by Gavin Reese
“Ma’am, I apologize. Detective Landon and I are only here because we have to be. We only need to speak with you because our boss tells us we have to.” Wall backed away from Colleen and sat down facing her, a few feet to her left. He portrayed kindness, but Alex understood he intended to also convey that the conversation was, predominantly, non-negotiable. Alex followed his lead and sat down two seats to Wall’s left, farther away from Colleen to ensure she didn’t feel pressured or pinned in between them. Alex hadn’t expected Colleen’s reaction, but it didn’t really surprise him either. In his few short years of interviewing victims, witnesses, suspects, parents, and children, Alex had already seen almost every rational and irrational response to police questioning.
Alex hoped Wall could now effectively minimize Colleen’s fear of their investigation and gain enough of her confidence so she spoke with them. The very realistic and possible alternative would be foster care for her special needs child while CPS conducted their civil investigation into the safety of the McDougal home. No reason to make her feel like we’re coercing her by stating that, though, Alex thought, especially when we have no evidence of any intentional wrongdoing or probable cause to show she or her husband committed more than a negligent crime against their son.
Detective Wall sat silently for a moment, and Alex saw he had quietly assumed a near match of the body position Colleen had when they first saw her. He sat back in the chair, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together out in front of him. They had given Colleen enough distance to try to ensure she didn’t feel threatened, spoke in a soft, calm, reassuring voice, and tried to convey genuine sympathy. Although Wall had been truthful with Colleen about their presence at the hospital, Alex understood they also had to ensure their investigation sought to protect the child’s rights and safety. It’s a tenuous situation, he thought, to be sufficiently compassionate and sympathetic to Colleen while investigating her and Jonathan’s actions, and inactions, for signs of abuse and neglect.
“Ms. McDougal, neither of us think you or Mr. McDougal did anything wrong. That’s not why we’re here. We’re here because about ten years ago, the state legislature changed the way that hospitals and police departments responded to reports of injuries in the home. A lot of people who committed crimes against their families were never held accountable. The end result is that we have to talk to almost everyone who gets hurt in their home, just to make sure it wasn’t intentional. We’re not here to accuse you or your husband of anything, we just want to make sure Michael is okay. We know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt Michael and we don’t think you and your husband are unfit parents. The state tells our boss, who tells us, that we have to have this conversation with you. We don’t want to be here anymore than you want us here. This is only a formality.” Not true, Alex thought, he’s starting to throw out some lawful lies. I wonder if his opinion’s changed, just on what we’ve seen so far? “Formality” implied the existence of a foregone conclusion. Alex understood this investigation remained entirely up in the air and depended on how the next three interviews played out.
Colleen sat staring at Detective Wall for a long few moments. She left her arms crossed, but slowly dropped her shoulders and lowered her arms across her stomach. Looking away from the two detectives, she stared at the doorway, sighed deeply, and shook her head.
“Look, I know you’re just doing your job, but I don’t have to like it.” She spoke at the door, still working up the confidence. “It was an accident. It wasn’t Jonathan’s fault, he would never hurt Michael…he just…he got an email about his old Company that upset him, and I think he just drank too much while he was trying to deal with the frustration of it. This hasn’t happened before, at least, not like this, I mean. He’s been drunk before, sure, probably just like you two have. It’s just…I dunno. Sometimes,” she paused, as though unsure if the detectives would understand, “I think he tortures himself for surviving and not bringing all of his men back with him.” Intrigued, and with a general understanding that “Jonathan” had recently returned from some Third World shithole, Alex already knew Wall couldn’t let this go until he spoke with Mr. McDougal and confirmed Colleen’s version of an isolated accident. Strike One.
“Do you know where he is now, Mrs. McDougal?”
“I suppose he’s still passed out on the living room couch.” Strike Two.
“Did the medics leave him blacked out at your house?”
“Yes, but they didn’t even know he was there. They came in and focused on Michael. I didn’t tell them about Jonathan and they didn’t ask about anyone else in the house. Even the chaos of the ambulance and paramedics didn’t wake him up. He was lying on his stomach when we left.” And Three. Probably.
Twenty-Five
McDougal residence. Dry Creek, Arizona.
dinnnnnnng…dong dingdong knock-knock-knock
Jonathan stirred on the couch, but did not yet fully awake. “…gohway…” The alcohol kept him from intelligently responding to the front door. He had passed out on his stomach with his right arm awkwardly folded above his head and his left calf hanging off the front of the couch.
BANGBANGBANG
Jonathan woke and looked around, not sure what was happening. As he sat up, Jonathan’s right arm fell helplessly against his leg; it had been asleep for so long that it felt numb and he had no control over it. He grabbed his right forearm with his left hand, pulled it across his body, and struggled to stand solidly on his feet. Pain shot through his left knee, but at least he could use it.
Fuck, he thought, what time was it?
DingdongdingBANGdongBANGBANGBANG
“COMING!” Michael yelled at the door. Damn, I hurt. He massaged his right arm, rose and stumbled awkwardly toward the front door, and, from the incoming daylight, realized it must be early morning. Where the hell were Colleen and Michael?
