“Don’t feel bad about telling on your brother,” Hurley said, placing his hands on Michael’s shoulders. “Jacob may be mad at you for a while, and he may say some mean things to you, but you did the right thing. I promise you that someday Jacob will understand and know that, and know that you did it because you love him, even if he doesn’t know that now. Okay?”
Michael nodded, staring into Hurley’s eyes.
This was a new, tender side of Hurley that I’d never seen before, and I wondered if his recent and rapid induction into fatherhood—twice—had anything to do with it.
“It’s important that you stay strong and tough, okay?” Hurley said.
Michael nodded, tears tracking down his cheeks. Hurley chucked him once under his chin, and Michael took that as his cue; he turned and ran from the room.
Richmond’s phone rang, and he answered it with a curt “Richmond.” He listened for a moment and then hung up. “They have Jacob and they’re taking him down to the station.” He looked over at a tearful Wendy. “Mrs. Ames, we have clear evidence that Jacob was not only at his father’s house at the time of death, but that he engaged in a scuffle with him. Derrick’s phone is missing, and if this phone turns out to be his, it confirms Jacob’s presence. We have other evidence as well, and I’ll be questioning him as soon as we get back to the station.”
“Oh my God,” Wendy gasped. She looked terrified, but then her face shifted, morphing into what I call the mother tiger face. “I’m going to call Stanley,” she said, poking at her cell phone. “I don’t want you to talk to Jacob until Stanley gets there. And I want to be there as well.”
Richmond started to respond, but Wendy’s call went through, and after saying, “Stanley, please help me! I think Jacob might have killed his father!” she scurried off, ranting into the phone at Stanley Barber the Third.
We spent nearly an hour going through Jacob’s room, confiscating his laptop, some clothes we found in his hamper—including a pair of stonewashed jeans with ragged, dirty hems that looked like the ones in the video—and a drawing we found under some other papers on the desk that showed two male figures, one stabbing the other in the chest, blood dripping down the victim’s shirt and pants onto the floor.
When we were done with the bedroom, we headed out to the main part of the house. Stanley arrived, but after he saw the search warrant, he pulled Wendy aside and did nothing to stop us. Clearly he was miffed, but most of his earlier bluff and bluster was gone. Wendy called a neighbor, who came over and picked Michael up. The kid didn’t want to leave, and he sobbed all the way out to the car. It broke my heart to watch him.
After collecting several jackets and a hoodie from the coat closet, items that Wendy identified as belonging to Jacob, Richmond looked over at Charlie and Hurley. The two of them had traded the camera back and forth, taking turns filming, but they had remained linked together like Siamese twins.
“Did you guys get everything?” Richmond asked.
“We certainly did,” Charlie said.
“Then I think we’re done here,” Richmond said. Wendy was sitting on her chrome-and-leather sofa beside Stanley. Her tears had dried, but she looked pale, frightened, and shell-shocked. “I’m sorry,” Richmond said to her.
Neither Wendy nor Stanley commented, or even looked our way, so we gathered up our evidence and left, with Wendy and Stanley prepared to follow and meet us at the station.
As Hurley and I walked back to his car, both of us looked glum. I suspect Hurley was bummed because he felt bad for little Michael and what was happening to the Ames family. For me it was that, and the idea that Hurley and Charlie would be cheek to cheek again soon, bonding over the footage that documented the ruination of the Ames family.
Chapter 25
Once again we formed a caravan as we headed back to the station. As soon as Hurley and I were safely ensconced inside his car, away from other eyes and ears, he picked up our baby conversation where we left off.
“We should talk about names for the kid, don’t you think?” he said as he started the car and then sat waiting for Richmond and Charlie to take off. “Do you have any in mind?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it yet,” I said. “But I know one name that’s off the list for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Mine. I wouldn’t want to put any kid of mine through what I went through trying to hide from my real name. I mean what the hell were my parents thinking when they saddled me with a moniker like Matterhorn?”
“It is a bit out there,” Hurley agreed. “Though I do like Mattie.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want the kid to have either of our names. It’s too confusing. He or she deserves his or her own unique name.”
“Not too unique,” Hurley said, pulling out behind Charlie’s car. “We need to be careful not to pick names that will be conducive to playground jibes and bullying. But I do like the idea of carrying on family names. What was your father’s name?”
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter because I wouldn’t use it. He abandoned me as a child, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to reward that behavior by giving him a namesake.”
Hurley shot me a look. “You sound angry.”
“I am,” I said, feeling churlish. “This whole pregnancy thing has me thinking about family, and it makes me mad that my child will never know his grandfather. Though I suppose it’s just as well considering what a jerk he must be.”
“When you thought it was him who was following you, you were worried that you had killed him. So you must have some caring left in your heart for him.”
“He’s not in my life, so let’s drop the matter and move on, keeping in mind that we need to pick something that flows well.”
Hurley shot me a bemused smile. “Flows well?”
“Yeah, you know, the name needs to roll off the tongue easily and sound a little sophisticated and dignified. The syllables need to feel balanced. You don’t want Ebenezer Nebuchadnezzar Winston or Jack Sprat Winston. You want something like Susannah Marie Winston, or Richard Allen Winston.”
