped to 11:57, Jack decided to give up on sleep. He slid out of bed and went over to the desk in the corner. Turning on the desk lamp, he grabbed his notebook and turned to a fresh page. He wrote “Why?” at the top of the page and underlined it. Then he started writing questions underneath it.
A few minutes later there was a tap on the door, and Chandler stuck his head in.
“What’s up?” Jack whispered.
Chandler slipped inside and walked over. “I saw your light turn on. What’s up? Can’t sleep?”
“You’re not sleeping either.”
Chandler looked down at Jack’s notebook. “What’s with the why?”
Jack tapped his pen on the notepad, then dropped it. “I’ve got a problem with whys. That’s what my therapist said, anyway. Why did my mother throw me away? Why did she keep me so long? Why, why, why. I hate why. I want answers. So she told me to write down the whys. That’s what I’m doing.”
“What whys?”
“Whys about Stacy Shaw. There’s a lot of things that don’t make sense to me.”
“Like what?”
“Well, why was Stacy Shaw’s car at Ford’s Crossing?”
“I still figure she was heading home and crashed. What we don’t know is why she would go into the park after,” Chandler said.
And Then She Was GONE: A riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end Page 20
