Moving violation, p.17
Moving Violation, page 17
"Times Yes, of course. Let me continue.”
Arranging my loose pages in front of me, I looked down at the floor and spotted my cup of coffee lying on its side on Tara Lee’s pristine, white carpet. Around it was a brown stain. The majority of the liquid had already been absorbed by the carpet, so there was little I could do. I was doubly flustered. So I covered the coffee stain with my shoe and began to read from my manuscript. Unfortunately, I forgot to reengage my state machine before I started and the text came out unfiltered.
“Grabbing his rock-hard cock in her hands, she parted her lips with his head and gobbled up his long, purple-veined shaft.”
I actually made it all the way through the line before my conscious mind kicked in, allowing me to appreciate what I’d just said.
The room was divided between horrified silence and reluctant but increasing laughter.
“My God, now she’s got the narrator experiencing a bout of Tourette’s syndrome,” Cousin Althea observed.
“Unless anyone objects,” interposed Tara Lee, “it may be time that I read some of my own material.”
“Yes, maybe that would be best,” I conceded. “I’m rather out of sorts this evening.”
“So it would seem, Chloe,” Tara Lee acknowledged. Her stare would make a shark shiver. “So it would seem.”
Tara Lee tried to enthrall us with her latest dense epic. By the second paragraph I had again lost track of who was who in this aristocratic farce. Fortunately, Tara Lee had armed each of us during a previous meeting with our own personal copy of the key to the characters in her expansive, literary universe. I attempted to find the character reference sheet and finally gave up, realizing that Tara Lee was on a roll and there would be little time for comment or feedback by the time she was done.
And I was right. We weren’t done until almost eleven. As we walked out to our cars, feeling tired and being as quiet as chastened mice, Mr. Jackman touched my arm to get my attention.
“Your reading this evening was… interesting. Yes, I think that’s the appropriate word.” Fortunately, he kept his voice low. “And I appreciate the sacrifice. ‘Greater love hath no man…’”
“Thank you,” I replied, choosing to interpret his words as a compliment. “So, have you come up with anything else I should know?”
“Nope,” he replied with a curious smile. “Except that you were followed to the meeting by someone in a police car.”
“I know.” By Gordon the lardhead. I was going to have something to say to him in the morning. He was acting creepy.
My drive home was a quick one. As I e xited my vehicle my mind was awash with pangs of embarrassment at tonight’s Lit Wits fiasco and with various things I needed to get done over the next few days. A part of me was also still clutching a bit of happy pride in the kind words from the chief.
Realizing that I had left my gym bag in the car and that my clothes would need washing and possibly fumigation after a week in the hot automobile, I popped the trunk and leaned over to get my bag.
As had been the case all day, my brain solved a mystery about a half second before danger struck. I felt a hand in the middle of my back, and then someone shoved me into the trunk and slammed it down fast.
Above the smell of gym shoes, I detected the traces of whisky and a familiar aftershave.
At least I knew who the lardhead had been calling. It was the pustule, David. I didn’t know what David wanted and didn’t care. I was going to kill both of them.
Rage ripped through me, wiping out any fear that might have tried to sneak into my brain. I think my father would have recognized and understood my state of mind, but Mother wouldn’t have known me at all. She hadn’t raised me to hurt people or to think such savage thoughts.
Considering my mother, I decided that maybe I wouldn’t actually kill both of them, but I was going to beat the everloving snot out of David and do something really vile to Dale Gordon.
Chapter 15
They say that stone walls do not a prison make, but I can attest that a trunk serves quite well as a cage. My stomach felt like it was a piñata being beaten by greedy kids. Fortunately, the rutted road that bounced me about with bruising force was familiar and blessedly not far out of town. David was taking me to his cabin. Which had a dock and a boat that he was always trying to coax me onto.
There was no way—absolutely none—that I was letting him get me on his damned pontoon boat. The thing made me sick.
The road was a bad one and we had to go slow, so I had some time to think about what could happen when he stopped, and to even get a bit frightened. How crazy was David? I knew he was unethical and impulsive. A few moments of unbridled imagination and my heart pounded so hard that I felt dizzy and I actually thought, I am too young to die of fright and asphyxiation. I am barely old enough to have sinned properly. I never made detective. It’s just not fair.
This line of thought was not helpful. Fear makes you weak. Henry Boston’s daughter was not a coward. I was small but mighty, and I shoved terror away and instead wondered whether Tara Lee had found the coffee stain, and if she would ban me from the Lit Wits for being sloppy and a potty mouth.
This too produced a kind of fear and I tried harder for another, more constructive thought—like how I was going to get out of this mess. I’m a fan of old adventure movies, which often involve clever escapes from sticky situations. Unfortunately those also usually involve tunnels or sewers or handy rooftops, coupled with a hero who had advanced lock-picking skills. And firearms. A quick review didn’t leave me with any helpful ideas for getting out of a trunk without aid.
Out of films, my brain raced off again. My thoughts were badly jumbled and the one that came up on top was Mrs. Sellers and her driving down the street with a nozzle and hose stuck in the side of her car. There was something about that day…. I let my brain reconstruct without interference. It ran along smoothly, recalling events until I got to the part where I looked in her car. Most of the mess was identifiable, but the one thing I hadn’t been able to place at the time was that canvas sack with the letters stenciled on it.
