Presumption of Guilt (16 page)

Lester and Joe waited for the door to close.

“So, spill,” Lester told the young man.

“Mind if I eavesdrop?” a male voice said from the reopened door.

Jeffery Wallace, the county sheriff, stood before them in uniform. “It took me longer than I hoped to get here.” He spoke directly to David. “You okay?”

“Perfectly, sir,” David answered, straightening awkwardly on the gurney. “They're all just making a fuss. I'm really sorry about this.”

“It's not a fuss. It's what should be done.” Wallace glanced at the other two men and added, “I'm only sorry I wasn't the first one here.”

Only then did they all exchange handshakes. Jeff Wallace was a no-frills, hardworking, well-regarded cop. Trained for over a decade by the state police, he'd opted to run for office when the old sheriff announced his retirement. Throughout most of New England, throwing your hat in for sheriff barely rippled the local political waters. As a result, keeping the post often boiled down to not making a mess of things.

As far as Joe was concerned, Jeff had done much better than that, and he'd been happy to hear of David's signing on with Wallace for his first job in law enforcement.

Following the niceties, Jeff took a small recorder from his pocket and laid it on the metal table adjacent to the gurney. “Sorry to do this, but I need to be sure everything's recorded. Who knows what may be waiting down the line, huh?”

Nobody argued the point. They'd all been around too long for that. But a coolness had been injected into the air.

“You want us to step out?” Lester asked, his expression clearly demonstrating his lack of enthusiasm.

But Jeff remained reasonable. “Not at all. I want this to be friendly and supportive. I also don't want it to be used against any of us later.”

He faced David again. “You good with this?” He nodded toward the recorder.

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you swear under penalty of law to tell the truth to the best of your knowledge?”

“I do, sir.”

Jeff then rattled off who was in the room with him, the date, and the location before saying, “Okay. Back to what I so rudely interrupted when I walked in. What happened, Dave?”

Dave ran his hand across the top of his head, clearly embarrassed. “I guess I was mugged, sir. I went to that VIN, as instructed by Dispatch, and got jumped when I leaned into the EQ to radio in my twenty-three. To be honest, I was also going to ask for confirmation that I was at the right place, 'cause there was nobody there when I drove up.”

“Where were you?” Jeff asked.

David gave him the address, adding, “It's a trailer, in the middle of nowhere, which is what got me wondering.”

“Go on.”

“Not much more to it. Somebody grabbed me from behind, put a hood over my head, trussed me up like a turkey with duct tape, and chucked me into the trunk of a car I never saw. There were three males, as far as I could figure. They sounded young. They never mentioned any names or places that I heard. One of them talked about taking a picture, which means it'll probably go up on Facebook or somewhere pretty soon, if it isn't already there.”

He paused before adding hesitantly, “One of them also put my gun against my head, as if he was gonna shoot.”

The young deputy looked pleadingly at his boss, the recorder forgotten, as was usually the case. “Am I going to be fired, sir?”

Jeff almost cut him off. “Whoa, whoa. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. And let's get something straight. Word gets out fast about these things, like you said. Assuming there are reporters in the parking lot—which I'm not saying there are—you and I will be getting into my vehicle in a while, and you will be wearing your full uniform, including my weapon in your holster, and we will drive away from this facility with you sitting in the front seat of that car. This conversation is obviously going to continue, but if what you just said is confirmed—and I have no reason to think it won't be—then you were a victim here, son, and bear no culpability whatsoever. Is that clear?”

David nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“It's just the way these things ought to be done,” Jeff said flatly. “Back to your narrative: Was there anything that sticks in your memory? Especially in the few seconds before the hood was put on? Maybe a movement from the trailer. Was there another vehicle in the dooryard, for example, besides the car you didn't see?”

“An old pickup,” Dave told them. “But it didn't look drivable.” He then said, “There was one thing. The guy behind me—who grabbed me by the collar and jabbed the gun in my back—he told me not to turn around, just before he covered my head. But I did anyhow, and I saw his left shoulder. He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off, and I saw a tatt, high on that shoulder.”