Jonathan paused as he passed by the kitchen, and saw it had become a disaster area. What… the… fuck…
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGdingdongdingdongdingggggggg-donggggggg
“COMING!” Jonathan resumed his door-bound stumble, reached the handle, and violently yanked the door open to find two badges staring at him. What was going on?
“’morning, Mister McDougal. Detectives Wall and Landon, here to talk to you about your son, Michael. Can we come in to speak with you?” The older detective spoke and stood in front of the younger, and Jonathan presumed, junior, investigator.
Jonathan stood there for a few seconds, stunned…the cops know my name…and Michael…
“What’s wrong?! Where are Michael and Colleen?! What happened, wha…why are you here?!” Jonathan backed away from the doorway, not intending to let them in, but to back away from the unknown danger. His numb right arm hung awkwardly at his side and gravity moved it around as Jonathan tried to steady himself. He held onto the door handle for support, which didn’t help when his weight shifted backward and the door followed. Alcohol and potentially bad news were conspiring to literally bring him down, and he stumbled, but managed to avoid falling onto the tile floor.
“We’d love to speak with you about that, but we’d prefer to do it inside and keep your business off the street. They’re both fine, by the way, but they’ll be at the hospital for a while longer. Can we come inside?” Jonathan watched both detectives put away their police credentials as he processed the information the older one had presented.
“Hospital?” Jonathan backed away from the door and into the entryway, this time as tacit consent to allow the detectives inside. Both men followed him into the home and the younger detective closed the door behind them. “I have to, uh, go, I can’t leave Colleen there by her, uh, by herself. Gimme a minute to find my keys.”
“Jonathan, that’s gonna be tough. Even if we ignore the facts that I need to ask you some questions, you smell like you actually swam in the whiskey bottle, so, no driving for a while, sir.”
“So, can you take me then? I can
call a cab, right?”
“Yeah, after we finish talking, we can probably work that out.”
Mother…fucker… “I don’t understand what we have to talk about, thass more important than whatever’s goin’ on with my wife and kid.”
Twenty-Six
McDougal residence. Dry Creek, Arizona.
Alex knew Wall had been only somewhat honest with Jonathan McDougal. Yes, they could help him get to the hospital, but his wife is likely to cause a scene if she sees him right now and we still don’t yet know if Child Protective Services is gonna get an Emergency Order of Protection to keep him away from Michael during their investigation.
Once they convinced Jonathan that Michael had been hospitalized overnight for his excessive food consumption, Alex felt surprised how quickly he’d accepted responsibility for his intoxication and having left the refrigerator door unsecured. Certain the man remained intoxicated, probably rolling at about a point-one-five, Alex guessed his presumptively high blood alcohol concentration had loosened his lips. It’s gotta make it so much easier for him to tell total strangers like us about his most personal problems.
After the three men spread out between the couch and recliner in McDougal’s living room, Detective Wall directed the casual interrogation and Alex studiously took notes so the senior investigator could focus on his questions and McDougal’s responses to them. Alex knew he held little sway over the direction of the investigation and the possible outcome. As he wrote shorthand notes, Alex found himself in an unfamiliar place in which he felt tremendous sympathy for a suspected child abuser; never before had he been in this circumstance, and Alex knew he had to consciously work to keep his objectivity. He both respected McDougal for his service, and pitied his tough family circumstances and apparent lack of intent to harm his own child. This guy’d make a very sympathetic defendant, Alex thought, for he truly meant no wrong…probably.
Alex knew his oath to uphold the law left him and Detective Wall with no option but to thoroughly investigate the father’s role in neglecting or abusing his son. McDougal had probably violated the law, at least negligently, and Alex understood he had no ability to decide the man’s legal fate. The son, Michael, had rights and well-being that had to be protected. Wall did, however, have discretion to file charges later with the courts, rather than arresting McDougal and booking him into the county jail for his initial appearance if they established probable cause for his arrest today. Alex felt relief this case belonged to Wall and he didn’t have to make the hard choices about how to resolve the case. This one looks to be one helluvuh moral dilemma, he thought.
The most difficult cases Alex had investigated had been those that involved fallen or injured officers, honorably-discharged or retired military veterans, sexual assault, and crimes against children. This case involved two of those categories, and Alex anxiously awaited Wall’s feedback about how he intended to go forward. I’m glad I won’t be the one potentially calling this man a criminal before a court of law.
Alex watched McDougal as he continued speaking about his struggles since resigning his Army commission. His mouth is on autopilot, Alex thought, as though McDougal didn’t so much speak to us, it’s just that we happened to be here to witness him analyze his efforts and failings to care for his family. Wall had finally stopped interrupting with clarifying questions, which meant Alex had no natural breaks in the suspect’s monologue as he furiously notated the man’s statements and admissions. He really wants us to understand what his return home has been like, Alex thought, like he thinks we can validate his decisions and efforts as righteous, well-intentioned, and merely unlucky.
