Tears in the darkness, p.5
Tears in the Darkness, page 5
“We need to calm her down.” Cole moved to his medical supplies.
Together they eased the woman back onto the pillows. Cole prepared a syringe while Izzy held the woman’s hand, speaking in low, soothing tones about how everyone was looking, how they’d find her child. The woman’s eyes tracked the needle with terror.
“This is just to help you relax,” Cole explained. “Haloperidol. Low dose. You’ll stay awake, stay alert, but the panic will ease. It might help your memory return.”
The injection went into her upper arm. Within minutes, the woman’s breathing steadied. Her death grip on Izzy’s hand loosened but didn’t release entirely.
“Rest now,” Izzy said.
The woman’s eyes were already growing heavy, not from sedation but from exhaustion reasserting itself. Izzy extracted her hand, gathered the Livescan equipment.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised.
Izzy stepped to the door with Cole.
“This might take five minutes,” she said. “Or it might take hours. Depends on FBI backlog, and if she has any kind of record at all. But I need to know if she really has a baby out there.”
“As soon as Serena gets here, we’ll examine her properly. If it’s recent, we’ll know.”
Izzy nodded and headed for the back of the building. The drive to the sheriff’s office took six minutes through empty morning streets. The sun had fully cleared the eastern mountains, painting the desert in shades of gold and rust. A few early risers moved along Main Street—Mr. Bryant opening his hardware store, Maria setting out the breakfast special sign at the diner.
The office parking lot held three SUVs like hers. Night shift changing to day, the controlled chaos of transition. She pushed through the main entrance into LED brightness and the smell of burned coffee.
Deputy Johnson sat at the dispatch desk, three monitors glowing before him. He looked up as she approached.
“Can you take care of this for me? Need these prints transmitted to DOJ and FBI.” She handed over the case. “Jane Doe from last night.”
“On it.” He took the case and removed the laptop. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get something, boss.”
“Thanks. Appreciate you.”
Izzy climbed the stairs to her office. The space still felt like a broker’s office, too new and shiny. The chrome-framed desk gleamed under energy-efficient LEDs, the gray carpet showing vacuum lines from the cleaning crew. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, offering an unobstructed view of the high desert landscape rolling toward distant hills. Only the leather office chair felt broken in.
Hawkins appeared in her doorway, folder in hand. His uniform was crisp, every crease in place.
“Morning, Sheriff.” He entered without invitation, spreading papers across her desk. “Roster adjustments for your review.”
She scanned the duty assignments. Several names had been shuffled. “Party casualties?”
“Thompson and Beck are out sick.” His mouth quirked slightly. “Sudden onset flu, apparently. Highly contagious among people who do tequila shots.”
“And Martinez?”
“Showed up fifteen minutes early, bright-eyed and ready. You made a good call promoting him.” Hawkins straightened. “Not that you asked my opinion.”
“If there’d been any question about it, I would have asked. But there wasn’t.”
He nodded, something passing across his face too quickly to read. “Anything else you need?”
“I’m good. Thank you, Dab.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she watched him leave, her desk phone rang.
“Morning Sheriff,” said Adrianne, having arrived to take the front desk. “Lee Boyer on line two.”
Izzy grabbed the handset. “Lee?”
“Morning, Sheriff.” Lee’s voice was steady and alert. “I’m heading in for my shift at the firehouse, just passed the Acres Road. Saw a guy here matching your description from last night. Trying to thumb a ride.”
“You’re sure?”
“White male, thirties, medium build. Bit scruffy, like he’s been out here all night.”
“Which direction is he heading?”
“North toward Harris. He’s at the pull-out there.”
“I’ll get someone to take a look. Thanks, Lee. Appreciate the call.”
She hung up, immediately calling back to reception. “Adrianne, who’s out on highway patrol?”
Keys clacked. “Wilson.”
“Have him respond to the pull-out at Acres Road. Possible ID on our BOLO subject from the bus. Tell him to approach with caution.”
“Copy that.”
Izzy stood, pacing to the window. The view stretched east toward the mountains, morning shadows shortening as the sun climbed. Somewhere out there, a man was trying to escape. Somewhere, a baby might be missing. And in Cole’s clinic, a woman struggled to remember her own name.
Twenty-three minutes later, Adrianne called again.
“Sheriff? Wilson just radioed. He’s got the subject detained. Says it’s a pretty good match for the CCTV from Union Station. Guy wasn’t cooperative, tried to rabbit when Wilson approached. He’s bringing him in for questioning.”
“Tell Wilson to put him in interview one. Buzz me when he’s here.”
Chapter
Eight
The intercom on Izzy’s desk crackled. “Sheriff, Wilson’s here with the subject.”
“On my way.”
Izzy descended the stairs, her boots offering a dull thud with each step. The lobby held the usual morning traffic—a woman paying a traffic fine at the counter, two men waiting on the bench for their turn. Hawkins stood near the squad room, reviewing something on Johnson’s monitor.
She caught his eye. “Dab, want to sit in on this?”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Happy to assist.”
