Last Call (15 page)
The killer—”
“Wait a second. How does Reems find that out? And how does a prisoner on the inside extort a killer on the outside?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Jack.“But this is the point I’m making.
The killer knows better than to trust the likes of Isaac Reems. In fact, Isaac told Theo—and Theo told the police—that this outside helper didn’t deliver the car, the cash, and all the other stuff that was supposed to be waiting for Reems when he escaped. It’s possible that somebody stole that stuff before Reems could get to it, LAST CALL
127
but I think it’s more likely that the killer played along with the extortion only to a point.”
“And then he had second thoughts?”
“I think he had second thoughts all along. So he planned ahead.
The only person on the outside who knew exactly when the escape would occur was the man Isaac was extorting. He tapped Theo’s phone line right before it was supposed to go down. That way, he’d know immediately if Reems called to tell his old friend who killed his mother.”
Andie seemed intrigued. Or suspicious. “Did Reems in fact make that call to Theo?”
“Obviously not. Or we’d know who the killer is.”
“Did Reems make any calls at all to Theo?”
This was more than Jack was ready to confirm. “What if he did?”
“Well, I suppose there could be a few possibilities.”
Jack studied her expression.“Such as?”
“He could have told Theo to meet him in the alley behind the old Homeboy’s.”
Her insights were impressive.Then again, maybe it tied in with what the abducted waitress had told Andie. “Could have,” said Jack.
“And Theo could have packed his pistol and gone.”
“Except that he was at his girlfriend’s house.Which leaves only one other possibility.Whoever tapped Theo’s phone heard Reems say where he was hiding. He went there, and he killed him.”
“Because he feared that Reems was going to tell Theo who killed his mother,” she said.
“Glad to see you’re with me.”
“I follow you.That doesn’t mean I’m with you.”
“Something you disagree with?”
“I just need to give you fair warning. It’s my job to consider more than one possibility.”
128
James Grippando
“Understood. But you have to ask yourself, would Theo have called the cops after Isaac came to see him if he was planning to gun him down himself?”
“That’s a fair point. But people do stupid things. They have a change of heart.”
“Then you should jump at the chance to protect Theo. If my theory is correct,Theo is the live bait that helps you catch a two-time killer who helped Reems escape from prison. If I’m wrong, or just plain bluffing, what better way is there to keep your eye on Theo the suspect?”
She fell silent, thinking. Finally, she said,“I need a little time to sell that to the bureau.”
“But you’ll try?”
“I’ll try.”
“I have your word on that?”
“You have my word.”
She raised her cup, and Jack clanked his against it in a silent toast. His coffee spilled on impact, and as they fumbled for napkins to mop it up, Jack got the uneasy feeling that this was a metaphor.
Hard to imagine an alliance with Andie that was anything but rocky.
Uncle Cy didn’t like it one bit.
Just six hours after his release from the hospital,Theo was already trying to sweep his uncle out of the house.“I’m fine,”
Theo kept telling him. “Take a walk, see a friend, rent some porn.
Just go.”
The doctors had told Cy the same thing—not the part about the porn, but the fact that Theo was “fine.”They’d kept him overnight for observation, liked what they saw, and discharged him with a flesh-tone bandage on his head and a prescription for painkillers. Cy pushed him out of the hospital in a wheelchair—it was hospital policy, undoubtedly implemented after a patient tripped over his own feet and sued the world for failing to remind him that it was left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot—and from then on,Theo was Mr. Independence.“Cy, go away” seemed to be Theo’s message. He was a good nephew. He was a really lousy patient.
The phone rang.“I’ll get it,” Cy shouted.
“No, you won’t!” Theo fired back. He launched himself from the couch, muted the television, and picked up before Cy could count another ring.
The old man watched from across the room. It was a short conversation. Cy couldn’t hear what his nephew was saying, but Theo had a serious expression on his face. As he hung up, Theo brought his hand to his head, right to the oversized bandage that covered his stitches, and grimaced in pain. It wasn’t clear if Theo had touched them because they hurt or if they hurt because he’d touched them.
130
James Grippando
“Something wrong at the bar?” said Cy.
“No, that was—” He stopped, apparently unwilling to say.“I’m sure everything’s fine there.”
“You look upset.”
