Brambleman (66 page)

The officer’s radio crackled: “Gwinnett
County advises suspect has implicated white male subject Charles
Sherman in the carjacking.”

“What?” Charlie asked, his face contorting in
disbelief, even though he already had more than an inkling of what
was going down. “That’s absurd!”

“He’s in on this. I knew it,” Evangeline
declared, her face a mask of grim satisfaction.

“Ma’am, could you please take a seat over
there?” The cop pointed to a chair by the wall. Evangeline stood
ramrod straight for a moment before complying.

“I’m taking you into custody,” the cop said,
clamping his hand on Charlie’s wrist.

“I don’t understand. What do they mean, the
suspect has implicated me?”

“Place your hands behind your back.” The
officer pushed Charlie’s right hand into position as eh cuffed him.
Charlie had been through this enough times to know it was
counterproductive to struggle.

“What’s going on? Just because she told
you—”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with her, all
right?”

Charlie found that impossible to believe. As
he was perp-walked out of the hospital, he noticed that seeing him
in handcuffs brought a smile to Evangeline’s troubled face.

* * *

Two detectives transported Charlie to the
northeast precinct station and led him to a drab little
interrogation room with pale green walls. It contained a gunmetal
gray table, two chairs, and a mirror on the cinder block wall. They
took off his cuffs and confiscated his cellphone.

The first interview was short. Sergeant
Foley, who was white, stood in the corner with his arms folded and
watched while Detective Nance did the talking. Nance, a
light-skinned black man with freckles, asked Charlie about his
marriage. “Am I under arrest?” Charlie asked.

“Not yet,” Nance said.

“I want to talk to my attorney.”

Nance left the room and returned with
Charlie’s cellphone. Charlie called Muncie’s cell number and left a
message. Nance took the phone and left. Foley followed him out.

Charlie spent the next hour drumming the
table and walking around the room, which was so small he kept
brushing against the wall.

The detectives returned. “Sit down,” said
Nance. “No word back from your lawyer. Sure you want to wait, or
would you rather talk? We found out a few things we can share.”

As far as Charlie was concerned, the cops
didn’t need his help. They had their suspects in custody. Only
stupid people in situations like this talked to police without a
lawyer present. But this was beyond stupid. He needed to know about
Susan. “Is my wife alive?”

“As far as we know,” Nance said. “But we want
to talk about you. What am I sayin’? Everyone wants to talk about
you. You’re famous. Your name’s been in the news every day this
past week.”

“None of it good,” Foley added.

“I’ve had better weeks,” Charlie
admitted.

“How’d you know about the carjacking?” Foley
asked.

“I saw it on TV. I knew it was Susan because
Channel Six interviewed a coworker who said they shot her. Plus,
she has a silver Mercedes.”

“Nice car. How can she afford it?”

“She’s a banker, duh. Plus I give her a
couple grand a month child support.”

“Only a couple grand a month?” Foley scoffed.
“Rich as you are?”

“It’s going up soon. She wants ten grand a
month.”

“Does she?” Nance interjected, making a note.
“Interesting.”

Damn. Where was that lawyer
?

“When you heard, did you try to call her,
just to see, you know …”

“She blocked my number,” Charlie said.

“Ouch,” said Foley. “Not on good terms,
eh?”

“A pending divorce,” Nance told his partner.
“Rather nasty, I hear.”

“And they said they were taking her to the
hospital,” Charlie said.

“So you rushed right to the hospital,” Foley
said.

“First I went to check on the kids, but her
sister had picked them up. I don’t know what happened there. She
must have gotten in touch with Sheila, or had somebody call her.
That’s a good sign, that she was able to do that,” Charlie said,
trying to sound hopeful.

“So you didn’t know this would be happening?”
Foley asked.

Charlie looked at him with a mixture of
contempt and disbelief, calculated for maximum effect. “If I had, I
would have done something to stop it.”

“Un-huh,” said Foley.

“Un-huh,” said Nance.

“You know the guys who did it,” Foley
said.

Foley and Nance both gave him piercing
stares.

No way would Charlie admit he knew the
carjackers unless he had to. “I heard in the hospital that somebody
knows my name. Obviously, they’re trying to blame me. Look, I’ve
been the victim of hit jobs more than once. I don’t know who did
it, OK?” Charlie threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Got any ideas?”