They walked down the corridor to interview room one. Through the reinforced glass panel, Izzy could see their subject slumped in a metal chair. Wilson stood guard outside.
“Martin Jacks,” Wilson said, handing her a driver’s license. “Address in Lee Vining, Mono County. Tried to run when I approached. Had to chase him through the brush.”
“Any resistance?”
“Just the running. Once I caught him, he came along quiet enough.”
“Good work. We’ll take it from here.”
Wilson nodded and headed back toward dispatch. Izzy studied Jacks through the glass. His faded blue polo shirt was painted with dust and what looked like dried sage caught in the fabric. Khaki pants showed dirt at the knees. His thinning brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and stubble darkened his jaw. He kept rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had been.
She opened the door, Hawkins following. The room’s aggressive air conditioning was cold enough to raise goosebumps, not designed to keep suspects uncomfortable but doing the job anyway. Jacks looked up, his eyes tracking them.
Izzy took the chair across from him. Hawkins remained standing initially, then pulled out the chair beside her with deliberate slowness, the metal legs scraping against the floor.
“Mr. Jacks.” She placed his license on the metal table between them. “I’m Sheriff Llewellyn. This is Undersheriff Hawkins. Want to tell us what you were doing out on the highway this morning?”
Jacks shifted in his chair. “Just trying to get home.”
“From where?”
“I was in town last night. My car broke down.”
“Where in town?”
His eyes drifted toward the corner of the room. “The Horseshoe. Had a few drinks.”
“We’ll check that. Pete remembers everybody who comes through his doors.”
A muscle twitched in Jacks’ jaw. “I was at the back. He might not have seen me.”
“You order a beer?”
“I guess.”
“How long were you there?”
“Couple hours. Maybe nine to eleven.”
Izzy leaned back. “Your car breaks down, you’re stranded in Darkness. Why not call a taxi? Get an Uber?”
“Don’t got that kind of money.”
“But you had money for drinks at the Horseshoe?”
Jacks’ hands balled into fists on the table. “Had enough for a couple beers. Not enough for a forty-mile taxi ride.”
“So you decided to walk? Seven hours later?”
“I slept in the park. It was warm enough.”
“Which park?”
“The one at the south end of town.”
“Fourth of July Park?”
“I guess.”
“Why didn’t you sleep in your car?”
Jacks hesitated so long that he said nothing.
“Then tried hitchhiking this morning,” said Izzy.
“That’s right.”
Izzy pulled out her phone, swiped to the CCTV image from Union Station. She turned the screen toward him. “This you?”
His eyes flicked to the image, away, back again. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“Patsaouras Transit Plaza.”
Jacks frowned. “It’s what?”
“The bus terminal at Union Station in LA.”
“Never been to Union Station.”
She tilted the phone, studying the image herself. “Looks like you. Same shirt, even. Can see that ghost logo right there.”
“Lots of people have this shirt.”
“True.” She set the phone on the table, image still visible. “So you weren’t in Los Angeles yesterday?”
“No.”
“Didn’t take a Greyhound bus from Union Station to Darkness?”
“I told you, I drove. My car broke down.”
Izzy opened the folder she’d brought, pulled out a witness statement. “Interesting. Because we have multiple witnesses who saw you on that bus. Saw you helping a confused woman at the ticket counter.” She looked up. “Still want to stick with your story?”
Jacks’ shoulders sagged slightly. “Okay. Okay, I was there. So what.”
“Why lie?”
“Because—” He rubbed his face. “I was in LA looking for work. My boss doesn’t know. Can’t afford to lose my job while I’m looking for something better. Not much work in Lee Vining.”
“What kind of work?”
“Automotive maintenance. Boring stuff.”
Hawkins spoke for the first time. “Companies usually do interviews by video now.”
“Not for grunt work. They want to see if you can show up.”
“Long commute.”
Jacks shrugged. “I’m thinking of moving.”
“To LA?” said Hawkins. “Expensive.”
Izzy tapped the phone screen. “Tell me about the woman.”
“What woman?”
She gave him a long look.
“Right. Her.” Jacks straightened slightly. “She was confused. Needed help.”
“Help with what?”
“Buying a ticket. She kept talking about Darkness, needing to get to Darkness. I come through here on the big dog, so I knew where it was. Helped her find the right bus.”
“That was kind of you.”
“Is that a crime? Helping someone?”
“Helping, no.” Izzy consulted her notes. “Why did she need help?”
“Confused, like I said. On the crazy scale, to be honest. But it’s the bus station. Plenty of crazies there.”
“Confused how?”
Jacks shrugged. “Mumbling. Not making much sense.”
“What was she mumbling about?”
“Darkness, mostly. And other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
His eyes drifted again. “Weird things. Something about land nitties.”
Izzy’s pen stopped moving. “Land nitties?”
“Or land nits. I don’t know. Made no sense.”
“What do you think she meant?”
“No idea. Thought maybe she had ticks or something. She also kept talking about witches.”
“Witches?”
