“Are you sure you want to play it like this? I mean, once an attorney shows up its going to get a lot uglier. You would be better off talking to us and letting us sort this all out,” I said.
“I want my attorney,” she said stubbornly.
“Good. Now we can take the gloves off and burn your ass,” Marcus said and pulled open the door.
“You really should talk to us,” I said, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers.
“I’m not talking to you any longer. Nothing,” she said and folded her arms across her chest and made a childish zipping her mouth closed jester.
We just sat in silence until Marcus returned with a uniformed cop.
“Stand up,” Marcus snapped at her. She didn’t move. She just sat there with her arms folded.
“Stand up or I’ll drag your butt out of that chair and mop up the floor with you,” Marcus said, starting around the table.
She stood up but remained defiant.
“Hands behind your back,” Marcus ordered.
“Why?”
“You’re being charged with child endangerment for the time being. The D.A. is considering other charges,” Marcus said and smiled at her.
“What? You can’t do that. I want my lawyer.”
“Sorry, he is in court and can’t make it until around 5:00 p.m. We are taking you to holding until he gets here.”
“Holding? Like a cell?”
“Exactly like a cell. Don’t worry, only two other women are in there right now,” Marcus said.
He was enjoying this part way too much.
“Put your hands behind your back,” I told her.
“No way are you going to handcuff me like a common criminal. This is brutality.”
“You can tell it all to your lawyer when he gets here,” I said.
The uniformed officer took hold of one of her hands and started to bring it behind her back but before she could put the cuffs on her, Marsha Curtis spun around and shoved the officer back. Marcus was on her before she had time to straighten up. He grabbed her and pulled her arm up behind her back. She let out a yell as he brought it up so she had to stand on her tip-toes to keep from dislocating it.
“You just added assault on a police officer sister,” he snarled at her.
The officer placed the cuffs on her and led her out of the room. She was yelling all the way about how she was going to sue everyone in the place.
“What a bitch,” Marcus said as she was led out of the room to the holding cells.
“Let’s go see how Gates and Dixon are doing,” I said.
“They gotta’ be doing better than we did,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes.
We slipped in the observation room to watch Gates and Dixon working on the father. Gates was seated and Dixon was leaning against the wall just as Marcus had done earlier. Dixon was the bad cop obviously.
“How many times before?” Gates asked.
Mr. Curtis was a frail scrawny looking little man with a small mustache the was about a sparse as it could be and still be considered one. He wore wireless rim glasses. Sweat was running down the side of his face. Obviously he knew they were in big trouble.
“Not many. Maybe three or four,” the father said.
“When was the first time you left her alone?”
“I told you, we don’t leave her alone, alone. I mean the neighbors know she is home and they kind of look in on her from time to time.”
“The first time asshole,” Dixon snarled.
“I don’t know exactly. I think the first time was a couple of years ago.”
“When she was eight?”
He didn’t reply but shook his head.
“Eight,” Dixon shouted, “Eight years old and you leave her at home so you can go off without having to be bothered with taking her or hiring a sitter? Are you stupid or just a prick?”
“Marsha always leaves our number so she can call plus tons of food and even money. Nothing has ever happened before,” he tried to explain.
“So if something happens while you are in Hawaii. How quickly do you think you can get back?” Gates said.
“We have people we can call to look after her until we can get back. I told you, nothing has ever happened before.”
“But it did this time,” Dixon said.
“Yes,” he said, lowering his head.
Marcus tapped on the window and Dixon slipped out the door.
“Can you believe that asshole?”
“His wife lawyered up. We charged her with child endangerment and assault on an officer,” Marcus told him.
“Assault? What the hell is that all about?”
“Long story. You advised him his rights, yes?”
“Oh yeah. Twice. I guess we just need to charge him and wait for the lawyer to show up.”
“I don’t think they have the same lawyer. At least that was the impression I got from Ms. Curtis. She wouldn’t say a word, just asked for a lawyer. The A.D.A. will add additional charges after she has a chance to talk to the D.A. He is in court, with Ms. Curtis attorney as fate would have it,” Marcus told him.
“Okay, I’ll go charge him. I’m sick of him anyway,” Dixon said.
A few minutes later a different officer showed up and cuffed him. There was no fight this time. He meekly put his hands behind his back and was lead away.
***
“Case 14435-A, the State versus Bruce Curtis. Child endangerment, Chile Abuse, and Criminal negligence” the bailiff shouted out. Marcus, Dixon, and I were all sitting near the front of the court. We watched as Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were brought out with separate attorneys.
“Told ya’” Dixon whispered.
He was right; they each had their own representative. Mr. Curtis looked pale and smaller than the last time I had seen him through the observation window. The night must not have gone well for him. Marsha Curtis still looked defiant but less combative.
“Mr. Stone, what say the people?”
“Your Honor, due to the seriousness of this case we request Mr. Curtis forfeit his passport and be held on one million dollars bond.”
“That’s outrageous,” the attorney for Curtis shouted.
“Easy counselor. Take a deep breath. Ms. Proctor, would you enlighten the court?” the judge said, taking off his glasses.
