The Other Side of Dark (14 page)

“You know her?”

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “I’ve seen her around. Jarrod Tucker’s mother. Right?”

His smile is open and charming, and I want to believe him. I open the front door and hold it wide. “Would you like to come in?”

“Hello, Stacy!” Mrs. Cooper calls.

I wave back. So does Jeff.

“I’m going to come over in just a few minutes,” she says. “I made a tamale pie. All you have to do tonight is just stick it in the oven.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Cooper,” I call back.

“Shut the door,” Jeff says. “We can sit here on the steps.”

I settle on the same step, not quite as far away as I had sat from Mrs. Tucker. I wish I had the courage to scoot over close enough so that our bodies would be almost touching. There are all sorts of strange feelings inside me, some of which I like and some which kind of scare me because I don’t understand them.

“What did she want?”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Tucker.”

“She tried to convince me I had the wrong person. She tried to talk me out of testifying. She even told me that her sister and a friend would testify that Jarrod was with them in San Antonio.” I look at Jeff. “Could they do that?”

“Sure. Witnesses can say anything they want.”

“But they’d be lying!”

“Some people do lie.”

“What if the jury believes them and not me?”

“That can happen.”

“Then Jarrod could go free?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Jeff cocks his head as he looks at me. “Instead of asking me all these questions, you ought to ask your Detective Markowitz, who’s working this case.”

“You’re right.” I have to smile. “I don’t know why I just took it for granted that you’d know.”

I pause, and he fills in. “Because I’m obviously wise and highly intelligent and probably know all the answers to everything.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No, Stacy. I just tried to cover what you didn’t want to say.”

“How do you know what I was going to say?”

“Because I have a little brother who’s twelve—no, thirteen last month—and he thinks because I’m older than he is I know everything—or ought to know.”

I wiggle the toes of my sneakers and watch them intently. I feel so stupid, but in a way I’m glad for what he said. “You told me that you understand. I guess you do.”

The telephone rings. I don’t care. I like sitting here with Jeff, and I don’t want to answer it.

“Get your phone,” Jeff tells me.

“It’s probably not important.”

He jumps up and pulls me to my feet. “On the other hand, it could be. Are you going to answer it, or do you want me to?”

He follows me into the house. I run the last few steps and catch the telephone on the sixth or seventh ring.

“Hello!” I shout. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. “Hello,” I repeat, trying to be quiet and dignified.

It’s Detective Markowitz. “We picked him up,” he says.

“Jarrod? You did? Really? But his mother was just here. Did she know?”

“We’re trying to reach his parents. No real urgency, though, since Tucker’s an adult.”

“What did Jarrod tell you?”

“Nothing,” he answers. “I didn’t expect him to.”

“His mother said her sister and friend would testify that Jarrod was in San Antonio that day. But I know she’s lying.”

“Oath or not, a lot of people lie, trying to save their own skin or someone else’s.”

“But I saw him! I’m a witness!”

“I think I told you, Stacy. Placing someone on the scene of the crime is just half of it. We need physical evidence to prove he was there.”

“And you don’t have any?”

“We may. They did come up with some fingerprints which they couldn’t make at the time. We have the casing, which was found in the room, and the slug taken from—Well, at least now that we know what we’re going on, there’s a slim chance that we might tie Tucker into the scene. To be perfectly honest with you, though, these factors may work out, they may not. That’s all I can tell you.”

“You also told me about a computer search. What about that?”

“Zilch.”

I’m confused and feeling more frustrated by the minute. “What can we do?”

“Come down for a lineup,” he answers. “That’s as good a place as any to start. It might help us hold Tucker a little longer.”

“You mean he might get out?”

“Depends on the judge and what we can come up with to convince him the guy shouldn’t be allowed bail.”

“I’m going to come to the station right now,” I tell him.

“Is anybody there with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone who could drive you?”

“Oh. Yes. A—friend is here. But I’ll call my sister and ask her.”

As I hang up the receiver Jeff says, “I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, Jeff. But I’d better tell Donna where I’m going.” I dial her number and give her the latest news.

“I don’t know Jeff,” she says. “I think your family should be with you. I’ll drive you.”