A brief silence followed that was palpable. “Winston?” Hurley said, his tone dark. “Why the hell would you use that last name?”
“It’s my last name.”
“No, it’s David’s last name. The kid isn’t his.” He shot me another look, this one suspicious. “You’re sure it’s not his, right?”
His doubt pissed me off. “Of course I am,” I snapped. “I told you I haven’t been with anyone else but you.”
“Then the kid should have my last name.”
“I get why you feel that way, Hurley, but that just makes things awkward because my last name will be different.”
“Not if you marry me.”
“Yeah, there’s a good reason to get married,” I scoffed. “And even if we did get married, what makes you think I’d take your last name?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Is there some reason you want to keep David’s last name? Is there something you aren’t telling me? Wait, is that why you don’t want to marry me, because you’re not over David yet?”
I let out a sigh of sorely tried patience. “Trust me, I’m long over David.”
“Then what’s the problem with changing your name?”
“It’s a moot point, Hurley. We aren’t getting married, so there’s no need to change my name.”
“If you think I’m going to let you slap your sleazy ex’s last name on any kid of mine, you are sorely mistaken.”
We rode in silence for a minute or two, a palpable tension between us, until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Look, I get why it would bother you if our kid doesn’t have your last name,” I said finally.
“He doesn’t have to have my last name. I just don’t want any kid of mine to have Winston for a last name. I don’t want him to have any connection to David.”
“Him? You seem very certain.”
“I am. And quit trying to change the subject.”
/>
I sighed. I not only understood his objection to the name thing, I kind of agreed with him. “Okay,” I said, folding. “We’ll use your last name.”
Hurley shot me a hopeful look. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about getting married?”
“No.”
“So you’re going to keep the name Winston?”
“For now. I’ll think about it more later.”
“But the kid will have my last name?”
“Yes, I just said that,” I snapped, feeling irritable. “What do I have to do, put it in writing?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, when we fill out the birth certificate.”
“Fine. Now that we have the last name settled, we need to come up with two more,” I said, eager to move on. “Since you like the idea of using family names, what’s your middle name?”
“Decker. It was my mother’s maiden name.”
“Decker Hurley,” I said, trying it on for size. “I kind of like that.”
Hurley shook his head. “Not a chance. The kids will all be calling him Decker the pecker. Trust me, I know.”
“Oh. Right.” We satin silence for awhile, and then I asked him, “What’s your father’s name?”
“Peter,” he said with a shake of his head.
“I’m sensing a trend in your family.”
Hurley gave me a sly smile and wiggled his eyebrows, which allowed me to let out a breath of relief. Our normal camaraderie had been restored.
Then I had a brainstorm. “I have an idea,” I said. “What if we use our first names but reverse them? If it’s a boy—”
“It is.”
I rolled my eyes. “If it’s a boy we could call him Matthew, because some Matthews are called Matt or Matty. And if it’s a girl we can name her Stephanie, which is like a feminine version of Steven.”
Hurley pondered that for a few seconds and then slowly nodded. “That could work. I like both names. What about middle names?”
We had arrived at the police station, so I said, “Let’s think about that one for a while.”
It was time to stop discussing the creation of one family and witness the destruction of another.
Chapter 26
Junior Feller was in the break room when we arrived, and Richmond handed off the evidence packages we had collected, along with a barrage of instructions.
“Compare these shoes to the ones in the video; I’m pretty sure they’ll be a perfect match. Then take them over to the lab at the ME’s office and have them test both the shoes and the clothing for any evidence of blood. Next, see if you, Jonas, Arnie, or anyone else can do something with this phone to determine if it’s Derrick’s. And there’s extra credit for you if you can figure out a way to resurrect the text messages that were sent to it. Finally, have someone scour through the kid’s laptop. Have them search his e-mails, any instant messages, and his browser history for anything that might be connected.”
“Will do,” Junior said. “And since Dr. Henderson brought in a bunch of lab folks to work on Mattie’s shooting, we have some extra hands on deck and might be able to get this stuff done faster than usual.”
“Nice to know the intrusion might be useful for something,” Richmond grumbled. “Where’s the kid?”
“He’s in the interrogation room with Brenda Joiner.”
“Did you read him his rights when you picked him up?”
Junior nodded. “I did, but it won’t hurt for you to do it again for the record.”
“Thanks.” Richmond then turned to me. “Do you want to be in on this?”
“Absolutely.” My interest in this interrogation stemmed from more than my need to get some answers with our case. I was also curious to watch the interactions between mother and son that were about to take place. The whole idea of raising a patricidal child both frightened and intrigued me, and I wondered if it was a nature thing, a nurture thing, or some combination of the two. I felt a need to observe and search for some kind of clue, some telling comment or interaction, some hint about what not to do when my own child finally came into the world.
Wendy and Stanley arrived, and they were escorted into the interrogation room to join Jacob. After a minute or so Brenda came out, and Richmond and I used that as our cue.