“You tell me.”

“OK. You know Kwame Taylor?”

“Never heard of him.” Charlie felt relieved.
Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe—

“How about P-Dog?”

Charlie gulped. “Yeah. I’ve heard of him.
Didn’t know his real name.”

“He’s the shooter, by the way. How do you
know him?”

“I’d like to try calling my lawyer
again.”

“Sure. Detective Foley.”

Foley pulled Charlie’s cell out of his shirt
pocket and handed it over. Charlie dialed but got no answer. He
left another message, his voice tinged with desperation. The cops
found this amusing. When he was finished, he put the phone on the
table.

“How about Demetrious Warner?” Nance asked.
“Nickname
D
.”

Charlie knew it was leading to this, but it
was still a jolt to hear the name. “Yeah. I wrote about him in a
book. P-Dog is the one who got shot, right?”

“The book,” Nance said, looking at Foley. “We
gotta get a copy.” Nance sat down across the table from Charlie and
looked him in the eye. “So how you know Demetrious Warner?”

“Through his grandmother. The book’s about …
something that happened to his family.”

“Did you know today’s his birthday?” Nance
said.

“Must have wanted a present,” Foley
cracked.

“His eighteenth, to be precise,” Nance said.
“He’s looking at the death penalty.”

Charlie rose out of his chair, his heart in
his throat. “You told me Susan was alive!”

Foley put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and
forced him down. “She is, as far as we know. But see, the way the
law works, he can be charged with a capital crime for his partner’s
death.”

“Is that the deal that’s going down?”

“Yeah,” Nance said. “Looks like it.”

“That’s cold,” Charlie said.

“You should be feeling a little chilly
yourself, right now.”

“Yeah, wait’ll ya get a load of this.” Foley
glanced at his notepad. “Party to a crime. Everybody who did the
crime is responsible. His partner, anyone who participated. You
know, like, say, paying them to do it.”

“Who paid them to do it?’

“This guy and his questions,” Nance told his
partner. “He cracks me up.”

Nance said, “We have info says you gave money
to D. That’s who.”

This was ridiculously dangerous, and Charlie
realized that he was the guy the cops would not want to cut a deal
with: The Great White Defendant. Especially if the GBI and
governor’s office got involved. “Bullshit,” he said.

Nance pulled a fax sheet out of his pocket.
“What’s this, then, that we just got in from Gwinnett County?
‘Demetrious, I have a lucrative proposition for you.’ That your
signature?”

Charlie stared at the note he’d written
months ago about the DNA test. “Ha … Jeez … hmm … yeah, like I
said, I’m gonna need my attorney.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

The cops got up with looks of disgust on
their faces. “Make your friggin’ call,” Foley said.

He handed Charlie’s cellphone to him, then
both detectives left the room. Charlie autodialed Muncie and again
left a message. As soon as he was done, Nance came back into the
room and retrieved the phone, then exited, leaving Charlie alone
with his thoughts.

Nearly two hours later, Foley burst into the
interrogation room holding Charlie’s cellphone like it was a dead
rat. “Call.”

“Hello, Sherman here,” Charlie said, feeling
a sudden and strange hope that Susan was calling to tell him it was
all a mistake, and she was doing just fine.

“Charlie,” Muncie said. “What kind of trouble
are you in?”

“Susan was shot in a carjacking, and I’m
being held as a suspect. Northeast DeKalb precinct.”

“Shit. Have you been talking?”

“Somewhat.”

“Double shit. What the—don’t say another
word. I’m on my way. … Charlie. Charlie.” A long pause. “OK. Good.
Just keep doing that until I get there.”

* * *

Muncie arrived at 11:05 p.m. and huddled with
his client. Whispering, with a legal pad blocking the view from the
mirror, Charlie told Muncie what he knew of the carjacking,
including the incriminating information about paying Demetrious for
his blood sample—a piece of information he’d neglected to include
in
American Monster
. Another instance of sandbagging he now
regretted. He also mentioned Demetrious’s demand for $20,000.

“Do you know if that’s why he targeted her?”
Muncie asked.

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know much. I just
know him.”

“Did you tell him where she worked?”

