The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise (23 page)

Jackson tensed, and Doug had to resist the urge to glare at him. “Time for a cup of coffee?” he asked Daniels.

“Yes,” Daniels agreed, hoisting himself out of the chair. “You stay put,” he said, pointing at Nate. “We’ll bring you a hot chocolate.”

“Can I have a Mountain Dew instead?”

“I think we can manage that.”

Doug planted his hand firmly on Jackson’s shoulder to keep him from sprinting out of the room. As soon as the interview room door closed behind them, Doug released Jackson. He raced through the connecting door to the detention center. Thirty seconds later, he raced back out, panting. “He’s okay,” Jackson reported.

Daniels nodded and clapped him on the back. “Good. You’re going to help make sure he stays that way.”

Doug followed them both through the teal door to the booking platform. Three of the four holding cells along the far wall were empty, and Mike Harris was the sole occupant of the last cell. He stared at them through the tiny safety-glass window.

A middle-aged detention officer sat on the booking platform, a paperback book of Sudoku puzzles opened before him. He didn’t bother standing up when they came in. “Sheriff?”

“Lock the world down, Marty,” Daniels said. “Then Jackson here is going to stay with you for a bit. If Terry Marshall comes to the door, do not let him in, is that clear?”

“Detective Marshall?”

“That’s right. His son is afraid for his life, and it’s possible Marshall might come after him. I don’t want to freak the kid out by putting him in a cell, so I think I’m going to stash him in the office back here. I can’t think of anywhere safer.”

“Okay. I’ll shut down the records computers in there. We’re empty, though, aside from the other kid. Do I need to lock everything down?”

Daniels looked around at the cramped booking platform thoughtfully. “Just lock down the outside. Once he’s settled in here, go ahead and lock the door into the station, too.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Jackson!” Daniels shouted.

“Sir?”

“You’ve never worked this side of things, right?”

“No.”

“Detention’s different from law enforcement. Out there, you catch someone and you incarcerate them until the court can decide whether they’re guilty or innocent. In here, it doesn’t matter if they’re guilty. In here, their lives are in our hands. If they are hurt or killed in our custody, that’s on our hands too. We have a duty to make sure nothing harms that boy.” Daniels pointed to the cell. “You understand?”

Jackson fidgeted with his duty belt for a moment. “I think so, yeah. But what about Marshall? Should we….” Jackson swallowed hard. “Put out a warrant? Or something?”

“Bring him in as a person of interest,” Doug said,
automatically correcting him.

“Yeah,” Jackson nodded. “That.”

“We shouldn’t,” Daniels insisted. “We should hand this whole damn thing off to the highway patrol. They’ve already got jurisdiction, and they’re not directly linked to the chain of command.”

“But the things he did—”

“No,” Doug cut Jackson off quickly. “One statement isn’t enough to say if he did or didn’t do anything. Do not fall into the habit of making assumptions after talking to one person. Don’t assume anything until you’ve talked to every witness, every suspect, and every expert you can find.”

“Right. So, we call the highway patrol office?”

Daniels nodded. “I’ll call them. Heavy Runner, can you go get the kid his Mountain Dew and bring him back here?”

“I can, but there’s something off about this kid,” Doug said. “It doesn’t feel right. Terry Marshall isn’t a friend, and he isn’t even a nice guy, but I can’t imagine him killing two teenagers to conceal falsifying a report.”

“Even if falsifying a report might have led to Caleb Owens’s death?” Daniels challenged.

“Even then. And the shotgun bugs me.”

“The shotgun?”

“Terry’s a hunter. He shoots with rifles and bows. I’ve watched him out at the range, and he’s good. He knows guns.”

“Everybody here hunts, Heavy Runner. Well, everybody but you.”

“I used to,” Doug reminded him. “And I don’t know any hunter who would try to take out something the size of a linebacker with a shotgun loaded with bird shot.”

Daniels cocked his head to the side. “Bird shot?”

“That’s what Jeff Lowe was shot with. It would probably hurt, but it wouldn’t have knocked him out. And the one thing I know about Terry Marshall is he’s a lazy bastard. If he’s going to shoot someone, he’s not going to want to have to shoot them twice.”

