Fatal Divide (22 page)

Still, he watched until the car turned off on the next road leading west, an unusual route, unless it was going to Stars and Garters, the only business that would still be open on that road at this time of night.

By the time he finished his sandwich, Dylan still hadn’t seen the sheriff’s car come back. An uneasy feeling overtook him. That was a dead-end road. Was the deputy in that car in some kind of trouble at the bar?

Reluctantly, Dylan started his pickup and followed the route the sheriff’s car had taken. He’d just drive by and take a look. If it was all quiet, he’d turn around and mind his own business. Dylan hadn’t liked the vibe of the place since he stopped in a few days before, but unless the deputy needed backup, he really had no business being back there. Not even then, to tell the truth. Outside his park and off-duty, he had no jurisdiction. It was the idea of a fellow officer of the law, in possible trouble with no backup, driving his impulse to go and look.

Dylan approached the bar slowly, driving less than ten miles per hour so he could get a good look without stopping. He could hear the thump of a loud jukebox, even though his windows were rolled up. He rolled them down to listen for any signs of a fight or trouble. As he rolled past the bar, he noticed the sheriff’s SUV parked at an angle at the edge of the bar’s lot, lights off. When he drew parallel to it, he could hear that the engine was running and see a figure behind the wheel. No trouble then.

Dylan rolled up his window and continued to the end of the street, where an auto mechanic business sat across the dead end. He pulled into the parking lot there to make a U-turn, and then drove back the way he’d come, closer to the twenty-five mile an hour speed limit. Done with his unsatisfactory meal and with nowhere else to go, he was heading home.

He paid no attention to the distant headlights that appeared in his rear-view mirror once he was on Main Street. Executing a couple of turns, he pulled into his mom’s driveway.

He was bent over, retrieving the trash from his meal when a siren gave one short whoop behind him. Startled, Dylan came up too fast and hit his shoulder on the steering wheel, eliciting a curse. Before he understood where the siren came from, Kevin Thurston was at the side of his vehicle, ordering Dylan to put his hands where Thurston could see them.

Dylan complied, placing his hands on top of the steering wheel, and waited for Thurston’s next order. He didn’t know what this was about, but he noticed Thurston was holding his arms below the line of sight offered by his rear-view mirror. That meant Thurston had his gun drawn.
What the hell?

“Get out of the truck, Chaves, very slowly. Keep your right hand on the steering wheel.”

Dylan moved his left hand to open the door and eased out, leaving his right hand on the steering wheel until he was standing beside his pickup. This was the third time he’d been held at gunpoint today. It was getting very old.

“What’s this about, Thurston?” he asked.

“I’ll ask the questions. What were you doing sneaking around the Stars and Garters tonight?”

It was such an unexpected question that Dylan laughed. Thurston lifted the barrel of his service weapon, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to let Dylan know the question was serious.

“Sneaking? Really? I drove past slowly, but in plain view. I saw one of your units go down that road and not come back. I went to see if he needed help. When I saw him sitting in the vehicle, and no apparent trouble going down, I drove back down the street and came home.”

Dylan repressed the impulse to add something sarcastic, like, ‘sorry if it’s against the law to want to help an officer’. Knowing Thurston, it would backfire. He shut his mouth after answering the question.

“I think you were there for a meet, and my being there broke it up.”

“That was you? If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have gone to help.” Dylan was at the end of his patience. It was the only reason he could think of for making a stupid statement like that.

Thurston’s eyes narrowed. “You expected your contacts to take care of me? Permanently, maybe?”

What has this guy been smoking?
“No, Kevin. That was what’s known as sarcasm. I told you. I saw a unit go in and not come out. I went to help. I would have helped if needed, even if it was you. And I have no contacts at that bar.”

“Where do you have contacts?”

Shit, every time I open my mouth, he takes it wrong.
“You know what? You’re taking everything I say wrong. I think it’s best if I don’t say anything else without my lawyer.”

“Fine. In that case, I’m taking you in.”

Dylan opened his eyes wide and stared at Thurston. “On what charge?”

“Suspicion of loitering.”

Suspicion of loitering? Who was he kidding?
“You’re kidding, right?”

“Turn around and spread ‘em.” Thurston cuffed him efficiently, while reciting the Miranda warning. Dylan’s mind was frozen. Thurston had to ask him twice if he understood.

Finally, he answered, “Yeah.” That was when Thurston pushed him toward the department SUV hard enough that he almost lost his balance. This couldn’t be happening, could it? What a farce!

At the cop shop, Thurston took Dylan’s valuables, placed him in a holding cell, and started to walk away.

“Hey, when do I get my phone call?” Dylan asked.

“After you’re booked. Monday,” Thurston answered.

“Wait a minute, you can’t hold me here incommunicado until day after tomorrow!”

“Watch me.”

Dylan sat on the bunk in the cell, stunned. This was the first time he’d ever been in this position, but he knew from TV that it wasn’t right. On the other hand, he had no practical way to correct the situation. He was screwed.

Not long after he’d given up and stretched out on the bunk to try to sleep, he was startled awake by a different voice.

“Dylan! What the hell are you doing here?”

Dylan opened one eye. Ange’s boyfriend, Bill, stood at the bars, gaping at him. “Bill! Am I glad to see you! I have no idea what’s going on here. Thurston hauled me in for ‘suspicion of loitering’, is what he said. Wouldn’t give me a phone call, nothing. Can you do me a favor?”

Bill’s eyes slid away from him. “Aw, I’m not sure, Dylan.”

“Please! It won’t get you in trouble. I’m not asking you to let me out. Just call Ange and let her know I’m here, and that I need her to call my lawyer and Alex tomorrow. Please?”

“Well, I guess I can do that. After I get off shift in the morning. That okay?”