“No. I never talked to him about my family,
but she wouldn’t have been hard to find. She was on TV last night
denouncing me, standing in front of the Hanover clock tower.”

“Well, due to the divorce, they’ve got a
motive for you,” Muncie said. “They’ll say chickens have come home
to roost.”

“It’s bullshit, though. What do we do?”

“We don’t talk to them. Nothing to gain. Make
them prove everything.”

“They could arrest me.”

“Then we’ll get you out on bond.”

“I was hoping for something less … stressful
than that.”

“What can I say? You lead an interesting
life. Looks like you’ll have a sequel to your book.”

“I don’t want it to be a jailhouse
memoir.”

“I hear ya.” Muncie looked into the mirror
and smiled broadly. “We’re ready.”

A few minutes later, Nance entered the room
alone, hitched up his pants, and stared at Charlie for a moment,
then switched his gaze to Muncie. “He’s free to go.”

“Why?” Charlie asked, which was, he had to
admit, a very stupid question. Muncie was already pulling him out
of his chair.

Nance sneered at him. “Because you’re rich
and famous. But don’t leave town.”

“Come on,” Muncie said. “Let’s go.”

Once outside, Charlie said, “What just
happened?”

“Well, they don’t have much on you, despite
what they said. And for all I know, they bugged the room and heard
everything we said.”

“That’s illegal! They can’t do that!”

Muncie shrugged. “Whatever. I’m sure they’d
say they didn’t. Good thing you didn’t confess. By the way, when
the cops tell you you’re free to go, don’t ask why. Just go. Come
on. I’ll give you a ride. I guess I’ll have to include taxi fare as
part of my fee. Where to?”

“Northeast Regional. Susan’s there.” Muncie
gave him a questioning look. “So’s my car.”

“Just don’t do anything we’ll regret while
you’re there.”

They climbed into Muncie’s black Porsche and
roared away. Charlie checked his cellphone’s voicemail: “You have
twenty-eight unheard messages.” He played through the voicemails,
skipping as soon as he heard who they were from: reporters, mainly.
He erased them all.

“I still don’t know how she’s doing. The
divorce—”

“Don’t worry about that. Just do what you can
to help her. Wouldn’t hurt to pray.”

“I kinda think that’s dangerous, right
now.”

Muncie gave him a peeved look. “You’re one
weird dude, you know.” After a minute, he said, “Look, even if they
don’t have enough to hold you on right now, they’re probably going
to try to get an indictment. I’ll put my investigator on this case.
If we have a package to give the DA, we may be able to avoid an
indictment. We have two jurisdictions to worry about.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with this. I
just want you to understand that.”

“Good. That will help.”

Muncie turned into the hospital entrance.
“We’ll beat this rap,” he said. “Not bad for a divorce lawyer,
eh?”

“You were bound to turn into a criminal
lawyer dealing with the family I’m tangled up with,” Charlie said.
“And speaking of your PI, what did he find out about … uh,
Harold?”

“Some other time.” Muncie’s tone was
curt.

He pulled to a stop at the parking lot gate
and let out his passenger. As the lawyer drove away, a siren wailed
in the distance. It was past midnight and most of the hospital
windows were dark. Charlie looked at the streetlamp, then at the
waxing moon, partially hidden behind a cloud. He walked slowly
toward the main entrance. He passed through the sliding doors and
approached a woman in a suit sitting behind the information
desk.

“Visiting hours are over, sir,” she said.

“I just need to know—”

A uniformed guard appeared at Charlie’s
side.

“She’s in the ICU. There’s nothing you can do
now. Get some rest, Mr. Sherman.”

Charlie looked perplexed. “Do you know
me?”

“Everyone knows you.”

Regretting this unfortunate fact, Charlie
turned and walked out.

As Charlie drove to the hospital early
Wednesday morning, the thoughts that had kept him up all night
continued to hammer his burned-out brain. First: this was Susan’s
fault. By going on TV, she had willingly participated in the
Cutchins family’s evil scheme to defame him and defraud Minerva
Doe, thus exposing herself to the wrath of God. It was so obvious.
Second: Of course, Charlie would do everything he could for his
stricken wife. Third: If the unthinkable occurred, he would take
Beck and Ben and flee this accursed place.