“But, Donna—” I don’t know how to tell her, with Jeff standing beside me, that I wish she’d butt out for now, that I’d like to be with Jeff.

“I’ll be right over,” she says firmly, and hangs up.

I turn to Jeff. “She wants to come with me.”

“Sure,” he says, and smiles. “She’s your sister.”

He stays until Donna arrives. She smiles and chats, but at the same time she gives him a sharp once-over. Apparently she’s satisfied that Jeff is a nice guy because
I can see her relax. She presses a hand to the small of her back and says, “Stacy, we’d better be going.”

“I’ll be glad to take you there,” Jeff says. “It’s a good half-hour drive.”

I’m hoping she’ll agree, but Donna smiles and says, “Thanks anyway, Jeff, but this is going to be a difficult situation. I think it had better be just family.”

“Sure,” Jeff says. He walks to his car and watches us climb into Donna’s. I wish I could turn around and see him drive away.

“He’s nice,” Donna says.

“I think so too.”

I want her to say more about him, but she talks instead about the party and Jarrod Tucker and all the things Dad told her until we reach the police station on Riesner.

As we leave the parking lot Detective Markowitz suddenly comes out from the police building and trots down the steps to meet us. He leads us through a side door. Remembering how busy the lobby was the last time I was here, I’m grateful to miss the crowds.

We enter the homicide room, and he bends to look into my face. “Ready for the lineup?” he asks.

“I’m ready.”

He nods, picks up a telephone, punches a couple of buttons, and tells someone to set things up. He puts down the receiver and turns to me. “A few other people will be in the viewing room with us. One of them will be Tucker’s attorney. He won’t talk to you, but he has the right to be there to make sure everything is done legally, that no one leads you to make a decision. Understand?”

“He has an attorney already?”

“We reached Tucker’s father right after we talked to you. The attorney was here within twenty minutes.”

I’m glad that Donna is hanging on to me. I don’t pay attention to the route we’re taking. I can’t see anything except Jarrod’s face, which has glued itself to my mind.

We’re led into a small room. Chairs are facing a glass wall, and beyond the wall is a stage with a height chart made of horizontal lines painted on the yellowed wall behind the stage. Detective Johns is in the room, as are some other men. Donna and I speak to Johns, but no one introduces us to the others. I wonder which one is Jarrod’s attorney.

Markowitz tells us to be seated and relax. “The men you’ll see out there won’t be able to look in at you. This is a one-way glass,” he says. “So don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

A door opens at the left. A policeman comes in and picks up a microphone. Then a line of seven men come into the room and file across the stage. Each one is wearing a number on his chest. They all look something alike. “Turn right. Turn left. Face forward,” the policeman drawls, as though he’d given these commands so often he could say them in his sleep.

I study the men facing me. I spot Jarrod immediately. His jacket is wrinkled and smudged. He needs a shave. The men with him must have been carefully picked. One of them looks about Jarrod’s age, one a little younger. All of them have dark or brown hair. Two of the men are staring at their feet. One has his chin tucked down, throwing his face into shadow.

“Tell them to look this way. Tell them to look at the window,” I say to Markowitz. “There’s something I want you to see.”

Markowitz picks up a receiver and relays my command to the policeman, who barks it out.

The men look upward, to the window that separates us. I look into the pale yellow eyes of the guy who tried to get me away from the party last night. Was it an attempt to get rid of me? If I had gone, would he have succeeded this time in killing me?

What if I identify Jarrod, and he is released on bond? Will he try again? “You won’t have a chance,” I whisper, as though he could hear me.

Donna is startled. She quickly turns and stares at me. I hear one of the men shuffle his feet. Another coughs.

“Jarrod Tucker is second from the right, and I want you to look at his eyes,” I tell Markowitz. “Four years ago those awful yellow cat eyes stared into mine just before Jarrod shot me. I’ll never forget his eyes! Never!”

The men in the room look at me sharply, and Donna nervously squeezes my hand. I realize that my hatred for Jarrod has made the room come into focus. I can smell sour body sweat and stale cigarettes, and my tongue curls at the edges with a taste like bitter lemon.

“You’re positive?” Markowitz asks. He sounds pleased.

