The Dark Communion (The Midnight Defenders) (17 page)

He lunged forward, threw the brunt of his weight against me, and I staggered back a step before collapsing. Arthur fell on top of me, bubbling and spitting.

He was all teeth and stagnant breath, and he rattled and chomped madly. I threw a forearm up under his chin to keep the jaws at bay. With the other hand, I reached for the ice axe that hung from his neck, wrapped my fingers around the rubber grip, and tugged sharply. It didn’t give.

Behind me, Ape said, “Jono, we need to get out of here.” Although his voice sounded worn and haggard, there was an urgency to it.

“I’m…a little…busy,” I managed to say.

The Glock barked once in the darkness, and Arthur stopped struggling and fell heavy and limp on top of me.

“Hurry, Jono,” he yelled again. “We must have tripped a silent alarm. I hear police sirens.”

I opened my eyes, pushed Arthur’s dead weight to the floor, struggled to get up. I glanced back at the body, his eyes white, wide and vacant, his mouth agape. Ape had a clean shot, right through the temples. Blood crowned him like a halo, the white and red foam gargling across his teeth melting into a pink Pepto-like thick syrup draining from the corner of his mouth.

As I stood, I saw the red dancing of police lights across the walls, turned to see three squad cars parked beyond the front windows, clearly visible through the mural-darkened glass. “Damn,” I breathed. “That’s some response time.”

As I took a step, my body throbbed, head spun. I reached out, stabilized myself on a clothing rack. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath.

Slowly, I opened them again and was able to take a few more steps. I had to stop, focus, and just managed to get a little further before the room spun. I collapsed into a display shelf of women’s shoes.

“Fuck.”

The murmur of police voices entered by the registers and the muted squawking of their walkies lulled me into blackness.

.

21

I awoke in handcuffs.

For a moment, I grew excited. Pornos began that way. But the excitement was short-lived as the cold, painful reality of where I was began to filter in.

I was in the back of a squad car, lights flashing, and lying on my side, on my bad arm, with my shoulder throbbing. My face felt like it was on fire, and I could feel the wetness of blood on my brow and lips, taste the warm iron.

Like I said, my life has more pain than a movie. Especially a porno.

All I could see from where I lay were the flashing colored lights of other squad cars, the red and blue playing across the ceiling of the cab, the grid of the cage that held me in. I heard the distant sounds of car doors shutting, an engine starting, and a series of muffled voices. I heard the static of the police band in the front seat and the soft melody of cool jazz on the stereo. My hands were cuffed behind my back, so it was a little difficult to sit up and look around, but I caught hold of one of the seatbelts and managed to lean and pull myself into an upright position.

We were outside the sporting goods store. Yellow police tape stretched across the open front door and around a perimeter of orange cones like streamers at a birthday party. Uniformed officers in white rubber gloves were mulling about while another one flitted like a hummingbird, a large camera in his hands captured the entire scene. Paramedics loaded a black body bag from a stretcher into the back of an ambulance.

I didn’t recognize anyone at first, but then I saw What’shisname step through the front door, followed by old blondie, herself, Special Agent Stone. He stopped, took a sip from a paper coffee cup, and she walked gingerly past him, scanned the patchwork of law enforcement and medical techs, CSI analysts and hungry press that waited with baited breath only half a millimeter from the perimeter tape. A plain-clothes detective stepped out of a black, unmarked van and she walked over to him, brandished a Ziploc baggie that held something dark and flat: tree bark, maybe.

He lit a smoke. She moved her lips to speak, but no words came out. He took a drag, blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth rather than straight into her face and mumbled a silent prayer of his own. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so I made up my own words, and the conversation in my head went something like this:

Stone: “Look, you smoking idiot, I found this piece of tree bark inside. What do you think it means?”

Detective: “Well, the logical thing to take from this is that a tree killed Arthur Towers, trashed the place and set off the silent alarm.”

Stone: “A tree? Are you sure?”

Detective: “Of course I’m sure, you hot little thing. I’m a detective, after all.”

Stone: “If a tree is responsible, how am I going to pin this on Jonothan Swyftt?”

As the Stone in my head said my name, the Stone in front of me looked toward the squad car, spied me through the rear window. I shot her a half-smile, and she snarled like a feral dog.

She barked an order to one of the uniformed officers that happened to be walking by, said something that looked angry, and pointed at me. I imagined she said, “You there, Officer Curtis, get that man an ice cream cone.”

The officer said something akin to, “I think Swyftt deserves a lobster dinner for bringing down a blood-thirsty child abductor.”

And then the booming voice of Stone yelled out, “Someone find me Officer Kerns!”

