Silent Son (23 page)

Gardner looked at Jennifer, then back at Henderson. “When was this?”

“About two hours ago. We let Starke use the phone when he came in. Think he called New York. Ten minutes later the lawyer
called…” Henderson’s face set as if he was going to say more, but his voice trailed off. “Weird…” he finally said.

Gardner caught the trooper’s eye and urged him to continue.

“Jacobs,” Henderson said. “That was his name. A real arrogant son of a bitch.”

Gardner’s mind suddenly focused on Kent King.

“Didn’t ask me. Ordered me. And recorded the conversation!”

Gardner stirred in his seat. This did not sound good. Starke already had a lawyer, and the lawyer was off and running with
countermoves. “Recorded?” The prosecutor had never heard that one before.

Henderson nodded his head. “Yep. Said if I didn’t follow his instructions, he’d use the tape in court—”

“Damn!” Brownie exclaimed. “Looks like we got another live one!”

Gardner looked at his friend. His face was grim.

“Did Starke ask for an attorney?” Jennifer suddenly interjected. Gardner jerked his head in her direction. The lawyer had
called on his client’s behalf, but that was not the crucial issue. Did the client ask for his lawyer? That was the key. If
Starke had not yet asked for his lawyer, they still might have a chance to talk to him.

Henderson smiled, as if he suddenly saw the same opening. “No. I don’t believe he did. Jacobs called me, and gave the instructions,
but Starke never specifically said that he wanted an attorney…”

“Did you read him his rights?” Gardner asked hopefully. They might be on to something. Only the defendant can make the lawyer
request. No one else can do it for him.

Henderson’s smile widened. “Yep. He was Mirandized in the field, and again back here at the barracks.”

“Was he questioned?” Gardner asked.

“Why, no,” the captain answered. “It wasn’t our case. We would not really know what to ask.”

Gardner smiled. “So he’s been given his rights, has not asked for a lawyer, and has not been interrogated.”

“Correct,” Henderson answered.

“So it looks like we’re okay,” Jennifer said.

Gardner whispered, “Uh-huh,” then leaned forward in his seat and looked at Henderson. “Can you let us talk to him?”

“You know I’ve been ordered not to,” the captain said.

“I know,” Gardner answered, “but the rights belong to the client, not the lawyer. We’re not violating any law by talking to
him.”

Henderson hesitated. Jacobs sounded as if he could make a lot of trouble for anyone who crossed him. “He’s on his way down
here,” the captain said.

“Who?” Gardner asked.

“Jacobs. Said he was coming down immediately.”

Gardner stood up. “Then we don’t have a lot of time.”

Henderson remained seated, still contemplating his dilemma. “He said something else—no extradition waivers allowed…”

Gardner put his hands on his hips. “He said. The lawyer. Did you ask Starke?”

Henderson shook his head. “No.” He was still on the fence.

“Then that’s an open issue too,” Gardner said.

“Captain.” This time Brownie spoke. “Starke was in some heavy shit. Was with a guy who blew the heads off two old folks and
cracked the skull of this man’s little boy…” He put his hand on Gardner’s back. “It’s not the strongest case in the world,
and we think Starke can fill in the gaps.”

Henderson stood up. “You’re gonna need this,” he said, handing a printed form to Gardner.

Gardner took it and read the caption on the top: WAIVER OF EXTRADITION. “So you’re letting us in,” he said softly.

“Correct,” Henderson replied. “You’d better get moving. Jacobs could be here anytime. And if you’re not done and out of here
by then we might all get the firing squad.”

Joel Jacobs was in the corporate jet hangar of La Guardia Airport waiting for his plane to be fueled. As chief counsel to
the Landau Chemical Company, he was given access to the corporation’s Learjet whenever he requested it. A phone call to the
on-duty pilot had secured its availability, and now all they had to do was gas up and he’d be on his way.

The attorney sat in the lounge and opened his briefcase. The charges against IV had been faxed as promised, and he reviewed
them word by word. “Accompanied.” “Aided and Abetted.” “Accomplice.” The operative phrases echoed the same theme. IV was a
participant in the crimes, but not the moving force. The shooter was a man named Roscoe Miller. Jacobs circled Roscoe’s name
and reached for the telephone on the table beside him.

After several rings, a man answered. “Udek.”

“Drew, this is Joel.”