“Merely a formality,” one of the men says. “She saw him at the party last night.”

I twist toward them. “I’ll identify him from photographs,” I say eagerly. “Give me his photograph from
four years ago, along with others, and I’ll pick him out. I promise!”

“Stacy.” Detective Markowitz’s voice is low as he firmly squeezes my shoulder. It’s a signal to be quiet. It doesn’t matter. None of them answered me or acted as though they had heard me.

Detective Markowitz speaks to the policeman in the lineup room. In turn, the policeman tells the men to turn around. They file out as they came in, and the door closes behind them.

I stay in my chair, staring into the room. I can still see Jarrod Tucker’s yellow eyes.

“That’s all for now, Stacy,” Detective Markowitz says. “Thanks for coming. We’ll be in touch with you.”

I stand and look up at him. “How about the gun? Was it in Jarrod’s car?”

“We found a gun in the glove compartment.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t the murder weapon. Different size caliber.”

“Oh. I hoped so hard that—” I take a long breath. “Okay. What happens next?”

“Someone in the district attorney’s department will want to talk to you, and Tucker will be arraigned.”

“Does that mean the trial?”

“No. That means the district attorney will bring a brief summation of the charge against Tucker before a judge, he’ll plead not guilty, and his attorney will ask for a trial.”

“Then what happens?”

“Among other things, the judge sets the amount of
bail for Tucker or decides if he should be allowed out on bail.”

I hear Donna gasp. “You mean he might be set free until his trial?”

“That’s a possibility,” Markowitz says. “In court we’ll present a strong plea that he not be allowed bail, and for now, we can hold him for twenty-four hours without a formal charge.”

Donna says, “But even if he’s released on bail, surely he won’t try to hurt Stacy. He’d have to be insane.”

For a moment there’s nothing but silence. I know we’re all thinking the same thing:
Who says that he’s not?

“Will you let me know what happens to Jarrod?” I ask Markowitz.

“You’ll know. You’re our witness.”

As he talks he moves toward the door. Donna and I follow him out of the room and down the hallway.

Without warning an intense light nearly blinds me, and someone says, “There she is!”

“Don’t worry,” Markowitz tells us. “It’s just a TV crew. They seem to be the only ones who wanted to follow up on the story. The others on the police beat are covering a convenience store shooting on the north side.”

Donna is nervous. “What do they want? Can’t we get them to go away?”

“I’ll chase them off if you say so,” he answers, “but Stacy might agree to talk to them for a few minutes. They’ll just ask her a couple of questions. They’ve got word by now on the result of the lineup, and it won’t
take long. If they ask anything they shouldn’t, I’ll step in.”

“Sure,” I say. “It’s okay.”

A woman with short dark hair is working her way toward me. She’s holding up a microphone. The bright light snaps off, so I can see the cameraman with the light and the camera on his shoulder. He’s right behind her.

I take a step toward the reporter, ducking around a guy who is being steered through the hallway by a police officer. The guy’s face is all scrunched up, as though he were trying not to cry. I don’t think he’s any older than I am.

Suddenly there’s space, and just as suddenly I find myself face-to-face with Jarrod Tucker. He’s wedged between two sturdy officers, his hands cuffed in front of him.

His eyes turn to narrow slits as he recognizes me.

Detective Markowitz snaps, “Get him out of here!”

Donna tugs at me, the reporter shouts at the cameraman, and I throw up my hands against his instant blast of bright light. Jarrod is jerked past me, the officers with him ordering people to get out of the way, but he manages to twist toward me. Through all the confusion I hear only a snarl of words: “My friend!”

Just as quickly I cry at him, “You’re crazy!”

For just an instant, before he’s pulled away from me, Jarrod’s lips part in a wide grin, and his eyes gleam.

“Donna!” I shriek, but Donna seems to be trying to head off the reporter. Frantically I look for Markowitz, but he has followed Jarrod and the officers down the
hall. Nobody’s reacting to what Jarrod said to me. Didn’t they hear him? Am I the only one?

What did Jarrod mean? That’s the second time he’s mumbled something about a friend. If Jarrod can’t get to me, will one of his friends try?