“Your honor. Mr. Curtis left his ten year old daughter at home alone while he and his wife went off to Hawaii for fun and relaxation. That’s bad enough but while they were gone, his daughter was kidnapped, sexually assaulted and left buried alive. They have taken no responsibility for their actions and have shown no remorse.”
“Your Honor,” Curtis’ attorney interjected.
“Hold your horses Mr. McLain,” the judge said, holding up his hand to the attorney.
“How long were they gone?” the judge asked.
“Five days before we had them escorted back. Their hotel and air tickets were booked for fourteen days.”
“Who was watching her?”
“Apparently no one. This is not the first time they have left her alone like this. They went to Jamaica last year and left her home for eight days.”
“Alright. Mr. McLain what do you have to say on behalf of your client?”
“You’re Honor. Mr. McLain has no prior history of criminal offences. He is a model citizen and father. This was not his fault. They had asked the neighbors to look in on Erin and left her a list of phone numbers to call. This was nothing more than a tragic incident but not caused by my client.”
The judge looked down at Mr. McLain and Curtis for several seconds, fiddling with his glasses.
“While I consider this a very serious offense, I find the amount asked for bail excessive. Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars. The passport is to be surrendered as well,” he said banging his gavel.
“Case 14436-A, the State versus Marsha Curtis. Child endangerment, Chile Abuse, Criminal negligence, Assault and Battery on a police officer,” the bailiff said handing the docket over to the
judge.
“You’re Honor the people request...”
“Wait a second counselor,” the judge said, scanning the folder in front of him. He looked up at the defendant.
“Well, you must be the feisty half of the dynamic duo,” he replied.
“Your Honor, Ms. Curtis was not only upset and tired from the long trip back but they treated her in a very unprofessional manor. She was subjected to abusive behavior by Officer Marcus Lane.”
“How touching. Bail is set at seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Passport is to be surrendered as well,” he said as the gavel came down.
“That’s not right. You can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of money. You’re a damn Nazi,” she screamed at the judge.
“Add contempt of court to the charges,” the judge replied, “And set bail at one million dollars.”
She was still yelling as she was practically dragged from the court room.
CHAPTER THREE
I'm sure we accomplished something the rest of the day but it sure wasn't much. I hate to admit it, but I was actually starting to look forward to input from the Feds. Our legs were churning but we weren't getting anyplace.
I went over everything we had on the five kids with Aaron hoping he would spot something we missed. Nothing jumped out at him but he took the files to read again.
Marcus was just heading out as I came down the stairs.
“Hey Angie, want to go grab a beer?” he asked.
“Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me? You must be talking to me, cause no one else is here,” I said.
I crack me up sometimes.
“Yeah De Niro, I'm talking to you.”
“In that case, you bet,” I said.
This was really rare. Marcus generally never hung around at the end of his shift. Mr. Personality he wasn't.
“Marty's okay?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Marty's was a little hole in the wall bar that was owned by an ex-cop and most of the people that hung out there were cops. A few years ago some asshole came in and tried to rob the place. He had a knife. Talk about stupid. Twenty cops with guns and this jerk pulls a knife. The hardest part was deciding who was going to get the collar and have to fill out the paperwork.
As usual, a few cops were scattered about and Marty was in his usual place behind the bar, cleaning glasses with a towel.
“Good God. It's Marcus Lane and the lovely Detective Bartoni,” Marty said feigning disbelief and holding a hand over his heart.
“You want to get us a drink or what?” Marcus replied.
“Ah, still Mr. Crab I see. Angie, you need to keep better company. What can I get you darling?”
“Double Diamond,” I replied.
“Now there is a woman that knows her beer. Best damn beer around. What will you have sunshine, a Coors Light?”
“Why did I come in here?” Marcus said, looking at me, “I can get insulted without having to pay for it.”
“Yes, but the company's better,” Marty interjected.
“Just give me one of the same. Think you can manage that or do I need to write it down for you?”
“I think I got it. Two Double Diamonds,” Marty said and took two frosted mugs from the chiller.
He drew two perfect beers and placed them on coasters in front of us.
“Here you go girls,” he said and sauntered off to the other end of the bar.
“So what do you think about the FBI being brought in?”
“I guess it couldn't hurt much at this point. I went over the files with Aaron and nothing jumped out at him.”
“Well duh. He isn't exactly the roundest bearing in the race.”
Ohooo, Witty. Obviously a reference to the bearing plants we had checked out yesterday.
“I think he will do okay,” I said, taking a sip of my beer.
“You should be the lead on this.”
“I don't think so. I wouldn't want to be the one hanging around in the office and having to report to the Captain twice a day. Actually, I quite happy to be out in the field.”
“What about Farmington? Are you surprised he wasn't put on the task force? I mean, after all, he was part of the original team,” Marcus asked.
He had foam on his mustache and it made it hard to answer with a straight face.
“Anytime you put Bud and Le Roy Gates on the same team you spend more time babysitting than anything else. The Captain just didn't want to fool with it this time,” I told him.
“Still, they are partners.”
