Steeled for Murder (37 page)

“Or what are you gonna do? Shoot me?”

Chapter 21

I heard a scuffle behind me. “Drop the gun.” A clang of metal on concrete.

I turned around to look.

Montgomery, dressed in pressed jeans, a dapper plaid shirt, and unscuffed work boots, held Radman with his arms pinned behind his back. He leaned into a radio on his shoulder and said something.

“Detective,” Radman said. “Am I glad to see you. This man was about to kill me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Montgomery asked, reaching for handcuffs on his belt.

Radman’s face was flushed. “Yes. Just like he did Mitch Robinson.”

“Looked to me like it was you with the gun.”

He drew himself up and tried to free his hands. “Lucky I had it, or I’d be dead by now.”

“Really.” Montgomery snapped the cuffs on Radman’s wrists.

“Yes. And I’m lucky you came tonight. Gustavus was supposed to tell you to come tomorrow night. That you’d find all the evidence you needed to put this murderer away for the rest of his life.” Radman winced as Montgomery pulled him across the concrete floor, away from where the gun lay.

“Tomorrow night, huh?”

“Definitely. I was making sure the evidence was still here. I guess Gustavus told you the wrong night. He’s not all that bright, you know.”

“No. Gustavus told me tomorrow night.”

So Radman had been going to turn me in tomorrow night. Probably planning to plant drugs. I wouldn’t have stood a chance to deny anything.

Radman’s face twisted in anger. “Then why are you here tonight?”

“Just checking things out.” Montgomery started to run through the Miranda rights.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Radman protested. “It’s Damon over there you should be worried about.”

“Oh, I think Damon’ll just stay where he is until I tell him to move. And he knows his Miranda rights pretty well. Am I correct about that?” Montgomery stared at me meaningfully.

I nodded. I wanted to wipe the sweat off my face, but I was afraid to move.

“But I do think it’d be a good idea, Damon, if you turned off the forklift and tossed the key on the floor.”

I did so.

“Aren’t you going to arrest him?” Radman demanded.

Montgomery kept a tight hold on Radman’s arms. “You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it,” he said.

I wondered how much Montgomery had overheard. Enough, I hoped.

Bootsteps echoed from the passageway and into the warehouse. The bright overhead lights flickered on. Several uniformed police officers rounded the corner, escorted by John.

“Search this one,” Montgomery said, relinquishing his hold on Mr. Radman. “And search and cuff that one.” He nodded toward me. “Damon, get down.”

I climbed off the forklift, careful to keep my hands where they could be seen.

John frowned. “So Jesse was in on the whole thing?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet about that,” Montgomery said. “But I do know that I have a paroled convict who I need to take in for questioning. We won’t be transporting him unrestrained.”

So much for making it home today without being cuffed and detained.

“But is that really necessary—” John started to say.

“He’s right.” I looked at John. “They got guidelines for transporting convicted felons they got to follow.”

I spread my feet apart and interlaced my fingers behind my head.

Montgomery laughed. “You do know how these things work, don’t you, Damon?”

This time, at least they took us out the side door into the truck yard, rather than parading us through the whole plant. I would have been grateful for that, if Kelly didn’t happen by on her forklift, just in time to see two burly cops hustle me toward the door, each with a firm hurry-along grip on one of my elbows.

I glanced up at her and gave her a sad smile. She looked at me like I had cussed her out or something.

At the police station, I ended up alone in a holding cell instead of an interrogation room. I lay down on the bench, my head on my hands, staring up at the ceiling. Seemed pretty clear that Radman had been running some kind of a business with the fake IDs. The pressure from Mitch’s death had been enough that he decided he needed to shut down the operation, but he was too greedy—or had made too many commitments to people who didn’t take kindly to broken commitments—and he wanted to finish up the deals he had in the works. He thought that since I was a criminal type anyhow, he could convince me to join the scheme. He could always hold the parole over my head.

The important question was, would it all seem so clear to Montgomery? I didn’t expect Belkins to consider the whole thing with a mind open enough to figure it all out. But Montgomery had been savvy enough to come in when Radman didn’t expect him. I hoped he’d been a position to overhear some very incriminating stuff. I also hoped he interpreted it the way I did. And believed that I wasn’t involved.

I got breakfast. A paper bag with a hardboiled egg, a carton of orange juice, a bagel, and a cup of coffee. My stomach rebelled, but I ate it anyhow. No telling when food would be coming my way again.

I was putting the trash back into the now empty paper bag when the door to the cell block opened. Belkins strode in. Alone. The door shut behind him. I was glad I was inside the cell and he was outside. I backed up out of reach.

He looked rough. He was never exactly well groomed, but now he looked positively disheveled. His clothes were wrinkled, and his tie askew. As he approached, I could smell alcohol on his breath. His hair needed combing, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“So, Damon,” he said, grabbing onto the bars of the holding cell. “Looks like we got you where you belong. C’mere and answer a few questions.” He gestured for me to approach the front of the cell.

“I can answer questions just as well from back here,” I said, pressing my back up against the rear wall of the cell.

“No. Come up here. I want to look you in the eye.” He swayed a bit and shifted his grip on the bars.

I wasn’t about to get within arm’s reach if I could help it.

“Think you can get away with it, don’t you?” he said, slurring his words. “But this is my investigation. I say how it goes. Not Montgomery. And I say I need to take you somewhere, make you talk.”

I hoped someone was listening. The deputies guarding the cells weren’t going to confront him, but maybe they would find a supervisor. Or something. I really didn’t need to be left alone with him in either a cell or an interrogation room.