HO
SAV
Then I had it:
HOPE FALLS
SAVINGS BANK
The fabric had been folded over on itself, but I recognized it anyway. It was one of the bags they used for the night deposit drop at the bank. Mentally I reached through though the window and opened the bag up. The money I pictured wasn’t sequential or bundled neatly, and most of it was checks.
The image was vivid. I’d have bet anything that the week’s donations—sixty thousand dollars’ worth—had been gathered up to take to the night deposit and just never made it. Probably because Mr. Sellers’ death had driven Alice Sellers into a state of drunkenness and she simply forgot.
I would have to check on this in the morning. The thought that I would be doing something—anything—in the morning was reassuring enough to steady my nerves.
Finally, the car stopped and I heard a door open—driver’s side. It squeaked a little. No one got out of the passenger’s side, so David was probably alone. That was good. I didn’t want to deal with Gordon. He had also had self-defense classes and would probably be willing to hurt me if David told him to.
Prepared, I braced myself, drawing my legs into my chest and swiveling so I faced the opening and would have the best angle of attack. Sometimes it was good to be small. My dad would never have been able to maneuver in there.
The trunk opened. Not waiting for the pustule to say anything, I kicked out with both legs, catching him in the chest. The result was gratifying. He flew back like he was in a kung fu movie and hit the dirt with a cry.
I rolled out of the trunk and followed up with another kick to his thigh and a really hard slap to the face. I would have punched him, but my nails were a bit long and I knew I would hurt myself if I used a closed hand.
“You selfish moron!” I shouted. The sound startled the crickets and frogs and other nighttime singers into utter silence.
“Chloe!” he gasped in horror. The reflected headlight beams made him look ghostly white. His nose was bleeding and I hoped broken. I also noticed red roses lying scattered on the ground. “What are you doing?”
David had been acting for months like a dog with a ratty old tennis ball (me being the old ball in this scenario). It didn’t matter that he had lots of new toys he probably liked better, he just couldn’t stand for anyone else to play with his castoffs (the someone else probably being Alex, or so he thought). Had David actually been a dumb dog I might have had more sympathy, but he was allegedly a responsible human adult and I didn’t regret a single slap or kick.
“Listen up, you crazy bastard. Until now I have tolerated your bullshit because my mom raised me to be a Christian and that means forgiving no matter how big a jerk you are.” This was an exaggeration, but it sounded good. “But tonight you assaulted and kidnapped a police officer. That’s a felony. Bringing flowers to the crime doesn’t make any difference!”
David opened his mouth and I added, “Say another word and I’ll kick your teeth in.”
I heard another car coming up behind me and swung around, half-expecting to see Dale Gordon. But it wasn’t the lardhead who got out of the pink Cadillac. It was Alex.
“Stay back!” I was pretty sure that Alex was friend and not foe, but I was taking no chances.
“Chloe? I saw this creep push you into your trunk. I….” He trailed off, seeing David rolling in the dust, wiping blood from his nose. “Did you do that?”
“Have you called it in?” I asked levelly. Some of my anger left. What I had said to David was true. What he had done was a felony and he would be arrested if I pushed the matter. But he was a hotshot lawyer and I was a meter maid that no one took seriously. And he was the only one who was bleeding. Things could go badly for me. People shouldn’t blame the victim, but they often did.
“No, my cell is dead., my celfn Alex’s eyes finally peeled away from David and he looked at me. “I came to rescue you.”
“Well I don’t need rescuing. What I need is a man who shows up on time for dates and doesn’t lie about what he is.” My anger came back, a last hurrah of adrenaline that made me stomp my way over to him. “The only reason I haven’t slugged you too is—” But here I stopped. This was one sentence I didn’t want to finish because it ended with something like “because I kept my panties on when I was out with you.” I don’t discuss my underwear with men who anger me, especially not in front of ex-boyfriends.
I made my voice calm. “You didn’t have to lie about being a police officer. Or a cybercrime investigator. AND if you wanted to know where the missing money was, you could have just asked me!”
I waited long enough for the shock of my words to register and then marched over to my car, climbed in the front seat, and slammed the door. The car was still running; I just had to pull up the seat so I could reach the pedals, adjust the mirror, and put it in gear. I accomplished a tight U-turn that sacrificed a few saplings and a bit of paint, but then I was on my way.
In the rearview mirror I saw Alex haul a babbling David to his feet, and he was none too gentle about it. My preference would have been to leave the bastard stranded by the lake and make him call for a taxi or a friend for a bailout, but I suppose this would work just as well.
It was possible that David would call the police and complain of my assault, but I didn’t think he would. He was drunk and guilty of a couple felonies—which Alex had witnessed. Also, admitting to getting beaten up by a hundred-pound girl would be terminally embarrassing. Nor did I think that Alex would report the incident. Whatever had made him lie to me about his occupation, I was betting it wouldn’t permit his being a witness in a criminal trial.