Looking past the two detectives, Alex realized McDougal stared at the pile of food debris, broken glass, and empty plastic containers on the kitchen floor as he spoke. “Michael’s suffering…because of me. My son’s life was in danger today…because of me. Colleen’s probably thinkin’ about leaving…because of me. Who can blame her?”
Just as he finished the thought, Alex’s cell phone audibly notified him of a new text message. Alex lifted the phone and the CPS investigator’s message was too long for the preview screen. After unlocking the phone and accessing the text message application, Alex silently read the information while McDougal continued speaking. The text filled him with anxiety and regret; he highlighted the most immediately relevant sentences and passed the phone to Wall.
“…Director demanded Emerg Order Protect bc this is 2-nd ER visit for kid. Dad has 2 live elsewhere til we finish civil invest to protect child. Will deliver EOP to dad at home in next 30 mins…”
Alex shifted his gaze from Wall to McDougal, who still spoke to no one in particular, as though nothing had transpired between the two detectives. In his peripheral, Alex saw Wall’s stature deflate a bit before the senior detective passed the phone back to him.
“Whaddya wannado?” Alex had leaned toward Wall and posed the question as quietly as possible to him; Wall frowned and, quickly and slightly, twice shook his head ‘no’ in response, which Alex understood to simply mean ‘not now, shut the fuck up.’
As soon as a natural break fell in Jonathan’s monologue, Wall spoke. “Mr. McDougal, there’s something we have to discuss, and I imagine it might even be less fun than what we’ve already gone over.”
Alex read apparent acceptance on Jonathan’s face as the vet slowly nodded his head ‘yes’ as he spoke, as though he had presumed their intent to arrest him.
“Do what you gotta do, I’ve got it comin,’ whatever you boys demand.”
“It’s got nothin’ to do with us, Mr. McDougal. When I explained earlier, that there’s two parts to child investigations, and we’re investigating any criminal violations, and Child Protective Services is investigating any welfare issues on behalf of your son? You remember that?”
“Yeah, Detective Wall, I remember somethin’ about that.”
“Well, C-P-S just let us know they have a court order, it’s called an Emergency Order of Protection. What it says is that you can’t stay here, in the same home as Michael, while they conduct their side of the investigation, because they want to first make sure he is sa--”
“What? What the fuck’r you sayin’?” Despite the anger in his tone and body language, Alex saw Jonathan maintained close control of himself without shouting, standing, and doing anything that could appear threatening to Wall and him. “I can’t stay in my own home? What, now, you’re gonna arrest me, right?”
“No, Jonathan, remember, it’s two totally different things, from two totally different agencies. We’re not arresting you today, and I don’t think we’re gonna be back to arrest you later. I don’t know for sure what else the investigation is gonna turn up, but I don’t see that I’m gonna put you in handcuffs for this.”
“So, how can they tell me I can’t live here, if I’m not being arrested or charged with a crime?”
Wall never said he didn’t think we’d charge you with a crime, Alex thought, he just said he didn’t intend to put handcuffs on you.
“Jonathan, Mister McDougal, listen to me now, okay, just listen for a minute. I think the two of us have treated you pretty fair, and we’ve given you a chance to tell us your side of what happened. I think you understand we want to help you, if we can, and we’re not going to lie to you. Is that fair, do you feel like all that is true?”
McDougal paused for a moment in apparent reflection of that morning’s events and their interactions together. “Yeah, Detective Wall, I suppose that is fair. So, I’m listening.”
“Okay, thank you, Mister McDougal. So, here is the thing. That order, the protection order? That doesn’t come from C-P-S, that comes from a court, probably a Maricopa County Justice Court in this case. A judge reviewed the information C-P-S presented and he or she stated they believed it’s in Michael’s best interest for you to live somewhere else for a bit until C-P-S finishes their investigation.
“Now, this is not a permanent order, and you do have the ability to
appeal it. I can answer questions for you about that later, if you want, or you can talk to a family law attorney and get help that way. In the meantime, it sounds like C-P-S is gonna be by here in about thirty minutes to give you a copy and make sure you understand you could be arrested if you fail to comply with the order. Tracking?”
A slight smirk broke across Jonathan’s face. “Tracking.”
“So, I think the best thing to do, for this morning, for today, is for us to help you get a few things together so you can be ready to leave right after they get here and talk to you. You got somewhere you can stay for a few days, maybe a few weeks, while this gets sorted out?”
“Yeah, I can stay at my mom’s place. She lives pretty close by.”
“Here in Dry Creek?”
“Yeah, just west of that new development in Buckeye, off Thomas and 315th.”
“Okay. You wanna ride over there, so she doesn’t have to come get you with all this going on?” Wall’s offer to give a suspect, even a vet, a courtesy ride across town surprised Alex. He must be feelin’ generous today.
“No, thanks, I don’t want a cruiser dropping me off like I’m back in high school.”
“No cruisers, young man, we’re detectives. We’ll get you dropped off in an unmarked SUV and nobody’ll ever know it was us unless you tell ‘em.”
The still-drunken man’s smirk returned, even as he bowed his head in apparent shame and defeat. “Yeah, okay, sure. You better believe I’m not sayin’ a goddamned word.”