“Can you describe it?”

“No, sir. I'm really sorry.” He stopped, his expression blank, before adding, “I know it's pretty lame, but that's all I can think of. I tried to remember the tones of voices, or if anything smelled funny, or even if there was something I could pick up in the trunk. All I could get was this.” He held out both his hands, looking apologetic.

They all three stared at what looked like nothing at all, until Joe tumbled to what he'd meant.

“You scratched into the trunk's carpeting,” he said. “Good man. Smart.”

Jeff had already moved to the door. He opened it, caught a nurse walking by, and asked, “Could we have a rape kit in here, please? I gotta collect some evidence from under my deputy's fingernails.”

The sheriff returned to the bed, announced the termination of the interview to the recorder, hit the Off button, and said, “Okay. Enough of that. We'll pick through the details later. You did good, Dave. I didn't tell you, but we collected your EQ at the scene, along with your cell phone, which was on the ground next to it. As far as I've been told, there doesn't seem to be anything missing. We'll issue a BOL on your gun, of course. But right now, I want you to go home to your family and let some of this sink in. I know you're feeling fine and probably just want to get back on the road. But you need a breather. And I'm going to set up a meeting with a counselor. No arguments. That's an order. Crap like this can run deeper than you know.”

Jeff pocketed the recorder. “I'll step out so you and your dad can have a little private time. But I'll be ready to get you out of here when you're done.”

Joe accompanied him into the hallway, where the sheriff immediately said, “Hope I didn't come across too strong in there. I was just picking up vibes that he thought he was to blame. In the meantime, assuming I can confirm what I can of his story, I'm already thinking of something that ought to make the media happy without actually spilling the beans. Fingers crossed, we catch the bastards fast.”

“What did you get from the trailer?” Joe asked.

“Nuthin'. It was a blind. Nobody's lived there for over a year. They just gave that address to draw him out.”

“Him meaning Dave, specifically?” Joe asked.

“No. The call came in for a VIN check. That was it. Plain and simple.”

“They might've known Dave's schedule and coverage area,” Joe argued.

Jeff nodded. “Could be—he was on his assigned route, which is probably as well known to the public as it is to us. You thinking this was personal?”

“Not necessarily,” Joe admitted. “Just keeping my options open.”

The nurse that Jeff had stopped earlier appeared with the requested rape kit.

“Would you do the honors?” he asked of her. “Just the fingernails. I wouldn't want to mess it up.”

*   *   *

Inside the room, Les and Dave stopped talking as the nurse entered. They silently watched her collect her evidence, package it up, and disappear, virtually without saying a word.

Dave glanced at his fingernails, as if judging a manicure. “Well, that was painless. Hope it'll do some good.”

“We've cracked cases with less,” his father said optimistically.

Dave dropped his hands dejectedly. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Be a little late to save my career.”

Lester burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? Look at Willy Kunkle, for crying out loud. After all the shit he pulls, and stays employed, you'll likely get a promotion. Jeff wasn't bent out of shape.”

“Not in public, he wasn't.”

Lester realized that his son was not going to be cheered up so easily. He reached out and massaged Dave's shoulder briefly. “Come on, kiddo, let's wrap up here and take the rest of the day off. Maybe go fishing or something. Let some of this drain out, like Jeff said. I mean, it ended up fine, but you must've been scared out of your mind, not knowing what they had planned.”

Dave didn't make eye contact as he quietly conceded, “Yeah.”

*   *   *

“No way that was random.”

Joe looked at Willy, not surprised at the paranoia, and intrigued to hear the reasoning behind it.

Sammie, by contrast, merely rolled her eyes.

“Do tell,” Joe urged him.

They were in the squad room, minus Lester, who'd taken his son home for the rest of the day.

But Willy remained silent, causing each colleague to react in turn.

