Parker 04 - The Fury (8 page)

"That's impossible," I said. "First of all, Stephen

Gaines is his son. And second, my father's never even

been to New York."

Whalin looked confused. "I can't go into specifics,"

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Jason Pinter

Whalin said, "but the warrant states that physical

evidence does exist that links James Parker to the

crime."

"That's impossible," I said again. "I don't think he's

left the state in twenty years."

"That's not up to me to determine," Whalin said.

"If he's wanted for murder in New York," Amanda

said, "won't he be extradited?"

"That depends on him," Whalin continued. "When

he goes before Judge Rawling tomorrow, he'll have the

opportunity to sign what's called a nonjudicial waiver

of expedition."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Whalin said, "It means that he agrees that he is in fact

the same James Parker wanted on this murder charge.

If he accepts the charge, he'll be brought back to New

York City where he'll be entered into their system.

Though that might be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"We believe that your father is the James Parker

referred to in this warrant. We know he has a relation

ship with Stephen Gaines..."

"That's not true," I said. "They didn't actually know

each other at all."

"Regardless," Whalin said, "it'd be a mighty coinci

dence if the NYPD happens to be looking for a com

pletely different James Parker in regards to the murder

of Stephen Gaines. Wouldn't you agree?"

I didn't have to. The odds were pretty nonexistent.

"As of right now, your father is refusing to grant the

nonjudicial waiver." Whalin said this with frustration

evident on his face.

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65

Amanda said, "And what happens if he refuses to

sign it?"

"Then it's our job to prove that he is--or is not--the

James Parker referred to in this warrant. We'll take fin

gerprints, blood samples, and confirm with one hundred

percent accuracy that he is James Parker. Of course, all

that testing takes an awful long time, which means..."

"He stays locked up in your jail until he's extradited."

"Consider it time not served. Not a second of time he

spends in prison here will be taken off any eventual

sentence. So if your father wants to contest his identity,

so be it. Not my ass sleeping every night on a metal

bench. And did I mention he refuses to consult with a

lawyer?"

"We need to see him," I said. "Right away."

"He's with two detectives right now, but I think he

should be available in an hour or two."

"Wait," Amanda said. "Are they questioning him?"

"If they're doing their job."

"But you said he didn't have a lawyer."

"That's right."

"Then we demand to see him. I have a license to

practice law in New York State, where any legal

hearings pertaining to this case will occur. Right now

your police station is acting as nothing more than a glo

rified holding pen. So I can promise you that anything

James Parker says now will be disallowed in a court of

law under the assumption that your officers coerced

him into making a statement without legal counsel."

"Listen," Whalin said, "right now he isn't even ad

mitting to being the
right
James Parker, so I doubt

we'll get much--"

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Jason Pinter

"Now,"
Amanda yelled.

Whalin looked her over, then said, "Follow me."

He led us into the heart of the BPD station, down a

long brick corridor. At the end was a series of three

rooms, marked simply 1, 2 and 3. He took us to the

right, knocked on the reinforced-metal door.

A small slat opened at about eye level, then the door

opened. Inside were two cops, one in uniform and one

plainclothes. And sitting in a metal folding chair, his

wrists handcuffed to the table, was my father.

His eyes were red. I could tell he'd been crying. He

was still wearing the same clothes, but they were soaked

through with sweat. He was shaking, as though his body

was simply unable to process what was happening.

When he saw us, his mouth opened and his face lit up.

"Henry!" he exclaimed.

"His son," Whalin told the cops. "And Parker's

lawyer." Whalin nodded at Amanda. She went to say

something, but I nudged her. She got the tip. This was

the only way we'd get to speak with him.

"You have half an hour," Whalin said as the other

cops exited the room.

"We'll take as much time as we damn well please,"

Amanda said, staring right into the captain's eyes. He

frowned, told the cops to take a hike.

"We have to lock the door from the outside. Proce

dure. If you want to leave, just knock."

Amanda pointed at the camera hung up in the upper

corner of the interrogation room. A small red light was

blinking on it.

"I want that turned off," she said. Whalin looked at

it, then nodded, making a slicing motion across his

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67

throat, telling the cops to kill the feed. They walked

away, and a moment later the light went off.

"Thank you, Captain," Amanda said. "We'll be in

touch soon."

We went in and closed the door. A metal
snick

came from outside. The cops locking us in with the

alleged murderer.

We took two chairs and pulled them up to the table.

My father reached out to us, but the handcuffs held his

wrists firm. He looked dejected, then said, "Henry,

thank God you're here. Did they tell you? They think I

killed Stephen."

"I know, Dad. The question is
why
do they think

that?" My father leaned down, started to bite his nails,

his head comically close to the table. "Dad?"

James shrugged, but there was nothing behind it.

"Listen, Mr. Parker," Amanda said. "Your best option

right now is to sign the nonjudicial review waiver. Once

you do that they'll bring you back to New York and

begin actual legal proceedings. I'll help you get a

lawyer, or at least weed out the bad ones."

"I don't want to leave here," my father said softly.

"Dad, jail isn't exactly comfortable," I said.

"I mean, I don't want to leave Bend," he said more

forcefully. "I didn't do anything. I didn't kill Stephen.

They can't just take me wherever they want."

I looked atAmanda. She said, "Mr. Parker, if you don't

sign the waiver you'll stay in Bend, but you'll be in prison

until they prove your identity. It could be weeks, months.