As soon as we entered the room, Richmond bent down and triggered the AV recording equipment before either of us took a seat.
Jacob was sitting in the same seat he’d been in before, with Stanley on his left and his mother on his right. He had an insolent, angry glare on his face, and his right leg bounced nervously.
As soon as he was settled in a chair, Richmond said, “Hello, Jacob. First off, let me inform you . . . all of you,” he stressed, glancing at first Wendy, then Stanley, “that I just turned on the recording equipment, so everything that is said or done in this room will be part of the record. You are here because you are under arrest for the murder of Derrick Ames, your father.” Richmond then read Jacob his Miranda rights. “Do you understand?” he asked when he was done.
Jacob glanced at Stanley, who said, “Yes, yes, we get it. Can we move on?”
Wendy stared at her lawyer with wide, fearful eyes. “Stanley, please tell me that this is all a joke.”
“I have no doubt that certain things here are a joke,” Stanley said with a forced smile. “But as for why these clowns have Jacob under arrest, I can’t tell you that yet.”
Richmond ignored Stanley’s insult and kept his eyes focused on Jacob. “We have some questions for you, Jacob,” he said.
“First things first,” Stanley said in his most pompous tone. “I assume you have some sort of definitive evidence against my client?”
“No,” Richmond said, tearing his gaze from the boy and giving Stanley a searing look. “We just arrest people willy-nilly here whenever we feel like it.”
Stanley’s jaw muscles quivered like a handful of hot popcorn kernels getting ready to explode, and his face was slowly turning the color of a ripe beefsteak tomato. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put something like that past you and the rest of the yahoos in this small-town police station,” he said.
Richmond once again ignored Stanley’s provocation and said, “We would like to ask Jacob some questions. Is he going to cooperate and talk to us or not?”
I glanced over at Jacob. Despite his attempts to display some bravado, he looked frightened and uncertain. The insolent smart-ass from two days ago was gone, and in his place was a kid scared out of his mind by an all-too-real bogeyman. I felt sorry for him and had an odd urge to walk around the table and give him a hug. Then I remembered that Jacob likely was the bogeyman and reined my maternal feelings back in. Freaking hormones.
Stanley puffed himself up and went into lawyer attack mode, his tone brisk, clipped, and aggressive. “I am asking that you reveal the evidence you are using to arrest my client. His possession of his father’s cell phone—assuming it even is his father’s cell phone—is hardly what I would call hard evidence. Other than that, the only things you collected from the house were some shoes, clothing, and a laptop. I know you haven’t had time yet to check into the phone or the laptop, so that leaves the clothing and the shoes. No one at the house checked those items for the presence of blood, so the only assumption I can come up with is that you are on a fishing expedition. Unless you can produce something more concrete in the way of reasonable cause for this arrest, I intend to take my client home and sue everyone in this place for false arrest and harassment.”
Richmond stared impassively at the other man for several seconds, and then a smile slowly stole over his face. It revealed a creepy, predatory side of Richmond that I’d never seen before. “If you want something from me, you’re going to have to play nicer. I don’t appreciate your insults, and they won’t intimidate us small-town hicks, so my advice to you is to back off, take a deep breath, figure out what you really want out of this, and then come back and talk to me again with your best manners in place. In the meantime, I’m taking your client to jail.
If you want to know what evidence we have, you can talk to the DA.”
I think Stanley expected his blowhard attitude would make Richmond kowtow to him. When it didn’t, Stanley’s smug, self-assured expression faltered just a hair. “I’d appreciate some more time to talk with my client and his mother in private,” he said. “Turn off the recording equipment, and please leave the room.” Though this was said in a relatively friendly tone of voice, Stanley couldn’t resist tossing one more barbed comment at us. “And if I find out you are recording or listening in on anything we say in here, I will see to it that this entire department is sued and all of you are fired. Understood?”
Richmond got up from his chair, walked over to Jacob, and handcuffed him. Then he pulled him to his feet and led him from the room, out into the hallway. Wendy ran out behind him, looking frantic, with Sidney bringing up the tail end. I was the last one out. When we reached the hallway, I saw Hurley and Charlie standing off to our right, the video camera in Hurley’s hand. The little red light on the side of it was on, which meant the camera was filming.
“What are you doing?” Wendy cried as Richmond led Jacob down the hall toward the front entrance. There were two small lockup rooms outfitted with security cameras, along with a booking area in a part of the building that was off to one side of the dispatcher’s area so it could be monitored by whoever was on duty. I figured that was where Richmond was headed. “Where are you taking Jacob?” Wendy said, her voice growing shriller. Her eyes fixed on Stanley, and she started screeching at him. “What the hell did you do? I thought you said I’d be able to take Jacob home. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I’m taking your son to jail,” Richmond said. “He is under arrest for the murder of his father, he’s been read his rights, and since he wants to talk to his lawyer rather than us, I have no reason to keep him here, especially since your lawyer seems more interested in insulting us than he is in doing his job.” Richmond turned to address Stanley. “You can arrange to speak with your client once we have him booked.”
Stiff Penalty (A Mattie Winston Mystery) Page 21