“Yes, sir!” Drew Udek was Jacobs’s private investigator.

“Got a job for you,” Jacobs said. “In Maryland. How soon can you leave?”

“Is right away soon enough?”

Jacobs smiled. The guy always came through. “That would be fine. I need in-depth backgrounds on some people down there. Wendell
Stein has the list. You can pick it up at the office before you leave.”

“I’m on my way,sir.”

“And, Drew, I want it all on these people. The complete picture. Strengths, weaknesses, a full bio.”

“No problem, Mr. Jacobs. I am somewhat familiar with that state.”

“Good. Now, I’m on my way down to Pennsylvania, then on to Maryland. Wendell will have my location, so check in with him and
he’ll guide you through to me.”

“No problem,” Udek echoed. He’d gotten the message the first time.

As Jacobs hung up the phone he saw the pilot waving to him through the window. The plane was ready.

He closed his briefcase and stood up. From the tenor of the charging documents, they’d barely snagged IV Starke by his toenail.
There was so little information to connect him to any crime, it was almost laughable. The man named Roscoe Miller was obviously
the killer. And he had somehow drawn IV in for the ride.

Jacobs walked to the plane and entered. Soon he was strapped in and they were taxiing for takeoff. The phone call to Captain
Henderson suddenly returned to his mind. “Do you want to talk to your client?” the officer had asked. At the time, Joel had
declined. Police officers had a way of overhearing conversations “accidentally on purpose.” In an uncontrolled environment,
IV could have blurted something incriminating, and the cops could have picked it up. If the phone was in the squad room, and
IV spoke with the officers in hearing range, the eavesdropping would have been legal.

The jet accelerated to rotation speed, and the sharp nose lifted steeply in the air. Jacobs looked out the window as the ground
dropped away precipitously. The scene was like a rocket launch, the ascent was so steep. Soon they were in the clouds, and
then above, into a clear azure sky.

Jacobs returned to his thoughts. IV would know what to do. He’d be able to hold out until help arrived. He was a smart kid.
But a doubt persisted.

Joel looked out the window again as earth and clouds reeled by below. Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe he should have talked
to his client and told him to clam up.

Gardner, Jennifer, and Brownie stood outside the cell block area of the barracks. A steel door separated them from the narrow
cage that held IV Starke.

“Okay, we’re here,” Brownie said. “Now what do we do?”

Gardner ran his hand through his hair. So far, they’d been lucky. They’d hitched a ride to Pennsylvania, and talked the captain
into giving them a shot at Starke. From this point on, every move was crucial. They had to walk the Constitutional line, or
risk losing whatever evidence they got from Starke. Gardner’s mind was grinding out a plan. “We all can’t go in,” he said.

“Only one,” Jennifer said.

“Yeah,” Gardner replied. “Only one.”

The three fell silent as the needle in Gardner’s mind spun toward his choice. “Don’t think I should do it,” he said, looking
at Jennifer. “And you probably shouldn’t either.”

“So I’m elected,” Brownie said.

Gardner handed him the waiver form. “You’d better do the honors.”

“What’s our tack?” Brownie whispered.

A trooper walked down the hall, and the trio huddled together as he passed. “Lie and cheat. Whatever you have to do,” Gardner
said. “Just get him to waive extradition. And get a statement. If you can.”

Brownie nodded. Again, deception was the name of the game. If they could trick Starke into cooperating without threatening
or coercing him, it was perfectly legal. The Supreme Court said so. “Do my damn best,” Brownie said, seizing the door handle.

“Just make it quick,” Gardner admonished. Jacobs was on his way.

Brownie said okay and went through the door.

Gardner and Jennifer peered through the peep window.

Starke stood up when Brownie entered the cell area. Both Gardner and Jennifer got a look at him. In person, he was a far cry
from Roscoe Miller. In fact, the resemblance did not leap out the way it had in the picture. Maybe it was the close-cut hair.
Or the fashionable clothes. Or the way he moved his body. There was no slouching shuffle. No “go to hell” expression. IV moved
smoothly, gracefully toward the officer, as if he were approaching a shot on the tennis court. His features were serene, his
expression passive. Just then his eyes went past Brownie to the faces framed in the door’s tiny opening.

