Stillness Page 5

  Walt briefly gives the extended hand a look before settling his frame down opposite the table to the protestations of the wooden chair. Gradually the offered hand is withdrawn and business is gotten down to.

  “So,” Walt whistles low and menacingly “Here we are again Tyler. I trust your day in lock-up went well?”

  “Before we begin sheriff,” Gregory asks, “My client has a headache and I wonder if it would be possible to get an aspirin in here?”

  Walt’s predatory eyes lock onto the young public defender for several moments before he smiles—a slightly malicious grin that gives Gregory a moment’s pause.

  “Your client has a headache?” Walt scoffs, “Perhaps you should tell him to lay off the booze then? To be honest your client has been nothing but a headache to me for years now, so I could give a shit about his discomfort.”

  Swallowing hard Gregory says, “Sheriff I’m sure you’re familiar with the rights and freedoms of the accused. Now Mr. Perry is more than willing to cooperate and answer your questions—after we get an aspirin in here for his headache.”

  Walt stares at the two men across the desk from him for several moments before easing his tremendous bulk up out of the chair causing his knees to pop and crack in dispute.

  Before leaving the room he gives Gregory a conciliatory smile that somehow is more frightening than comforting.

  When he returns a minute later he’s carrying an empty glass with two aspirin tablets rattling around the bottom of it. Setting it down on the table he sits back down saying, “You didn’t ask for water.”

  “Now wait a minute sheriff—”

  “No you wait a minute,” Walt interrupts Gregory’s protest “There’s two ways this can go counselor. We can do this the easy way for your client or we can do this the hard way.

  “I don’t suggest the hard way.”

  “It’s fine,” Tyler says as he swallows the two aspirin dry.

  “The charges against my client are trespassing on State property and public drunkenness.” Gregory’s voice no longer holds any hope of cordial relations; he speaks now with simple professional monotony “Granted that this is not the first time my client has found himself in trouble with the law, we understand that a certain amount of jail time may be called for. Now since Mr. Perry is cooperating here with you today, our offer is for three months in county if he pleads guilty to these charges.”

  “No deal.” It might only be his imagination, but it looks to Gregory like Walt enjoyed saying that.

  “Sheriff—”

  “Those aren’t the only charges your client faces,” Walt cuts him off, “We have others pending.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well that all depends doesn’t it?”

  “Depends upon what?”

  “On how helpful Tyler here is to us.”

  “Sheriff my client has a right to know what other charges are pending against him. I’m sure you don’t want this to start looking like you’re blackmailing my client.”

  Walt nods his head imperceptibly before saying, “Honestly counselor, you begin petitioning deals on your client’s behalf before I’ve even asked him a single question. And then when I try to offer him a deal you accuse me of blackmailing him. You can’t have it both ways.

  “If I were you Tyler I’d consider asking for a better lawyer—the way he’s going you might just need it.”

  “What are the charges?” Gregory asks again.

  “We found a nice amount of meth on his buddy Josh,” Walt holds a hand up to Gregory stopping him before he can protest. “The same meth that turned up positive on your client’s tox screen. And then there is the small matter of your client being found near a dead body.”

  “My client had nothing to do with that except for being the unfortunate person to discover the remains.”

  Walt grins again as he spreads his arms out at his sides saying, “Maybe he didn’t have anything to do with the stiff, or maybe if my boys look hard enough he did. I’m sure if we try hard enough we’ll be able to find some of Tyler’s DNA at the scene.”

  Walt lets the implications of the threat sink in for awhile before continuing “So you see it would be in your client’s best interests to stop fighting me here and start answering my questions. I’ve already got one mute in custody and have no interest in another.”

  “I didn’t kill that guy,” Tyler whispers meekly.

  “Why don’t we let forensics decide that, huh?”

  “What questions do you have for my client?”

  Knowing that the perceived threat has found its mark, Walt leans back in the chair and says, “Your client is useless. Everyone in this town knows that Tyler Perry is a loser—someone who will never amount to anything. I have only one question for him.”

  Walt pauses slightly before asking, “Judging from the amount of empty bottles in the cave and the amount of money that you had on your possession, I’d guess it adds up to about one thousand dollars. Where does a nothing like you get that kind of money from?”

  “I-I earned it,” Tyler stammers.

  “Doing what?”

  “A job.”

  “Don’t get smart with me Tyler,” Walt hisses “And don’t fucking lie to me. Where did you get the money?”

  Gregory goes to interfere and say something when he is silenced by a glare from Walt that instinctively tells him to remain quiet.

  “This guy came into The Still a few days ago,” Tyler begins “I swear I didn’t know who he was at the time.”

  “You didn’t know who he was yet you went with him anyway?” Walt asks.

  “Yeah, well…he was offering a thousand dollars for one night of work. I figured, shit why not?”

  “What did he want you to do for the money?”

  “Look I just want to get this on the record okay?” Tyler explains “He didn’t say anything about what he wanted done at the bar and by the time I found out it was too late to back out.”

  “You went with him without asking what he wanted Tyler—that’s your problem. What did you do for the money?”

  “He wanted a grave dug up.”

  To the creaking of wood, Walt sits forward in his chair. “Say again?”