“Said witches were watching her.” He shrugged. “Like she’d seen Wizard of Oz too many times.”
Izzy exchanged a glance with Hawkins. “Did she mention anything else? Anyone else?”
“Not that I remember.”
“What about a baby?”
Jacks frowned. “A baby?”
“Did she have a baby with her? Mention a baby?”
“No.” He seemed genuinely confused. “There was no baby. I never saw any baby.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yeah, I’m certain. She was alone. No baby, no diaper bag, nothing like that.”
Izzy made a note. The CCTV from Union Station had confirmed this, and none of the bus passengers had mentioned seeing a child.
“So you helped her buy a ticket.”
“That’s right.”
“Then what?”
“Got on the bus.”
“Both of you?”
“I was heading home anyway. Bus goes through to Harris, and there’s a connector to Lee Vining.”
“But you got off in Darkness.”
“So?”
“Your ticket was for Harris.”
Jacks shifted again. “I decided to get off early.”
“Why?”
“Wanted to check on my car.”
“The car that broke down? The one you chose not to sleep in after you were drinking at the Horseshoe, preferring the safety of the park instead? All this after you got off the bus that was going to Harris?”
His mouth opened, closed. “I don’t know—”
“We have witnesses from the bus,” Izzy interrupted, “who say you helped the woman get off the bus, and that when she collapsed, you disappeared into the night. Why?”
Jacks’ fingers found the edge of the table, gripping. “Because I didn’t want to end up right here in a police station. Being accused of something when all I did was help someone.”
Hawkins leaned forward. “It’s a sheriff’s office.”
“What?”
“You said police station. This is a sheriff’s office.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Jurisdiction, for one thing.” Hawkins said. “Training, structure, statutory authority—”
“Let’s go back to Union Station.” Izzy pulled out another paper. “Witnesses at the bus terminal reported the woman paid for her ticket with cash. A large envelope full of cash.”
Jacks went still.
“When we found her, she had no money. No envelope. Nothing.”
“Maybe she lost it.”
“On the bus? We searched the whole vehicle. Under the seats, in the bathroom. No envelope. No cash.”
“Someone else must have taken it.”
“Who? The other passengers were all accounted for. Except you.”
“I didn’t take anything.”
“You sure about that? Because another passenger saw you sit next to her. While she was sleeping.”
“I sat across the aisle.”
“At first. But later you moved next to her. Just before Darkness.”
Hawkins reached into his folder, pulled out an evidence bag. “Deputy Wilson found this when he patted you down.”
A metal flask caught the LED lights.
“That’s mine,” Jacks said quickly.
“What’s in it?”
“Whiskey. Just whiskey.”
“You give her any of it?” Hawkins’ voice had gone cold. “Maybe with something extra? Something to make sure she stayed asleep while you went through her pockets?”
“No! I didn’t drug anyone.”
“But you did give her whiskey?”
Jacks’ jaw worked. “We might have shared a drink. So what?”
“So she ends up semiconscious, collapsed at a bus stop, and you coincidentally disappear with her money.”
“I didn’t take—”
“We’re going to process you now.” Izzy stood. “Take your prints. A deputy will search you properly. We won’t find any cash on you? No envelope?”
Jacks seemed to shrink into himself. His shoulders rolled forward, head dropping. For a long moment, he stared at the table’s scratched surface.
Then he shifted in his chair, reached down the front of his pants. Hawkins tensed, but Jacks just pulled out a thick envelope, folded in half. He placed it on the table with the care of someone laying down a losing hand. Izzy could see the wad of bills inside.
“It wasn’t hers,” he said quietly.
“How do you know that?”
“She was homeless.”
“She was wearing clean clothes. Didn’t look homeless to me.”
“It’s not about the clothes.” Jacks met her eyes for the first time. “It’s in the eyes. They have a look. Like a beaten dog that still might bite.”
“You see a lot of homeless people?”
“They congregate around Union Station. Some get showers at a shelter, fresh clothes from the donation center. But they can’t wash that look out of their eyes.”
Izzy studied him. “So you decided she didn’t deserve the money?”
“I needed it. Rent’s due. She probably stole it anyway.”
“That’s quite a rationalization.”
“It’s survival.”
“Tell me exactly what happened. From the beginning.”
Jacks sighed. “She was standing near the ticket counter, fumbling with this envelope. Counting bills over and over, like she couldn’t figure out how much was there. Kept saying she needed to get to Darkness. So I stepped up, helped her get the right ticket and count out the fare.”
“Then?”
“Got on the bus. I sat across from her at first. She was mumbling to herself. The land nitties thing, the witches. Then she dozed off.”
“And you moved next to her.”
“Later, yeah. Look, we shared the flask. She seemed like she needed it. To calm her nerves.”
“How much did she drink?”
“Few sips. Bit more. Not much.”
“Then what?”
“She fell asleep again.”
“And you took the money.”
“Not then. I wasn’t planning—” He stopped. “When we got close to Darkness, I woke her up. Told her this was her stop.”
“Then she collapsed.”