Theo was still deep in thought, not at all focused on the conversation. He went to his computer desk and rifled through a drawer.“I’m not upset.”
“You sound like you are.”
He slammed the drawer in anger.
“What are you looking for?”
Theo ripped the hospital’s plastic ID bracelet from his wrist.
“Scissors are in the kitchen drawer,” said Cy.
Theo drew a breath, composing himself. “It ain’t the bar. But now that you bring it up, it’d be cool if you popped down to Sparky’s to see how Trina’s doing. No one in his right mind screws off in front of her, but another set of eyes on those morons can’t hurt.”
“So that wasn’t Trina on the phone?”
“It—it doesn’t matter who that was. Can you just go?”
Theo’s tone worried him, but there was no denying the anxi -
ety of barely escaping a gunshot to the head—not to mention the added stress of knowing that the killer was probably still gunning for you.“Sure, I can check on things,” Cy said.“You want anything while I’m out?”
“No.”
“Pizza? Ice cream?”
“No. Really. Nothin’.”
Cy noted the tone of voice again.Theo didn’t appear angry. It was more a sense of urgency. He was suddenly in a major hurry to get his uncle out the door.
Cy patted his pants pockets. Empty.“You got the car keys?”
“No, you do.”
“You drove home from the hospital, not me.”
LAST CALL
131
“Yeah, but—”
There was a firm knock at the front door.
“Shit,” said Theo.
“Who is it?” Cy called out.
“Go upstairs,” said Theo, shuffling his uncle toward the stair -
case.
“Police,” came the answer from outside the door.
Cy shot a look of concern at his nephew.“What’s going on?”
“Just go upstairs, all right?”
He shook free from Theo’s grip, went to the door, and opened it. Two uniformed police officers, one male and one female, were standing on the porch. Cy recognized them as City of Miami cops.
He could see his own concern reflected in the tall guy’s sunglasses.
“What’s this about?”
The male cop answered. “Is this the residence of Theodopolis Knight?”
“Yes. What’s this—”
“Is Mr. Knight home now?”
“Yes, he is. But—”
“I’m right here,” said Theo as he nudged his uncle aside. He stood face-to-face with the cop, who promptly reached for his handcuffs.
In an instant, the two officers crossed the threshold and had Theo facing the other way, hands behind his back. The lead cop spoke as he cuffed him. “Theodopolis Knight, you’re under arrest.
You have the right to remain silent, you have the right . . .”
Cy tried to listen as they read Theo his rights, but the voices faded into a whirl of confusion.
“Arrest?” said Cy.“For what?”
Theo said,“Don’t say anything.”
The cop patted Theo down and found the pistol in his pocket.
Cy said,“That’s for protection. His lawyer told him—”
“I told you not to say anything!”Theo said.
132
James Grippando
The female cop placed the gun in an evidence bag.
The old man watched from the open doorway as Theo went peaceably with the two officers. They took him to the squad car and opened the rear passenger-side door. As he ducked into the backseat,Theo looked toward his uncle on the porch and said,“Just call Jack. He’ll know what to do.”
The cops buckled him in and closed the door. Cy felt like he should do something, but he was helpless.
In seconds, they were gone.
Theo was arraigned from jail, his court appearance nothing more than a closed-circuit television transmission to the duty judge. Bail was set at $25,000. The charge was harboring a fugitive and a host of related offenses, including the aiding and abetting of Isaac Reems’s escape.
Theo uttered just two words at the arraignment: “Not guilty.”
His lawyer didn’t even ask the prosecutor to recommend release on his own recognizance, didn’t urge the judge to set a lesser amount.
But he did offer Theo some words of encouragement, and he meant them quite literally.
“Watch your back, buddy.”
Theo didn’t make bail.
It was 10:00 p.m., and Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center was in lockdown for the night.Theo’s mind was elsewhere as the guards escorted him to his cell.
The walk down the long corridor, iron bars on either side, triggered a wave of memories. Prison would always be a part of him, and not even the vindication of DNA testing could erase the fact that he’d lost four of his best years to Florida’s death row.
