Cry Me A River (31 page)

“Leaving the store,” Captain Jack said. “That’s all.”

“That’s enough.”

“No, Harland, it’s not.”

“Jury thought so,” the chief said.

“They didn’t have all the facts,” Captain Jack said. “This changes things.”

“Don’t change nothing.”

“I want to see that truck.”

There was silence.

“Harland, we’re wasting time.”

“Billy Ray,” the chief yelled.

Instantly, Billy Ray appeared before the door.

“Yeah, Chief,” he said, then waited.

“Take Mr. Jones to his house,” the chief said. “Get his truck and bring it back here.”

“What kind of truck is it?” Billy Ray asked.

The chief looked at Rooster.

“Dark blue, Ford, pickup,” Rooster mumbled.

“Awright, Chief,” Billy Ray said. “I’m on it.”

“H
arland, I’d like to speak to Mr. Stokes and Mrs.

Chamberland in private, if that’s all right,” Captain Jack said after Billy Ray and Rooster had left the room.

“Help yourself, Jack,” the chief said. “I’ll be in my office … Let me know when they make it back with that truck.”

The chief left, but Beggar Man remained sitting quietly. Tyrone watched Captain Jack remove a pipe from his shirt pocket and place it in his mouth, then cup his hand over the bowl and light it.

“What do you think?” Tyrone asked.

“I would feel better if someone else had seen them together … someone other than Charlie.” He looked at Irene. “You sure you didn’t see his face.”

“All I seen was that truck,” she said. “I told him that the other day.”

“Wish we had something else,” Captain Jack said. “Something connecting him to the crime.”

“Well, that’s all I seen,” Irene said a second time.

There was silence.

“Is it enough?” Tyrone asked.

“Maybe to get a stay,” Captain Jack said. “That’s about it.”

“What good will that do?”

“It’ll buy us a little time.”

“How much time?”

“Maybe a week or two,” Captain Jack said. “No more than that.”

“He know something,” Tyrone said. “If we could just get him to talk.”

“Did you hit him?”

“Naw, I didn’t hit him.”

“Did he?” Captain Jack asked, looking at Beggar Man.

Tyrone shook his head.

“Well, don’t,” Captain Jack said. “That’ll ruin everything. If it hasn’t already. A confession is no good if it’s coerced.”

“Maybe there’s another way,” Tyrone said. He had an idea.

“Such as?” Captain Jack asked, his interest piqued.

“A lie detector test.”

Captain Jack shook his head. “Won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“It’s voluntary,” he said. “We can’t make him submit to it.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Tyrone said, indicating his willingness to be deceptive.

“The chief would tell him,” Captain Jack explained. “It’s his duty.”

Tyrone paused, thinking.

“What if we could prove that he had been with her before?”

“With Amy Talbert?” Captain Jack asked.

“Yes, sir,” Tyrone said.

Captain Jack paused, and Tyrone could see that he was thinking.

“How?” Captain Jack asked after a brief silence. “Charlie said he seen them together lots of times.”

“You think they were an item?”

“Don’t know,” Tyrone said. “But I know who might.”

“Who?” Captain Jack asked. “The girl,” Tyrone told him.

Captain Jack looked at him with confused eyes. “What girl?” he asked.

“The cheerleader,” Tyrone said, “Terri La Beaux … I mean, Zeno … Terri Zeno.”

Captain Jack’s gray eyes still held a blank stare, and Tyrone could tell that he did not remember. “I told you about her, remember?” Captain Jack hesitated, then answered, “She work up there, too?”

“No, sir,” Tyrone said. “She was that girl’s friend … her best friend.”

Captain Jack pushed back from the table, then stopped. As he looked at Miss Irene, he raised his hand to his chin, thinking.

“How long did they talk before she got in the truck?”

“Minute or two,” Irene said. “Not long.”

“Did they touch or act friendly with each other?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Excuse me,” Captain Jack said, rising to his feet. “I’m going to see if I can get Harland to pick up the girl.”

He turned to leave, but Irene stopped him. “How much longer you gone need me?” she asked. “Just until the truck comes,” Captain Jack said. “Why?”

“Need to call my husband,” she said. “He probably worried. I need to let him know what’s going on.”

“Come with me,” he said. “Let’s see if they won’t let you use the phone.”