“Funny you mention the bird shot,” Daniels said, scratching his head. “He keeps a twelve gauge loaded with it at his house. When his kids were little, he switched out the buckshot for the lighter pellets. He said if he had to shoot an intruder, he didn’t want to find out, after the fact, if his wife or one of his kids was on the other side of the wall he was firing toward.”

“But if he convinced Jeff Lowe to go out to his place to kill him, why would he use a shotgun he knew was loaded with bird shot? I can see him being smart enough not to use his service revolver, but he’s got other guns.”

“It didn’t sound like he wanted the boy to die quickly. The autopsy report alone makes that pretty clear.”

“Exactly! If he was angry at Jeff Lowe for not keeping quiet about the assault, he’d want to shut him up. So why torture him?”

Daniels stared at Doug for a moment. “Let’s have the highway patrol bring him in and ask him.”

Doug ran his hands through his hair and nodded. He knew there was no way to find answers without following up on every lead, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He got a Mountain Dew from the vending machine and headed back to the interview room. The door was open, and Nate Marshall was in the hall. Christopher was running interference for him, talking to Nate like a concerned friend but blocking Nate from getting around him.

Doug held up the Mountain Dew and smiled. “Sorry that took so long. All my dollar bills are crumpled, and it took forever to find one the vending machine would accept,” he lied.

“Thank you, but I don’t need this. If you’re not going to do anything, I’m not going to stay here and just wait for him to come get me. I know that old sheriff didn’t believe me.” The boy turned to Christopher. “I told you he wouldn’t, didn’t I? He’s probably calling my dad right now.”

“He’s actually calling the State Highway Patrol so he can have an outside agency place your father under arrest. Our department’s not big enough to have an Internal Affairs officer, and the highway patrol shares our jurisdiction. He wants to make sure every
i
is dotted and every
t
is crossed, that’s all.”

Nate gaped at him, his bravado evaporating. “He really listened?”

“Yes. But getting another agency to pick your father up is going to take some time and coordination, and none of us feel it’s safe for you to go home until he’s in custody. Or to break into other people’s houses. We’re going to need this space, so you’re going to hang out with Deputy Jackson, over in the detention center.”

“In jail?” Nate shrieked.

“In an office chair. It’s the safest place where you can possibly be right now. We might even be able to find some clothes that fit you. You know, so I can have mine back.”

Nate shuffled from foot to foot. “Sorry about that. My clothes were getting kind of gross.”

“It’s fine,” Doug said immediately. “I’m a bit….” Doug considered the boy’s waist. “A lot bigger than you. I’m sure we can at least find you something that fits.”

“That’d be cool,” Nate agreed.

Doug offered him the Mountain Dew one more time and then spun him toward the detention center door. He handed the boy off to Jackson, then hurried back. “Thanks for keeping him here,” he whispered to Christopher.

“Chalk it up to habit.”

Doug stared at him for a moment, resisting the urge to kiss him. Then he wondered why he was bothering. He set his hands on Christopher’s hips and pulled him in for a quick, chaste kiss. “Either way, thank you.”

Christopher blushed a little, but he smiled. Beside them, a camera shutter clicked.

Doug sent a glare toward the camera. “Brittney, really?”

Brittney played with her phone for a moment. “You two are so cute together, and I’ve never had a chance to take a picture of you! With you leaving, I’m never going to get another chance, am I?”

Christopher ran his fingers up Doug’s shirt, over the mother-of-pearl buttons, and up to his chin. “She’s right. I don’t even have a snapshot of us together.” Christopher turned in his arms and looked at Brittney. “Smile for me,” he whispered.

Doug sniggered until Christopher dug his fingers into his ribs, tickling him.

“Hey!” He squirmed and tried to get away, but Christopher held him tight.

The shutter on Brittney’s phone clicked again. “Perfect!” she squealed.

“You’ll send me a copy, right?” Christopher asked.

She pressed more buttons. “Done!”

Christopher turned toward him. “You’re going to be stuck here all night, aren’t you?”

Doug honestly wasn’t sure if hanging around while another agency questioned Terry Marshall was going to help the situation or make it worse. “I don’t want to stay, but I probably should.”

Christopher sighed dramatically. “I know. At least in the hotel, there’s a TV. I can have a quiet night of pizza and pay-per-view, instead of just pizza.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Doug promised.