Sometimes that seemed like another lifetime. Right now, it felt like yesterday, and the worst of his checkered past was rising up in his throat like battery acid. He’d come within minutes of a gruesome death, saved only by an eleventh-hour stay of execution won by his lawyer from the Freedom Institute, a young idealist named Jack Swyteck.Theo recalled every step of the lonely, final journey from which most men never returned. He’d managed only two bites 134
James Grippando
of his last meal, stone crabs and Key lime pie. He’d refused God’s forgiveness, and he would never forget the prison chaplain’s frus-tration at his continued protestations of innocence. He could still smell the tobacco-stained hand of the prison barber who shaved his head and ankles so that the electrodes would connect properly at both ends, ensuring the smooth and efficient passage of kilovolts that would sear his skin, boil his blood, and snuff out his life. In the Hollywood portrayal, a stoic corrections officer calls out, “Dead man walking.” In Florida, however, it was “Dead man coming,”
and it was the refrain of fellow inmates, not prison personnel, as the condemned man—hands and feet shackled, dressed in pants and an orange T-shirt, surrounded by guards—made his way to the electric chair.
A catcall from one of the inmates caught Theo’s attention.The whistler was deep within one of the blackened cells, unidentifiable.
A newbie might have been rattled—the thought of a horny jailbird liking the looks of his ass—but Theo was unfazed, keeping his eyes forward.
You just try it, pretty boy.
They stopped at the third cell from the end. A black man lay on the lower bunk of a shadowy, two-man cell.The top bunk was empty.
The guard rattled the bars with his nightstick. The sweeping beam of his flashlight hit the sleeping inmate in the eyes. “Up against the far wall,” he said.
The inmate rolled out of the bunk and did as he was told.The lead guard radioed the control booth. A buzzer sounded. The cell door slid open automatically.
“It’s lights out,” the guard told Theo.“Unpack your bag and fill your locker in the morning.”
Theo entered the cell in silence. He turned completely around to face the guards, but it wasn’t out of respect to authority. It was prison talk between cell mates, Theo’s way of saying that he LAST CALL
135
wasn’t afraid to show his back to this chump.The electronic buzzer sounded.The door slid closed, the clank of metal echoing off walls and floors of steel and unfinished concrete.
“Welcome to TGK,” the guard said. He and the other guard walked away, their footfalls piercing the eerie quiet of prison after lockdown.
Theo turned to face his cell mate.The whites of their eyes met in the darkness from opposite ends of a cell that measured seven feet wide and twelve feet deep. It was bigger than those on death row, but then again,Theo had lived there alone.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
Theo didn’t answer. In prison, you didn’t give up anything if you didn’t need something in return.Theo already knew the man’s name: Ricky Baldwin. He knew his prison nickname: Charger. He knew his rap: assault and battery. His victim was a prostitute. Most everyone on the second floor was incarcerated for some kind of sex-related crime. They found a home in TGK, a county-run facility, because they were awaiting trial in Miami or because their lawyer had cut a deal with the state attorney for less than one year of jail time. Most of these guys, however, belonged in Florida State Prison serving much longer sentences. Guys like Ricky Baldwin, aka Charger. And Isaac Reems.
Charger started toward his bunk.
“You’re up top,” said Theo.
Charger stopped and slowly turned his head, giving Theo plenty of attitude.“Say what, dude?”
Theo gave it right back to him, his most intimidating look.
“You’re upstairs.That’s my bunk.”
Charger grumbled and started toward the lower bunk. Quick as lightning,Theo cut him off and grabbed him by the wrist.“Get away from my bunk,”Theo hissed, “or I’m gonna end up back on death row.”
Charger froze. Maybe it was Theo’s tone of voice. Maybe it 136
James Grippando
was the menacing look in his eyes. Or it could have been the way Theo’s huge hand fit so easily around Charger’s wrist, a strong grip that conveyed his ability to snap a man’s bones like brittle twigs.
Whatever it was, Theo could feel his strategy working. Nothing short of a shank could have made him back down, because he knew this was the defining moment between him and his cell mate.
The stare-down lasted less than a minute. Then Charger flinched. Theo knew he would. That was the thing about these punks. Sure, Charger was “man enough” to slug a prostitute while her face was buried between his legs. Isaac had even had the balls to sneak through a sleeping woman’s bedroom window. But mano a mano, they always backed down from the likes of Theo Knight.