Gardner and Jennifer froze for an instant as they found themselves locked into a pale blue-eyed stare. The eyes turned icy
for a millisecond, then warmed. But in that moment the resemblance to Roscoe came through. There was mystery in his pale eyes.
And a hint of hostility.

Gardner pulled Jennifer away. “Let’s back off and let Brownie work,” he said.

Jennifer nodded. “He’s definitely…” Her words faded.

Gardner waited, but she didn’t continue. “Definitely what?”

“Scary…” Jennifer said.

“Yeah,” Gardner said, as an image suddenly flashed into his mind. Roscoe, Starke, the gun, and Granville. Evil blue eyes all
around, focused on his son. “Get him, Brownie,” Gardner whispered as they walked from the cell. “Nail his ass!”

Brownie met IV at the bars. “Mr. Starke, I’m Joe Brown, county police.”

IV looked him over cautiously. “What’s this all about? Cops stopped me on the turnpike. Said I’ve been charged with murder.”
His face twitched as he said the last word.

“We put a warrant out,” Brownie said. “Fella named Roscoe Miller said you were with him when he killed Addie and Henry Bowers.
That makes you an accessory.” Brownie’s lies were off and running as he tried to provoke a response.

Starke didn’t flinch. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“There’s other evidence too. Fingerprints. Body hairs. A real good case against you, but Miller might get off…” He was using
the same ploy against Starke that he’d used against Roscoe.

Again, there was no response. Starke was calm, nonreactive. “I really don’t understand…”

“Okay,” Brownie said casually, “we can discuss that later. Back home. First, you have to sign this form.” He slipped the extradition
paper through the narrow opening in the bars.

Starke studied it carefully. “I need to check with my lawyer about this first…”

Brownie smiled. “Mr. Jacobs.”

IV nodded.

“We just talked to him,” Brownie said. “Made arrangements for you to return to Maryland. He’ll meet you there. Said to go
ahead and sign the waiver.” As long as Brownie was lying, he might as well go all the way.

Starke frowned. “He said what?”

“Said for you to come back with us,” Brownie replied. “Since this is a Maryland case, it was decided it would be best to go
back there to get things straightened out, rather than stay here. He said to go ahead and sign the waiver, and he’ll meet
you back in the county.”

Starke looked skeptical. “When did you talk to him?”

“Few minutes ago. Before coming in to see you. He okayed everything.”

The skepticism lingered. That did not sound like something Joel Jacobs would do. “I think I’d better call and check on it
first.”

Brownie smiled bravely. Starke was calling his bluff. “Okay with me.” If Jacobs could be contacted, they were dead.

The lock-up trooper was called and IV was provided a cordless telephone. In a moment, he had Wendell Stein on the line.

Brownie stood by and held his breath.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Starke,” Wendell said. “Mr. Jacobs is on his way.”

“What about the plans to go to Maryland?” IV asked.

Wendell paused. He didn’t know anything about that. He did know that Mr. Jacobs was going to Maryland eventually, but as to
meeting IV there, he’d heard nothing about that.

“Shall I sign the waiver paper?” Starke asked.

Wendell was on the spot. If Joel Jacobs had arranged to meet his client in Maryland, and Wendell nixed it, his boss would
crucify him. But if it was not planned, and Wendell okayed it, he’d be flogged. Either way, he’d suffer. He put Starke on
hold, and tried to contact Jacobs at the airport, but the call would not go through. “You can reach me in Maryland tomorrow,”
Joel had said. Wendell decided to take a chance.

“Sign the papers,” he instructed his boss’s client.

IV hung up the phone and took the pen from Brownie’s hand.

Prentice Academy was abuzz. The storm had roared across campus, blowing over commencement chairs, uprooting the refreshment
tent, and sending the celebrants screaming for cover. And in the midst of that chaos there was a procession of police flowing
in and out of IV Starke’s dorm.

Headmaster Charles had finally managed to pull away from a group of parents on the pretext of fleeing the storm. Racing to
Starke’s room, he found the stop team digging through IV’s possessions like madmen. He called Kent King from the student’s
phone, and minutes later King arrived.

The attorney reached the room as two hefty police officers wheeled in a set of acetylene torch bottles.

”How can they do this?” Charles asked worriedly.

King spoke to one of the officers and procured a copy of the warrant. He scanned it and handed the paper to the headmaster.
“They think your boy Starke has some evidence hidden away,” King announced.