It would have to be. At least someone who cared would know where he was.

FORTY-EIGHT

Sunday, 7:15 a.m.

Alex woke to the ringing of her cell phone. It seemed early, but sunlight was streaming in through the edges of her blinds. She groped for the phone.

“Hey Alex, it’s Rick.”

Groggy, she didn’t recognize the voice or the name. What time was it, anyway? Too early for a stranger’s call, certainly. She squinted against the light and said, “I’m sorry, who?”

“Rick. Did I wake you? It’s Rick Englebright.”

At last, she made the connection. What could her lawyer be calling her about this early on a Sunday morning? “Oh, hi Rick. What...”

“I guess I did wake you. Sorry. I’m calling at Dylan’s request. He wanted you to know that he’s been picked up on a bullshit charge by Kevin Thurston, and won’t be able to make it over today.”

The news, though delivered in a calm manner, shattered Alex’s morning fog. Her eyes flew open, then her mouth. Rick had fallen silent, apparently waiting for her reaction.

“He what?! He’s in jail? What...?”

Rick chuckled. “I guess you’re awake now. I’m not sure. I got the message from his mother’s caretaker, who got it from her boyfriend, one of the deputies. Apparently Thurston told Dylan that he won’t get a phone call until he’s booked on Monday. I’m going down there to straighten things out today, but Ange was clear that Dylan wanted you to know right away.”

She was scrambling out of bed as Rick explained, searching the tangled bedding for a robe to put on before she rushed out of her room to find her dad. She stopped to ask if there was anything she could do.

“I doubt it. If Kevin is determined to push the legal limits, he probably can hold Dylan without booking or charging him until tomorrow morning. I’m going to try to talk some sense into him about communication and visitors, but there’s no way he’s getting out before the judge sets bail, and that won’t happen before Monday. I’ll let you know if he can have visitors.”

“This is bullshit, Rick.”

“I think that’s what I said. Maybe you were still asleep.”

Alex felt like sticking her tongue out at Rick. He was always a little too flip, but maybe that’s what kept him sane in a small town where he had to figure out who he could represent without conflict of interest. She hoped he had a positive bias toward Dylan. Maybe he could pull off a miracle. “Okay, well, I have some stuff to do. I’ll wait for your call about visitation. Thanks for letting me know, Rick.”

“Any time, Alex. Sorry to wake you.”

She hung up, unwilling to discuss her late sleeping habits with Rick any further. She tied her bathrobe around her waist, slipped her feet into some fuzzy house shoes, and opened the door to an unnaturally quiet house. If she’d slept late, where was everybody?

She pulled her phone out of her bathrobe pocket and checked the time. Seven-thirty. It made her want to call Rick back and say something sarcastic, but she knew his heart was in the right place. Even if he was the only person in Dodge who was up before eight on a Sunday morning.  Come to think of it, someone probably woke him up too, and he was just paying it forward.

Since she was up, Alex decided to get breakfast ready. She made pancake batter and was starting the coffee when she heard the baby cry in the guest room. A few minutes later, Sophia wandered into the kitchen with a smiling Diego cradled in one arm. By then, Alex had the bacon started and was beginning to pour batter onto the griddle. The skillet was waiting to receive eggs for frying.

“That smells good,” Sophia said.

“The bacon?”

“The coffee. Bacon too,” Sophia admitted.

“Sit down, I’ll pour you a cup. How many eggs?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Setting the coffee, creamer, sugar, and a spoon in front of Sophia, she answered. “You’re no trouble, Sophia. I do this for Dad and me every Sunday anyway. It’s no trouble to cook more.”

“Oh. Then, two eggs, please.”

Alex had a plate of everything in front of Sophia just as her dad came in. From the way he was sniffing the air as he came in, he’d been drawn by the heavenly smell of bacon cooking too. She set about preparing his eggs and making more pancakes.

When she finally sat down with her own breakfast, Alex started the conversation that she’d been holding off. “I got a call from Rick Englebright earlier,” she said to her dad. “Dylan’s in jail.”

Sophia’s fork crashed to the plate, and she uttered a sheepish apology.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, Rick says Dylan’s probably not going to get out before tomorrow, and I guess the sheriff isn’t letting him make any calls. Should I call his work for him?”

“What would you be able to tell them? Do you know why he’s there?” her dad asked, taking the whole thing a little too calmly in her opinion.

“Rick said it was a bullshit charge.”

“Language,” said her dad, automatically.

“Well, that’s what Rick said. He didn’t say exactly what kind of bullshit,” Alex replied, suppressing a grin at her dad’s discomfort.

“Alexis!”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Well, I think you should know a bit more before you make that call. Are you going to see him today?”

“Rick said he’d let me know if I could.”

“Then why don’t you wait and find out if he wants you to. It isn’t really your place,” her dad said.

“Just trying to help.”

“I know, honey, but half the time when someone is ‘just trying to help’, they make things worse. Wait and see what Dylan wants you to do.”

“You’re right,” she answered.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that again,” her dad said with a straight face.

“Cherish it; may never happen again. Sophia, is there anything you’d like to do today?”

“As soon as I put Diego down for his nap, I’d like to help clean the kitchen. It’s the least I can do.”

“Sounds good. Dad, leave the cleanup for us. Why don’t you golf today? It’s perfect weather for it.”

“I would, but it looks like my partner’s going to be tied up trying to get your boyfriend out of jail. Say, am I going to get a story for Wednesday out of all this running around you’ve been doing?”

“We can’t say anything about Sophia, but yes, I think I can put something together.”

Alex didn’t know if it would be a satisfactory story. The beginning couldn’t be told, the middle didn’t make much sense yet, and she didn’t know what the end would be. Somehow, the murder story had become a metaphor for her love-life.