  “There were three of us digging up the grave. I know it’s illegal and maybe I shouldn’t have—”

  “That’s enough Tyler,” Gregory interrupts him “My client has the right not to incriminate himself in any crime.”

  Ignoring the comment entirely Walt presses Tyler for more information. “You said earlier that you didn’t know the guy at the time. Do you know who he is now?”

  “Tyler you don’t have to answer that.”

  “Answer the question!” Walt slams his fist down on the table causing both Tyler and Gregory to flinch.

  “I heard people around town talking about him,” Tyler answers “William Sullivan.”

  “The bodies,” Walt asks breathlessly “What happened to the bodies you dug up?”

  “Tyler!”

  Tyler looks his lawyer straight in the eye saying, “It’s okay; I’ll answer the question.” To Walt: “I never saw any bodies. He made us all leave as soon as the grave was uncovered.”

  “I don’t believe you. What happened to the bodies?” Walt asks as he stands up to loom large over the now frightened suspect.

  “I don’t know,” Tyler cries.

  “That’s enough!” Gregory screams “This interview is over Sheriff.”

  Walt nods on his way out the door—a wicked grin creasing his plump face. Now I’ve got you!

  Chapter 6

  The old wooden door to the back of the Stillness Police station and the holding cells swings wide open on its hinges. The corridor separates the four iron barred cages from each other—two on the right and two on the left.

  The occupants of two of those cells this night are shocked to see the wide girth of Walt Anjou moving so fast past them.

  At the far end of the room the corridor turns right and extends for about ten feet to
the single cell that currently holds William Sullivan in isolation.

  Walt ignores the pleas coming from the sobering Josh Woods as he passes him. Reaching the corner he glances back at him and orders him to quiet down.

  Turning the corner he zeros in on his target with the precision of a hawk finding a mouse.

  “I’ve got you,” he hisses at him.

  William looks up from the cement floor at the sound of Walt’s voice. The room is deep with shadows and it is not until Walt steps out of them that William sees the smile. It’s sick and twisted to him and causes him to shudder briefly.

  “You don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Walt gloats as he paces back and forth in front of the iron bars. “I don’t need you to talk Sullivan and do you want to know why?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer somehow knowing he won’t receive one. “I’ve got one of your boys in custody Sullivan and he sang like a canary. I know all about your visit to The Still and your thousand dollar payment.

  “So here’s your last chance to help yourself Sullivan. Tell me where your parents are before your hired help does. I promise you if I hear it elsewhere first…”

  The threat hangs in the air between them, growing larger with each passing second until William does something unexpected.

  He smiles.

  “Something amusing?”

  No answer, though something in the way he looks confirms for Walt that Tyler was telling the truth about not knowing where the bodies are.

  “Sheriff!”

  Walt sticks his head around the corner to see one of his officers standing in the doorway. “What is it Gord?”

  “You’re not going to like this but Tyler’s being taken to the hospital. He collapsed in front of his lawyer, who insisted that he receive medical attention.”

  Swearing aloud Walt orders “Make sure the SOB is under guard at the hospital—send Dodson.”

  Turning back to William he informs him “Seems your boy is conveniently sick.” Skeptically Walt asks, “What are his symptoms Smith?”

  Gord answers “He has a headache and a fever. When he fell it was like his legs just gave out on him. And he’s complaining of difficulty breathing. An ambulance is on the way.”

  Grinding his teeth as he digests the list of symptoms, Walt mumbles under his breath that aside from the fever, they could all be easily faked.

  “Where are the bodies?” he presses Will for answers, wrapping his meaty fingers around the iron bars of the cell.

  No answer, though the smile remains.

  Banging his palms against the bars Walt shoves himself away from the cage. “I swear Sullivan,” he threatens “If I find out Tyler’s faking to protect you; I’ll bury you in your parents’ grave.”

  “Dr. Abbot’s office,”

  Dr. Henry Abbot stops with one arm in his white jacket and one arm out. He was just preparing to call it a day when the phone call came in.

  He stands statuesque in the interior of his office listening to his nurse, Betty Arnold, talking on the phone. As he recognizes the drift of the conversation he slowly shrugs his coat back on.

  He stands five inches short of six feet with short brown hair cut close to his square shaped head. Though short in stature his most defining characteristic is his playful manner.

  His warm blue eyes and caring smile have comforted quite a few sick children. The goofy faces he makes for them help too.

  “Dr. Abbot,” Betty places the call on hold and says, “It’s Mrs. Palmer. She says that Zack is very sick and running a high fever. She’d like to know if you could see him.”

  “Can she bring him in?”

  “Within the half hour.”

  “Well Betty than I guess we’re up for some overtime. Tell her to come on in.”

  As Betty returns to Mrs. Palmer, Henry for not the first time wonders how old Alex Hoag managed it all. Dr. Alex Hoag was the resident family practitioner in Stillness for over 40 years—until three years ago when Henry took over the practice.

  Being only 31 at the time it took time for the town to accept him. Naturally he did things just a little different than Dr. Hoag. Things have changed in the fifty years since Hoag was in medical school.