I could only guess Kerns was going to uncuff me and take me to Red Lobster. My mouth began to water then, and it helped my parched throat if only a little. In a port town like Seattle, Red Lobster wasn’t the go-to seafood restaurant, but it was more welcome than the alternative. Jail food wasn’t served with cheesy biscuits.

Another uniform approached – Officer Kerns, I presumed. She pointed at me again and the Stone in my head said, “Can you get this man a lobster dinner?”

Officer Kerns nodded, and then I heard her yell again, “Get him out of here!” Kerns approached the car, took his place in the driver’s seat, and put the car in gear. As he pulled out, I turned back to Stone, watched her mouth the words, “I’ll see you soon,” in exaggerated lip motions, and then she got smaller and smaller as Kerns drove away from the scene.

I turned to Kerns, seeing only what little of him was illuminated by the glow of the dash and the stereo. From what I gathered, he was a mousey-looking kid, young, big ears like the mascot of Mad Magazine. “So what did I do?” I asked.

He said nothing. He turned the jazz music up louder.

“Don’t I have the right to an attorney?”

He turned the music down just a hint and said, “You want me to read you your rights?”

“I don’t think you should be reading while you drive.”

He ignored me, turned the music louder than before. I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and sank back against the very uncomfortable seat, letting my head roll back on the hard cushion, and watched a dark spot on the ceiling of the car as the road vibration irritated my aching body. The handcuffs didn’t help either.

I might have drifted off a little, because it only seemed like a few minutes until we pulled up outside Anderson’s precinct. Kerns opened my door and waited as I fidgeted and stumbled out of the car. He let me walk ahead and grabbed my shoulder loosely, guiding me toward the front door of the station.

The next half hour wasn’t pleasant. They removed the cuffs to fingerprint me and made me stand on a line while they took my mug shots. They sat me at a desk and made me tell them my name, address and other information and tossed me into a small concrete cell with nothing but a tiny plank for a bed and a toilet no bigger than a Folgers can.

As I was getting comfortable, or at least attempting to, given my injuries and the condition of my quarters, Detective Anderson came by.

“Mr. Swyftt,” he said. “This isn’t exactly the kind of place I would have expected to find you.”

I nodded.

“Looks like Special Agent Stone made good on her threat.”

“Looks like it, mate,” I said. “You happen to know where Stone is?”

“On her way back here now, I think. She just called, asked me to keep a close eye on you personally. I don’t know what it is between you two, but she really doesn’t care for you, son.”

“It’s a long story.” I didn’t want to get into it for a second time today.

He nodded. “I’m gonna go get me a coffee.”

“Think I can get some water?” I asked. “Maybe my phone call?”

“They didn’t give you your phone call?” He pulled out a key ring and opened my cell door. “C’mon. I’ll take you over there. You need the cuffs on?” He smiled.

“I think I’ll manage.”

“Right. Just don’t you go trying to run off.”

After a stop by the coffee machine, he took me to his office, handed me a bottle of water from a mini fridge he kept, and set the phone on his desk. I downed half the bottle in one, long swig. “Local calls only,” he said with a boyish grin.

I dialed the house. After three rings, Nadia answered. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh my God, where have you been?”

“With Ape.”

“Ape got back almost an hour ago. Where are you?”

I took a slow breath and breathed out even slower. “Let me talk to Ape.”

“Where are you, Jono?”

“I’m in jail,” I said. “I need to talk to Ape.”

“Jail!? What are you doing in jail? Holy crap!” She was getting excited and her voice was getting pitchy.

“Calm down. We were working a case. Did he tell you what happened?”

“I haven’t spoken with him. He came in, went straight upstairs and locked himself in the study. He won’t come out.”

“He abandoned me,” I said, trying not to, but getting increasingly annoyed regardless.

“What happened? What did you guys do?”

“I’ll tell ya later. Just tell him to get his monkey arse down here and get me. He owes me that much.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try, but…”

“And tell him to bring his checkbook.” I hung up on her, handed the phone back to Anderson.

“That the old lady?” he asked with a smile. I raised an eyebrow, looked at him curiously. “I heard her through the phone. She get excited? They tend to do that when you mention jail.”

“My daughter.”

“Uh huh,” he said. He grabbed a small picture frame from a bookshelf behind his chair and handed it to me. It was a picture of two girls on the beach, freckled-faced redheads in white sun dresses, long hair blowing in a soft breeze. The sky behind them was a little dark and the ocean rolled just beyond an outcropping of tall reeds. “I have daughters, too. High schoolers. You gotta watch them at that age.”

“I suppose so,” I said, dismissing him. I set the frame down on the corner of his desk. “Nadia’s a good kid. I don’t worry about her. She worries about me.”

“For good reason.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re the one in jail.”

I shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Well, we might as well get you back to that cell. Don’t suppose Agent Stone would be none too happy to see you out and about.”

I nodded. Grabbed my water bottle and headed back to the hallway where my cell waited, Anderson right behind me. About halfway there, the cackling voice of Stone broke through the precinct floor, saying, “Detective Anderson, what is going on here?”

He turned slowly, fixed a broad smile on his cheeks, and oozed with that “Good old boy” charm as he said, “Special Agent Stone. I was just seeing to Mr. Swyftt’s phone call. Personally, just like you asked.”

“Why is the prisoner not in cuffs?”

“He didn’t appear to be a threat to me, ma’am.”

She turned to What’shisname who stood just behind her, a cup of coffee in his hand, and said, “Get this man…” She let out a harried “harrumph” and spun to her other side, seeing a uniformed officer walking back from the bathroom. “You, officer… Get this man in cuffs.” She pointed to me. “And take off his jacket. It’s evidence.”

He nodded and brought out his cuffs. He slipped the coat off my shoulders, and I was in too much pain to fight him. He tossed it over the back of a nearby chair and slapped the cuffs on my wrists.

“This doesn’t mean we’re going steady,” I told him.

“Detective Anderson,” Stone said, “This man is a suspect in a murder case, found near the body of a man who was reported missing from a nursing home several weeks ago. He needs to be locked up. He’s quite dangerous.”

“Allegedly,” I said.

She rolled her eyes at me. “He is dangerous and he does not need to be walking around. He needs to be locked up.”

Anderson nodded. “We were just on our way back to his cell when you stopped us.”

“I…,” she said, rather loudly. She took a deep breath to steady herself, her hands out in front of her. She closed her eyes for a second, bit her lip, then looked at me and said, “Take him to an interrogation room. I need to have a few words with him.”

“Alone time,” I winked.

She scowled at me, and as her eyes roamed toward the floor, she must have spotted the water bottle in my hand for the first time and wrenched it from my fingers, tossed it in an empty trash can. Then turned away and stomped off. What’shisname glanced at me with what I took to be an apologetic look and followed after.

Anderson turned to me and said, “Sorry, son. Let’s get you into one of those rooms then.”

“You’re just doing your job, Detective.”

He escorted me down the hall into a small room with white walls. There was a camera in the corner and a single, empty table met with two chairs in the center of the room. Set in to one wall was a large two-way mirror.

I sat. Anderson looked at me with regret and closed the door.

After a minute, Stone sauntered in. She didn’t look as angry, but she did look triumphant, superiority glowing on every inch of her face. I expected her to waltz in and grab the chair opposite me, spin it around backward and straddle it like some hotshot, lesbian cowboy. She didn’t. She just stood there in the corner, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest.

I couldn’t help but think back to the school just a few hours earlier and how in a similar room the conversation had shifted in my favor. This time, I didn’t expect to be so lucky. She had my hands tied. Well, cuffed.

“I got you,” she said, as though listening to my thoughts. “You finally crossed the line.”

“Finally?” I said. “Where have you been?”

“Keep talking. We’re recording this. We’ll use it against you in court.”

I shook my head. “I’ll never make it to court. The mob has hitters. I’m a dead man if I squeal. They’ll be saying, ‘Jonothan Swyftt swims with the fishes.’”

Her look was vacant. “Joke all you want.”

“I think this whole thing’s a joke.”

“You think murder is a joke?”

“I didn’t kill anyone. Play back the security tapes.”

“Too bad for you the cameras weren’t online yet. They were scheduled to be set-up tomorrow afternoon for the grand opening on Monday.”

I’d be lying if I said my hopes didn’t sink just a little. I grasped at straws. “Ape was there. He saw it. He was attacked, too.”

“Your hairy buddy? All that proves is that you and your friend ganged up on some escaped invalid….”

“It was his uncle.”

“Keep telling stories, Swyftt. We have you on a laundry list of charges that include breaking and entering, vandalism, murder in the first. And given the new jacket we just confiscated, we could add larceny to the list. You’ll go away for a very long time.”

“Is that how you treat a hero?” I asked. “I’m still waiting on my lobster dinner.”

“Lobster dinner?” she said, confusion sweeping across her.

“I thought you told…no, wait. Scratch that part. But I’ll still take it if you don’t mind.”

“Maybe as a last meal. Before you get the chair.”

“I’m not getting the chair.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Go ask the parents of the little girl in the apartment, love. Tenth floor, fire escape on the alley side.”

“Why, what are they going to say?”

“That their daughter is still there.” Her eyes narrowed. “My hairy buddy and I followed his uncle, the escaped invalid, to the apartment building where we witnessed him attempt to kidnap that little girl from her bedroom window. We stopped him, thank you very much.”