Though fairly confident that the horrible incident was over, I found myself watching my mirror for headlights. I was shaking and beginning to cry. I thought about stopping at my father’s place since it was nearby, but wisely decided not to. As I’ve mentioned, Dad is a good friend but a bad cop. He would probably go back and chainsaw David into bits and then take a freshly sharpened hacksaw to Dale Gordon. They deserved it, but I didn’t want my father in prison for the rest of his life.
Instead I kept it together until I was home. Then, safe with Blue and the cats, I cried until hell wouldn’t have it. Then I made some instant cocoa with two Advils, took a long shower to soothe the pulled muscles that were finally hurting, and crawled into bed.
I didn’t set my alarm clock. If I was late to work, then so be it. If my body actually managed to go to sleep, I was giving it all the rest it wanted.
Cha pter 16
I rolled into work the next day both bruised and pissed off. I wasn’t sure whether I should begin my day by trying to perform my regular duties, or if I should instead seek Gordon out and immediately light into him. Though inclined toward violence, I decided to play it cool and see what happened when I saw the lardhead. Maybe he was contrite and would apologize.
Leaving Blue parked in the shade, I slipped in the back door, and after equipping myself from my locker I walked into the bullpen for daily orientation. My butt had barely hit the bench when the chief’s door flew open and he bellowed into the bullpen.
“Boston, you out there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well get your butt in here.”
I entered his office and stood at attention before his desk, waiting for the order to sit down. That order didn’t come.
“Alright, you win, Boston. It’s been a week now, we’re ready to open a missing persons case on Jeffrey. What we need from you are all the details you’ve gathered to date.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” I said appreciatively, “but that won’t be necessary.”
“Won’t be necessary? What do you mean?” The chief began to scowl.
“I’m afraid that case has been solved as well, sir.”
“Sit. Explain,” he ordered as he released a sigh of frustration and fell back into his chair.
So I did. I sat right down and I told him everything. I told him about Jeffrey meeting Helen at the bar. About Helen passing Jeffrey a matchbook that Sellers had given her earlier in the evening. A matchbook with Sellers’ number written on it, which I had found alarming enough to start my own investigation. I told him about Jeffrey’s tendency to make very bad decisions when he was drunk and about how drunk he was the second time he met Helen. I detailed the ransacking of his home, and Helen also disappearing the same night. Then I told him about Jeffrey’s daughter’s call reminding me of his cabin. I concluded with the fact that Jeffrey was notoriously bad at recharging his cell phone and that he had been reprimanded for being out of phone contact as a result in the past.
The conclusion was obvious. Jeffrey hadn’t been kidnapped or run away because he had witnessed a crime. Instead, he had driven the fair Helen to his cabin in his beat-up and presently broken-down truck and had been trapped there with a dead cell phone. Helen had opted to hike back and had contracted a bad case of poison oak before finding someone to hitch a ride with.
“Gordon!” the chief bellowed when I was done. In no time the office door opened and Officer Gordon stepped inside to stand at attention. “Gordon. I want you to find the location of Officer Little’s cabin and drive out there.”
“What for, sir?”
“To see what you see, Gordon. To see what you see.”
“Yes, sir.”
The timing really couldn’t have been better as far as what happened next. As Gordon turned to leave he ran smack-dab into Jeffrey Little, standing outside the chief’s door prepared to knock.
“Well, speak of the devil,” the chief observed.
“Hey, Little. Give me directions to your cabin so that I can drive out there.”
“What for?” Jeffrey asked in confusion.
“Gordon, belay that last order. Just get out of my office and go away. Little and I are going to talk privately.” Gordon did so and speedily. “And that means you too, Boston.” I mouthed “good luck” to Jeffrey as I squeezed by. “And you, Jeffrey, why don’t you step inside and have a seat. I think it’s time we got to know one another.”
The door closed, sealing me out.
I waited at my desk, feet on my chair with my arms wrapped around my knees, watching the chief’s door. My shift had started but I just couldn’t leave without knowing if Jeffrey was going to be fired. There were times when a lot of yelling came from behind the door. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem like hardly enough yelling considering the severity of the offense. I for one wanted to be next in line to rip Jeffrey a new one for being so stupid and selfish. What would happen to me if he was fired? I tried to retain a positive attitude that everything was going to turn out alright.
“Tough luck, Boston,” I heard Gordon call from across the room. “I told you he’d come back eventually.”
I bit my tongue and remained in my position staring at the door. We were again in a space of silence when I heard a commotion coming from up front at the desk. I recognized the voice behind the commotion and almost groaned.
“Is there an Officer Chloe Boston here? It’s terribly important that I speak with her.”
“Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to take a seat and wait while I ask. Please give me a name.”
“My name is Alex Lincoln. Please hurry, this is an emergency.”
“I’ll see if Officer Boston is available.”
Rather than have Clive come back into the bullpen, I walked through the door and presented myself at the front desk. There on the public side of the desk stood Alex, looking frazzled and upset.
“Chloe, thank God. Is your phone turned off? I need to talk with you.”
“Officer, have this man arrested,” I commanded, only half-kidding. Clive blinked hard.
“Wait a second. What for?” Alex protested.
“How about lying to a police officer during an investigation?”