“What’s it to you, anyhow?” I felt like shouting, but I tried to keep my voice calm and reasonable. “I never did nothing to you. I done my time. I’m just trying to make it out on the street, keep a job, and pay my taxes.”

He laughed. “You’re a murderer. And a pervert. Don’t deserve another chance.”

“I got a murder conviction. But no skin charges.”

He leaned his head up against the bars. “Plea bargain, huh? Dropped the other charges?”

“They were drug charges. And weapons. No sex offenses.” But I don’t think he was listening.

“Creeps like you don’t deserve another chance. They should execute you. Or at least keep you locked up for the rest of your life. You know what pervert murderers do when they get out on the street?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Belkins answered his own question.

“They target innocent people, that’s what they do. My daughter…” Tears filled his eyes.

The door opened again. Montgomery came hurrying to join Belkins. He grabbed him by the arm.

“Go home,” he hissed. “I’ll get someone to drive you. You’re drunk on duty. You’ll get yourself fired.”

Belkins turned to face him. “You gonna report me?”

“Not if you if contact the employee assistance program on your own,” he said. “You’re slipping out of control, Belkins. You’re jeopardizing this investigation. Not to mention your job. You need to do something.”

Belkins turned and gestured toward me. “And Damon there, the pervert killer? What’s gonna happen to him? He gonna go free?”

“Depends on what the investigation turns up,” Montgomery said. “Right now, we don’t know if he was even really involved.”

“Sure as hell shows up in the middle of things a little too often,” Belkins said. His nose was beginning to run.

“I tend to agree with that assessment,” Montgomery said, grabbing Belkins by the arm. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it. But right now, you need to go home.”

Reluctantly, Belkins let Montgomery guide him through the door.

An hour or so later—hard to keep track of time—a guard came in, keys in hand. I stood up and walked to the cell door. At least I probably wouldn’t be facing Belkins. The guard wasn’t carrying a waist chain, so I turned around and put my hands behind my back for the cuffs.

“No restraints. My orders are to release you,” he said. “But Montgomery does want to have a few words with you before you leave. Said for you to pick up your things from the property room and wait out front.”

Didn’t have to tell me twice. He stepped back and let me precede him through a few doors, to the property room window, and then into the waiting area in front of the desk officer. “Have a seat.”

Nobody’d ever asked me to take a seat here before.

I sat on a bench along the wall and put on my boots. I glanced around the room. It was early morning; the sun probably wasn’t even up yet. Where did all these people come from? One lady, dressed in a ragged coat and mismatched boots, was standing at the front desk, haranguing the desk sergeant. She kept insisting that someone be sent immediately to apprehend the devils who were sticking pitchforks into her when she tried to sleep under the railroad bridge. A sad woman, eyes closed, sat on a bench across from me, her swollen face wrapped in a dirty scarf. Two young men in a corner seemed to be engaged in a lovers’ quarrel. One reached out and slapped the other. The sound was lost in the sobbing of an elderly man who kept trying to remove his coat but was having trouble with the buttons. Just as well, since I saw no evidence that he was wearing any trousers beneath it.

A defeated-looking woman came from the back of the station, carrying a black garbage bag. I pegged her as the social worker on call. Sure enough, two children dragged after her. Poor kids. Been there, done that. No good solutions here for anyone.

I closed my eyes and leaned back.

“Jesse.” One of the kids ran up to me and climbed on the bench next to me.

I opened my eyes. Brianna, Kelly’s daughter. She was carrying a teddy bear. Christopher stood uncertainly across the room, next to the social worker. He also clutched a teddy bear.

Part of the cops being friendly to kids program. Give them teddy bears to hold while they watch their world fall apart.

“Brianna,” I said, reaching to catch her as she scrambled onto the bench and almost tumbled off. “Where’s your mom? Or your dad?”

“Mom’s back there talking to somebody,” Brianna said. “Daddy’s gone in the ambulance.”

Hesitantly, Chris approached us. The social worker with them just looked tired.

“Ambulance?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “What happened to him?”

“We were in an accident,” Chris said. “Going back to Grandma’s house from the bar. Daddy got hurt.”

“Coming back from the bar?” I said. “You weren’t in a bar with your daddy, were you?”

“No. He left us in the car. He said we had to get some sleep so we could go to school today. But the lady says we don’t have to go to school for today.”

I tried not to let my dismay show. “How come you couldn’t stay with your grandma?” I asked. “Isn’t that where Daddy usually leaves you when he goes out?”

“Sometimes,” Chris agreed. “But he said we were going on an adventure last night, camping out in the car. It was supposed to be our secret.”

“I see.”

“But it wasn’t much fun,” Brianna said. “We had blankets and pillows, but it was cold. And all we got for supper was potato chips and root beer.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Then Dad came out. Then we got in the accident,” Chris said. “And the police came.”

“We got to ride in a police car,” Brianna said. “Did you ever get to ride in a police car?”

“A few times.”

“They wouldn’t use the siren, though. You ever get to ride with the siren going?”

“Yep.” Although it wasn’t anything I’d particularly want to tell the kids about.

“They gave us teddy bears. Did they ever give you a teddy bear?” Brianna said.

“Can’t say as they ever did,” I said.

“I’m too big for a teddy bear,” Chris said bravely. He set it on an empty chair and stepped back. “I have a stuffed tiger at home.”

I looked at the stuffed toy. “No one is ever too big for a teddy bear,” I told him. “Sometimes people say they are, but it’s not really true.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said.

Chris looked thoughtful and patted the bear’s head.

“He’ll get lonesome.” Brianna set her bear on the same seat.