“Maybe it's the Captain's way of breaking them up without having to make an issue out of it.”
Marcus cogitated on that a few seconds, “Not the way I would do it. I would just tell them they were a couple of jackoffs and split them up.”
I just took another drink rather than replying.
“Nuts,” Marcus yelled at Marty.
“Yes, you are,” Marty shot back.
“I mean bar nuts, bunghole.”
“Sorry I don't have any bunghole bar nuts. That must be a special brand you eat,” Marty replied.
“See,” Marcus said to me, “You can't be nice to people.”
Marty set a bowl of nuts in front of us and headed back. When he got to the end of the bar he said, “Yeah, you're welcome.”
“What do you think about the FBI being called in?” I asked before he could go off on Marty again.
“Don't like it much but no one asked me. I just hope they aren't a bunch of arrogant pricks.”
“Let's see. FBI and not arrogant. Nope, that just doesn't compute,” I said.
Actually, I had met some pretty nice agents but I doubted that Marcus would want to hear about that.
“What time are they supposed to be here tomorrow?” he asked.
“9:00 a.m.”
“Nice of them to not come too early. I would hate to see them miss a good night’s sleep,” Marcus said and drained the last of his beer.
“You staying?” he asked, getting up suddenly.
“Well, I guess I'll finish my beer. You in a hurry?”
“Got places to go, people to meet and things to do,” he said and took a ten out of his billfold and placed it on the counter.
“Keep the change,” he said to Marty.
“Oh good, now I can buy that place in the mountains I've always had my eye on.”
“Wiseass,” Marcus said and waved good-by.
Marty came down and we shot the bull about old times when he was a detective. He asked me how our current case was progressing and I told him about the FBI coming in.
“Hell, no wonder Marcus was in such rare form,” he said.
I finished my beer and stopped in the ladies room before heading home to what I hoped would be a good night’s rest.
When I got home I stuck my head in the fridge, looking for something edible that wasn’t too green with mold. It didn’t look good, that was for sure. I swear something in a bag moved when I reached for it. I thought about shooting it but then I would have to buy a new refrigerator.
I had just about decided to call for a pizza when my cell rang. Well, sang actually. Smoke on the water...Deep Purple. If you don’t know it, you’re disgustingly young.
“Bartoni.”
“We have another one. Francesca Welch, eleven. Parents said she was in the front yard one minute and gone the next,” Aaron said.
“Shit. Where are you?”
“1031 N. Tillison.”
“On my way.”
That certainly took the hunger out of me. I grabbed my gun, shield, and vest and headed out to my trusty steed. No good night's sleep tonight.
***
I jumped in my red 1966 SS 396 Chevelle that my ex had restored and I got in the divorce settlement. That hurt him more than the house I think. It didn’t take but a few minutes before I pulled up to the usual zoo of TV trucks, bright lights and people talking into microphones like they really knew what was going on.
I flashed my shield
and a young looking officer lifted the garish yellow tape as I ducked under. Maybe he thought I was too old to bend. Maybe he was just being nice.
I could hear the TV people calling out my name when they saw me walking toward the house. Morons. Like I was going to stop and start answering a bunch of inane questions.
The officer at the door opened it for me. I could hear someone sobbing down the hall so I followed the sound. Marcus and Aaron were sitting on kitchen chairs. The two huddled on the couch I took to be Mr. and Mrs. Welch.
The mother had her face buried in her husband’s chest and he had his arms wrapped around her. Such a contrast between them and the Curtis couple.
“This is Detective Bartoni,” Marcus said as I came into the room.
It was a lovely home. Not too fancy and pretentious but warm and cozy. Mrs. Welch was in a tan skirt, off white silk blouse and a HermĂ scarves. Talk about expensive.
“Mr. Welch was just telling us about Fran. That is what they call her. She was outside playing hide and seek with the neighbor kids. Uh...Billy Morris, Frank Sterling and Bobbi Brown. Billy is twelve, Frank is ten and Bobbi is the same age as Fran, eleven.”
“When did you realize she was missing?” I asked.
I hated to ask because I’m sure they all knew the details except for me.
“At dinner time. Marsha went and called for Fran to come in and eat. A few minutes went by and she called her again. When she didn’t answer, Marsha went out and looked for her. Billy, Frank and Bobbi were all hiding but when they realized something was wrong they came over. They all started calling for Fran and looking for her but she wasn’t any place. We called the neighbors to see if anyone had seen her and no one had. That’s when we thought about the other kids that had been taken. We called the police and...” his voice broke and he just stopped and gazed off into space.
I didn’t say anything, just waited.
“Fran has severe asthma. I don’t know if she had her inhaler with her,” he said suddenly.
“How serious is her condition?” Aaron asked.
“It can be very serious, even life threatening if she doesn’t have her inhaler. She has had severe attacks twice before and had to be treated with injections of epinephrine and prednisone. She could even develop status asthmaticus, which would require hospitalization for treatment. If she doesn’t get treatment in time she could suffocate.”
ALPHABET MURDERS - ANGIE BARTONI CASE FILES #1 (Detective Angie Bartoni Case Files) Page 3