  In the beginning he remembers it was really tough. Many of the townspeople went down the road to Des Moines for care rather than come see him. It was the age thing he knows. Small towns can be funny. They got so used to an older doctor that he was seen as a young pup with little to no experience.

  Of course it might also have been his reluctance to prescribe antibiotics for every little sniffle or cough. Overuse of antibiotics was a staple of Dr. Hoag’s practice. But knowing the potentially harmful effects of such a practice he stopped it and incurred quite a few angry complaints.

  It didn’t seem to matter that what he was doing was for their own good; when people are sick they want to take medicine and no amount of talking is going to convince a person who feels awful that taking a pill won’t help them.

  On more than a few occasions Henry sat in his office and wondered if maybe that was why Dr. Hoag relied so heavily on prescriptions—it was just easier than arguing with the whole town.

  But Henry isn’t Dr. Hoag and he wouldn’t back down. Through persistence and over time he’s managed to win back most of Dr. Hoag’s old patients though there are still some that won’t come to see him.

  He doesn’t care really; after all he’s got more than enough work to do as it is.

  “I’ll prepare the examination room doctor.”

  Henry is startled by his nurse walking past his office, he didn’t even realize she had finished with the phone conversation so deep in thought he was.

  “Thanks Betty. You’re a godsend.” He means it too. The workload would’ve certainly overwhelmed him if it wasn’t for the expertise and organization of Betty Arnold. Her experience is invaluable to him.

  Betty’s a squat woman of near sixty years of age of which almost half of it has been spent in the service of the sick in Stillness. She served under Dr. Hoag for his last 23 years and Henry swears she knows everything there is to know about the health of his patients.

  Her bedside manner is professional and no-nonsense but she’s made allowances for his antics these last few years. They get along great and complement each other’s abilities better than he could’ve ever hoped.

  “Tell me Betty, how did Mrs. Palmer sound on the phone?”

  “Frantic. But the woman is something of a hypochondriac.”

  “Tell me about it,” Henry mutters under his breath. “You don’t mind working overtime?”

  “Not at all doctor.”

  “Well I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon enough. It’s probably just a virus.”

  “What seems to be the trouble?”

  Entering the examination room Dr. Abbot has Zack Palmer’s chart open to Betty’s last entry. Her notes detail a fever of 99.8 degrees with complaints of shortness of breath, cough and nausea.

  “Oh doctor thank you for seeing us. Zack just isn’t himself.”

  Henry smiles warmly at Mrs. Palmer as he closes the chart and moves over to Zack who is sitting up on the examining table.

  “Well Zack my man let’s have a look at you.” Retrieving a tongue depressor Henry has Zack open his mouth and stick out his tongue. When finished, without a word he discards the tongue depressor and feels Zack’s lymph nodes with his hands.

  From there he has a look in his ears before asking Zack to remove his shirt. Behind him Mrs. Palmer is chattering away incessantly about how sick Zack is. Putting the stethoscope in his ears he drowns out her voice and listens to Zack’s breathing. He moves it around from his chest to his back and asks Zack to take deep breaths.

  Finished with his initial examination Henry removes the stethoscope from his ears and lets it hang around his neck. “How long have you felt this way?”

  Mrs. Palmer answers for her son; “He didn’t eat his dinner at all. I’m sure—”

  “Mrs. Palmer,” Hen
ry stops her, “Zack how long have you felt this way?”

  “Since this afternoon.”

  “What is it doctor?”

  Turning to the concerned Mrs. Palmer Henry asks her, “Could you step outside with me?”

  “Of course doctor.”

  “Zack, we’ll be right back buddy.”

  Out in the hallway Mrs. Palmer again asks what’s wrong with her son. Henry answers, “His lymph nodes feel slightly swollen which would indicate a bacterial infection of some kind.

  “It’s possible the nausea could lead to vomiting later, Betty’s notes indicate it hasn’t happened yet is that correct?”

  “Yes. He’s going to be okay right?”

  “Most likely Mrs. Palmer Zack has just got a garden variety infection. It’s nothing to be worried about.” Henry is sure that his words offer precious little comfort to her, but he has to try anyway.

  “What I’m going to do is prescribe an antibiotic to help calm the fever. Get the prescription filled tonight and get him started on it right away.

  “If, and I don’t want you to worry too much about this Mrs. Palmer, but if the antibiotics don’t help his fever and it continues to rise I want you to call me immediately. You have my home number and don’t hesitate to use it regardless of the time.”

  “Well what happens if his fever can’t be controlled?”

  Sometimes a doctor has to weigh his options. Sometimes he has to decide how much to tell a patient. Henry Abbot looks at Mrs. Palmer and knows that she is a hypochondriac and decides against telling her what will happen to Zack if the fever can’t be controlled.

  It’s a remote possibility anyway, most likely the antibiotics will work and the fever will fall. He sees no value in scaring her any more than she already is over something that’s not likely to happen.

  “Mrs. Palmer, Zack is going to be fine. He’s a strong kid and he’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Chapter 7

  Three Weeks Earlier

  Atlanta, Georgia

  “Josh,” Larry Ward’s voice thunders loudly in the spacious room, “Could you bring us up to date on the situation?”