“I’ll wait up.”

Brittney looped her arm through Christopher’s and tugged him away. “Come on. Since you’re leaving anyway, you can give me a ride back to my car.”

“You’ve got it,” Christopher said, steering her toward the door.

Doug was watching Christopher so intently he didn’t recognize the pops of gunfire echoing through the station. He almost laughed as he saw Christopher pull Brittney down and shove her behind a desk.

Then his brain caught up with his lover, and he dropped to the floor.

He crawled toward Christopher and Brittney, took a moment to make sure neither of them were hit, then peered around the desk toward the front door.

“Is it coming from the street?” he asked, drawing his sidearm.

Christopher crept around the desk, then slipped back again. “There’s no one out there. No broken glass, either.”

There was another series of pops, this time accented by the pings of the bullets ricocheting off metal. Christopher nodded toward the back of the station. “Other direction?”

Doug was scrambling toward the door to the detention center, making sure to stay out of a direct line of fire, when a skinny figure in clothes that didn’t fit him barreled out.

“Nate?”

Nate rushed past him, vaulting over one of the desks and sprinting out the door.

“What the hell is going on?” Daniels asked.

“Shots fired in the jail,” Doug reported quickly.

Daniels shook his head, as if he could deny it. “Marshall couldn’t have gotten in.”

Christopher touched Doug’s shoulder. “If his father got in through the detention center, he could get out the same way. Follow up in there, and I’ll go after the kid.”

“He could be blocks away by now,” Doug said.

Christopher smirked at him.

“Yeah, okay,” Doug conceded. “Be safe.” He watched Christopher hop on the balls of his feet for a moment before he took off like a rabbit. No matter how much adrenaline Nate Marshall had driving him, Christopher could catch him.

Doug scrambled to his feet, shifted toward the open teal door connecting the office to the detention center, and crept forward, keeping his back to the wall. He heard Daniels on the radio behind him, calling all officers back to the station. They only had six men on any given shift, but any other law enforcement personnel within broadcast range would respond, too.

“Hello! Help!” The voice sounded young and frightened.

Doug inched forward so he could see the booking platform. He saw the dark brown of a sheriff’s department uniform on the floor near the holding cells.

“Jackson’s down,” he reported to Daniels.

Daniels cursed and moved to the opposite wall. “Marshall!”

“What?” Whoever had called for help sounded confused.

“Harris, where is Marshall?” Daniels shouted.

“Gone! But…. This guy needs help!”

Doug took a deep breath and rushed through the door, keeping his gun low and ready. Jackson was lying facedown on the floor, a pool of blood seeping across the concrete.

“Jackson?” Doug knelt beside him and checked for a pulse at his neck. He had a stable but fast heartbeat. “Daniels, I need Brittney in here and someone to cover us in case he comes back.”

The sliding metal door that led to the general population cells clanged open, and Marty appeared, panting. “Just heard the call on the radio, what happened?”

“I think we’d all like to know,” Daniels snapped.

“Oh my God, Eric!” Brittney rushed toward him. “Heavy bleeding, no injuries to the trunk.” She stripped off her jacket and wedged it around his neck, a feeble substitute for a spine collar. “Doug, help me roll him over.”

Doug holstered his weapon and did as she asked, relieved when he saw Jackson’s eyes flicker open.

“Arm….” Jackson whispered. “Keys.”

His right arm was drenched in blood, but his eyes focused on Brittney just fine.

“What keys?”

“Uh,” Mike Harris, his face pressed to the glass, jingled a set of the jail keys so Doug could see them. “These keys, I think.”

“What the hell?”

“He slid them under the door,” Harris said frantically. “Nate shot him! That cop was just sitting out here making jokes with Nate, and as soon as he turned around, Nate shot him!”

“Why would he shoot Jackson?”

“He, well, look,” Mike said, gesturing to the shattered safety glass. “This is weird shit,” he said poking at the jagged cracks. “He shot it like four times, and it just cracked more. I don’t think there’s a sliver of broken glass anywhere. Then Nate tried to get the keys off him.” Mike nodded at Jackson. “He slid them under the door so Nate couldn’t get them. Why the hell would he pass me the keys? Being locked in is kind of the point, isn’t it?”