They left the room, and Beggar Man leaned back in his chair and looked at the clock hanging high on the wall.

“Ty,” he called softly.

“Yeah,” Tyrone answered him. His voice had a distant drone. He was deep in thought.

“You see the time?”

Tyrone looked at the clock. It was a quarter ‘til eight.

“Yeah,” he said. “I see it.”

Beggar Man lit another cigarette, then lifted it to his mouth and took a puff.

“Well, what you gone do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Tyrone said. “Nothing at all.”

He said that, and then it was quiet again. Beggar Man continued to smoke, and Tyrone leaned forward with his elbows on the table and his head resting in his hands. His head was hurting; he closed his eyes and had just begun to massage his temple with the tips of his fingers when Captain Jack walked back in.

“He’s on the phone right now … But he said he’ll send Billy Ray to pick up the girl after he comes back with Benny and the truck.”

Tyrone nodded, acknowledging that he had heard him; then all was quiet again. Captain Jack had borrowed a pad and a pen and was feverishly scribbling something on the paper. Tyrone glanced at the pad, but Captain Jack’s writing was so bad he could not read it. After a moment of staring at the illegible words, he looked at the clock again. It was eight, his mandated curfew. Suddenly, he felt tense. And in his mind popped a daunting image of his mother anxiously pacing the floor, stopping every now and then to draw back the curtain and look out into the street, all the time
frantically praying to God to let her lay eyes on a son that should have been home long ago. In his head, he heard the echoing of a voice. It was loud and clear and menacing:
You gone kill her … just like you killed Daddy
.

Inside the other room, he heard the sound of feet on the floor. He turned and looked. They were back. The chief must have already been out front as well, for no sooner had Rooster and the officer entered the station than the chief poked his head in the interview room and said, “Come on … Let’s take a look at that truck.”

Outside, the moon was out, and the heavens up above were sprinkled with what looked to be thousands of bright shining stars casting their majestic light upon a cool, still night. The chief and Captain Jack led the way. Sandwiched between them was Miss Irene. Tyrone and Beggar Man were behind them. Rooster and Charlie remained inside the building.

In the parking lot, they stopped before the truck which had been parked behind the station, up close to the building, just underneath the light. Both men stepped aside and allowed Irene to step forward.

“Well,” Captain Jack said after a moment of silence.

“Looks like it,” she said timidly. “But I can’t say for sure it’s the same truck I saw that night.”

“But it was a truck like this?” Captain Jack prodded her.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Just like this.”

“Do me a favor,” the chief interrupted.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Turn and face me.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, complying. And when her back was to the truck, the chief spoke again.

“How long would you say you’ve been looking at that truck?” he asked.

“You mean, right now, today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This truck, right here, right now.”

“‘Bout five minutes … I guess.”

“Five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how long did you see it that night?”

“A minute or two.”

“But nothing like five minutes?” he said.

“No, sir.”

“And how close would you say you are to that truck right now?”

“Couple of feet,” she said.

“And what about that day?” he asked. “How close were you then?”

“From here to the other side of the road.” She repeated her earlier answer.

“About a hundred feet.”

“Yes, sir, I guess.”

“Without looking,” he said, “tell me the make of the truck you just saw.”

“I can’t.”

“What about the model?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about the year?”

She shook her head.

“Well,” he said. “What can you tell me about this truck?”

“It’s blue with whitewall tires.”

“That’s all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So any truck that I park here that’s blue with whitewall tires would look like the truck you saw that night, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can’t remember anything else?”

She paused, thinking. “No, sir.”

“That’s it… after looking at it for five minutes … not more than a couple of feet away … just a few minutes ago … That’s all you can tell me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, how can you be certain that the truck you say you saw five years ago, from a distance of a hundred feet or more, is identical to this one?”

“It was,” she said. “The truck I saw looked just like this one.”

“Well, ma’am,” the chief said. “I’m almost certain that you would probably say that about any navy blue truck with whitewall tires that I park before you right now. Ma’am, your account just isn’t credible.”

“Sir, this the truck I saw.”

“Ma’am, you can’t be sure of that.”

“But you are sure that the truck you saw had whitewall tires, aren’t you?” Captain Jack said.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“My client’s truck had black tires.”

“Could’ve changed them, Jack. He had plenty of time.”