“That's it?” Sam prodded. “No conspiracy theory?”

“Hey,” he responded. “I'm usually right about that shit. Don't shoot the messenger.”

“Why's David being grabbed not random?” Joe asked quietly, actually shopping for a valid theory.

Willy approached his answer indirectly. “All we ever do in this job is say how much we hate coincidences. So, why would the kidnapping of one of our kids be a coincidence, just as we're looking into this long-lost secret homicide? Cops don't get grabbed like he was. Somebody's making a point.”

“But they didn't,” Sammie argued, more conditioned than Joe to take issue with Willy's pronouncements. “From what it sounds like, they scared him, took pictures, stole a gun, and beat feet. And he said they were kids. It was probably a double-dare. What've you got that says otherwise?”

Willy patted his stomach with his right hand. “Instinct.” He dropped his feet from his desktop and leaned forward to make his point. “Look, could it be a bunch of losers? Sure. But what if that was the whole point? If you grab a cop's kid solely to make Dad lay off the case, that's not gonna work. Everyone's gonna go apeshit. But if you're subtle, and just introduce the idea that the same kid—and everyone else who's near and dear to this squad—is at risk, but for no clearly defined reason, what do you think that's gonna do to the squad's effectiveness and morale? On that level, you gotta admit, it's brilliant.”

“Only if you buy into it,” Sam pushed back. “Right now, you're the only one making the point, so you're bumming us out all on your own.”

Willy held up his hand. “Okay. I wasn't doing it for that. I just don't believe for a second that Lester's brat was taken by a bunch of teenagers. I think we ought to keep our eyes open for an alternate theory. Let's not forget that by requesting a VIN at that time and for that address, they were almost guaranteed to get Dave Spinney.” He suddenly looked at his boss. “Speaking of all this, please do not tell me that the sheriff's office is the primary investigator. Why the hell don't we have it?”

“Same answer to both questions,” Joe told him. “Conflict of interest. David's family to us, and on the sheriff's payroll. The state police are handling it. They'll keep us in the loop.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Kunkle grumbled.

He was silent from then on, but what kept gnawing at him was the conviction that David Spinney's kidnapping was not isolated.

Only Willy knew about Dan Kravitz's covert visit to Johnny Lucas's house, and the resulting findings struck him now as only part of a sequence of developments. The discovery of Mitchell's body, a main suspect's elusiveness, and the kidnapping of one of the investigators' children—as Willy was interpreting them—were starting to look more and more neatly aligned.

There was something here darker, more current, and truly dangerous going on, he thought, than the ancient murder of a long-forgotten roofer.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You were seen, dipwad.”

Willy and Dan were in the restaurant, again after hours, again in one of the booths.

“I don't believe so,” Dan said. “On what evidence are you basing that opinion?”

Willy rubbed his eyes. “I think I liked it better when all you said was Yup and Nope. Now, half the time, I feel like swatting you just because you sound like a fucking professor.”

Dan smiled apologetically. “I'm sorry. We could return to that.”

Willy sat back abruptly. “Forget it. How're you so sure you weren't?”

“The house was empty. I checked it thoroughly. I located the security and alarm systems and bypassed them. I was confident enough that there were no remaining cameras to proceed.”

“Cameras? Plural? Meaning there were more, beyond the one at the front door?”

“Oh, yes. A pretty standard array.”

“Couldn't there've been another set, separately wired?”

“Yes,” Dan readily agreed. “My standard, pre-entry assessment of these situations normally relies on multiple sources of intelligence, such as background checks, past social history, and other indices, to guide me in my approach. Your time constraints with this assignment did not allow me to reach that comfort zone, as I made clear at the time.”

“For Chrissake,” Willy complained, essentially to himself.

Dan, however, was not simply being academic. He was worried, if privately. He hadn't told Willy of Sally's involvement, and she was of paramount concern to him now.

“Could we step back a few paces, Mr. Kunkle? What's making you think that I might have been observed?”