And that's
before
any sort of trial.And trust me, you won't

be doing yourself any favors with the judge assigned to

the case. They will take you if you make them."

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Jason Pinter

"This can't be right," James said. "
Goddamn
it I

shouldn't be here! Henry, you know me, you know this

isn't right."

I knew him, but I didn't. I'd seen the depths of his

anger, his rage. It was up to me to believe he wasn't

capable of reaching another level.

"Dad..." I began. "Why do they suspect you?"

Without hesitating, James said, "They told me there's

evidence linking me to the crime. They said they found

it in Stephen's apartment."

"In New York?" I said. "How is that possible?"

He looked down at the floor, his whole body seeming

to sag into nothing. "They said they found my finger

prints on the gun that killed him."

9

"Wait, step back," I said. It took me a moment to

regroup, to process what my father had just said. "How

could they possibly have found your fingerprints on the

gun that killed Stephen?"

"I don't know," my father said. He said it unconvinc

ingly. There was more to this. Amanda looked at him

with incredible frustration. She had a great legal mind,

but I could already tell that she was thinking about

James Parker's chances during a murder trial. Even if

he was innocent--which he had to be--this man would

never do himself any favors with his lawyer or a judge.

He was already refusing easy extradition, and he was

lying--or at least hiding the truth--from the only

people here who gave a damn.

Sadly, I knew what it felt like to be accused of a

terrible crime you didn't commit. I knew just how

lonely it could be, and how much a friendly hand

meant. Amanda had been that for me. If not for her,

I'd either be dead or in prison. She'd reached out,

offered a hand, and I'd smartly accepted. My father,

meanwhile, was dangling from the edge of a cliff,

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Jason Pinter

slapping our hands away in the misguided belief that

he couldn't fall.

"Mr. Parker," Amanda said. "You need to tell us what

happened. All of it. You know why they arrested you.

Even if you're innocent, you don't seem surprised.

Shocked, maybe, but not surprised. I can see it in your

eyes. You're thinking about the circumstances that led

to this. How events could have been misconstrued. We

need to know this so we can understand what hap

pened."

My father looked at Amanda, confused. She'd il

luminated a path for him and his reluctance to see it

was waning.

"I was in New York," James finally said, the words

coming out in a rush like air that had been compressed.

"The day Stephen died. I was there."

"You were in the city?" I asked, incredulous.

"Why?"

James looked at me, then Amanda. He stayed quiet.

I got the picture. He wanted to talk to her. She was im

partial. A lawyer. I was his son. And I would judge.

"Mr. Parker," she said. "Why were you in New

York?"

"I saw him," James said. His eyes had grown wide,

for the first time fully beginning to piece together the

circumstances. There was terror in those eyes. They

ripped a hole through me because right then I knew he

understood why he'd been accused of the crime. "Helen

called me."

"Helen Gaines?" Amanda said. "Stephen's mother?"

James nodded. "I hadn't spoken to her in, God,

almost thirty years. After she had Stephen, I wanted

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71

nothing to do with either of them. I had a family. A wife.

I
told
her that," he said, slamming his fist on the table.

"From the beginning, I told her this won't go anywhere.

It wasn't my fault the crazy bitch lied about being on

the pill."

"How did she get your number?" Amanda said.

"It's called the phone book," James said drily. "Last

I checked I'm not the president."

"Why did she call you after so long?"

James leaned over again, chewed his thumbnail. He

ripped off a ragged piece of white, spat it across the

room. I saw a small line of blood well up from where

he'd ripped.

"She said she was in trouble. That she needed money.

That Stephen was in trouble."

"Did she say what kind of trouble?"

"She said Stephen had a drug problem. She needed

to get him help before it was too late. She couldn't

afford treatment."

"So why did you come all the way to New York?"

"I hung up on her. She called back. She said if I didn't

help them, she would sue me for child support and make

sure my name was in every newspaper as one of those

deadbeat dads. She said technically I owed her thirty

years' of payments, and that if she hadn't wrecked my

marriage thirty years ago she'd make it her mission to do

it now. I couldn't afford thirty years back payments for

the life of me. I told her I could give her some money, a

little, but that's it. She said she needed to see me. That

maybe meeting his father would snap some sense into

Stephen."

"And you agreed to go?"

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Jason Pinter

"Not at first," James said. "I told her I could send it

Western Union. She said those two words again, 'child

support,' and I was on a plane the next day." He looked

at me and grinned. "Sorry I didn't call."

"Where did you tell mom you were going?" I asked.

"I don't know, just said I was going fishing or some

shit. She didn't ask many questions."

"They say your fingerprints ended up on the gun

that killed Stephen," Amanda said. "That means two

things. One, they found the murder weapon. And two,

your prints were on it. Can you explain how that

happened?"

"Helen," he said, shaking his head slightly. "When I

got to their apartment--a real rats' nest. Ugh, just dis

gusting. Cockroaches everywhere, food left out.

Anyway, I hadn't seen Helen in almost thirty years. I

had some money with me. Not much, I ain't Ted Turner

in case you haven't noticed. Stephen wasn't there.

Helen told me he was working. It was late, and I didn't

care much. I'd gone that long without seeing the boy."

"The gun, Dad," I said.

"I'm getting to that. So I give her some money, two