“But he didn’t,” Captain Jack said.

“You can’t prove that,” the chief said. “No more than you can prove she saw this truck that night. Now, Jack, it’s been a long day, and I’ve gone just about as far as I’m going with this. Miss Irene, thank you for your time. You can go on back inside and wait if you want to. As soon as my officer gets back, I’ll have him take you home.”

“If it’s all right with you,” she said, “I’d just as soon call my husband to come get me.”

“That’ll be just fine,” the chief said.

“Harland,” Captain Jack said. “I’ll be filing a petition for a stay based on these new witnesses first thing in the morning.”

“That’s your right, Jack. But I won’t support it. And I think you know as well as I do that no judge in his right mind will grant it. Not under these circumstances. And not based on what I’ve seen here.”

“I disagree,” Captain Jack said.

“Well, that’s your right,” the chief said again, then paused and looked at his watch. “If you’ve finished with ole Charlie, I’d just as soon let him go home, too.”

“Like to have him look at this truck.”

“Don’t know why,” the chief said. “Don’t see what good it’ll do.”

“Like to have him look at it anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” the chief said. He removed the walkie-talkie from his waist, raised it to his mouth, and pressed the button.

“Randy.”

“Yeah, Chief.”

“Send Charlie out here.”

“Okay, Chief,” Randy’s voice boomed through the walkie-talkie. “Will do.”

The chief placed the walkie-talkie back on his belt, and a few minutes later, the door to the police station swung open, and Charlie walked out.

“Charlie,” Captain Jack spoke first.

“Yes, sir.”

“You ever seen this truck before?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where?”

“Up to Mr. Peterson’s.”

“Is this the truck that Benny was driving the day you saw him and Amy Talbert together?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Around two o’clock,” the chief said.

“Yes, sir … I believe so.”

There was silence.

“Anything else, Jack?”

Captain Jack shook his head.

“You ride up here with Billy Ray?” the chief asked Charlie.

“No, sir,” Charlie said. “I followed him in my truck.”

“All right, then,” the chief said. “You’re free to go.”

A
fter Charlie left, Tyrone did not go back inside the station with the chief. Instead, he lingered near the truck with Beggar Man and Captain Jack, his tense body twisted in knots and his anxious eyes fixated on the highway. Now there was in him no joy or peace, but only fear. For he had seen what he had believed to be two strong witnesses totally dismissed by a chief who, to him, seemed determined to ensure that things remained just as they were. As he stood, gazing into the night, a hot wave of rage swept him, and then, as if under a spell, he spun on his heels and kicked the truck hard with his foot. The force of the blow rattled the truck. Captain Jack’s eyes bucked; then his lips parted.

“Mr. Stokes,” he said, stunned. “Get a hold of yourself. That’s not helping matters … It’s not helping matters at all.”

“This ain’t right,” Tyrone said on the verge of tears. “The chief already got his mind made up. He won’t even listen to us.”

“Calm down,” Captain Jack said. “Let me handle this.”

“How can I be calm?” Tyrone asked. “He twisting everything around. He not even trying to hear the truth. He just trying to railroad my son.”

“Mr. Stokes, please,” Captain Jack pleaded. “I know Harland. You antagonize him, he’ll shut this thing down so tight that an army of lawyers won’t be able to reopen it. Please …Just let me handle it.”

“Ty,” Beggar Man said. “Think of Marcus.”

“But, Mr. Johnson—”

“Mr. Stokes, listen to me,” Captain Jack said, his gray eyes staring deep into Tyrone’s. “You’ve got to listen to me.”

Tyrone paused and looked at Captain Jack; then his misty eyes fell in surrender.

“With these new developments, we have an excellent chance for a stay,” Captain Jack said. “But we don’t have much time. And to be honest, we don’t have much of a chance without Harland’s support … We need him.” Captain Jack paused to let his words sink in. Then he began again. “Now, I’ve drafted a letter laying out these new findings. As soon as I’ve spoken to this last witness, I plan to fax the warden, the D.A.’s office, the governor, the court, Judge Robertson, the media, and any and everybody else who might be able to help. By the airing of the ten o’clock news, I plan to have this broadcast over every news outlet in the state, Mr. Stokes. We have new witnesses. The court will have to consider this … The public will demand it. Please, just let me handle this.”