Part 10 (2/2)
But everyone knows, or at least everyone in law enforcement is fairly certain, that the organization of the United States military has been extensively revamped, its powers and resources expanded-all of which makes this the last place I would choose to be, on a gray and windy Friday morning when I'm hip-deep in a murder investigation: navigating my Chevrolet Impala through the headquarters of the New Hamps.h.i.+re National Guard.
Thanks, Nico. I owe you one.
I climb out of the Impala at the brig, a squat and windowless concrete building with a small forest of antennae bristling along the flat lines of its roof, at 10:43. Thanks to Culverson, and Culverson's contacts, I've got five minutes, beginning at exactly 10:45 a.m.
A severe and charmless female reserve officer in green camouflage pants stares at my badge in silence for thirty seconds before nodding once and ushering me down a short hallway to a ma.s.sive metal door with a small square Plexiglas window in its dead center.
”Thanks,” I say, and she grunts and heads back down the hallway.
I peer in the window, and there he is: Derek Skeve, sitting in the middle of the floor of his cell, cross-legged, breathing slowly and elaborately.
He's meditating. For the love of G.o.d.
I make a fist and knock on the little window.
”Skeve. Hey.” Knock, knock. ”Derek.”
I wait a second. I tap again.
”Hey.” Louder, sharper: ”Derek.”
Skeve, eyes still closed, raises one finger of one hand, like a doctor's receptionist busy on the phone. Rage boils in my cheeks, this is it, I'm ready to go home. Surely it's better to let this self-involved doofus sit in military prison aligning his chakras until Maia gets here. I'll turn around, say ”thanks anyway” to the charmer at the door, call Nico and give her the bad news, and get back to work finding Peter Zell's killer.
But I know Nico, and I know myself. I can tell her whatever I feel like, I'll just end up driving back out here tomorrow.
So I bang on the window again, and at last the prisoner unfolds himself and stands. Skeve is in a tan jumpsuit with NHNG stenciled across the front, an incongruous complement to his long, matted ropes of hair, those ridiculous Caucasian dreadlocks that make him look like a bike messenger-which in fact he has been, among many other short-lived quasi-professions. Several days' growth of fuzz coat his cheeks and chin.
”Henry,” he says, smiling beatifically. ”How are you, brother?”
”What's going on, Derek?”
Skeve shrugs absently, as if the question doesn't really concern him.
”I am as you find me. A guest of the military-industrial complex.”
He looks around at the cell: smooth concrete walls, a thin and utilitarian bunk bed bolted to one corner, a small metal toilet to the other.
I lean forward, filling the small window with my face. ”Can you expand on that, please?”
”Sure. I mean, what can I tell you? I've been arrested by the military police.”
”Yes, Derek. I see that. For what?”
”I think the charge is operating an all-terrain vehicle on federal land.”
”That's the charge? Or you think that's the charge?”
”I believe that I think that is the charge.” He smirks, and I would smack him if it were physically possible, I really would.
I step away from the window, take a deep calming breath, and look at my watch. 10:48.
”Well, Derek. Were you, in fact, operating an ATV on the base for some reason?”
”I don't remember.”
He doesn't remember. I stare at him, standing there, still smirking. It's such a fine line with some people, whether they're playing dumb or being dumb.
”I'm not a policeman right now, Derek. I'm your friend.” I stop myself, start again. ”I'm Nico's friend. I'm her brother, and I love her. And she loves you, and so I'm here to help you. So start at the beginning, and tell me exactly what happened.”
”Oh, Hank,” he says, like he pities me. Like my entreaties are something childish, something he thinks is cute. ”I seriously wish that I could.”
”You wish?”
This is madness. It's madness.
”When are you being arraigned?”
”I don't know.”
”Do you have a lawyer?”
”I don't know.”
”What do you mean, you don't know?” I check my watch. Thirty seconds left, and I can hear the heavy footfalls of the reservist from the desk, making her way back to collect me. One thing about the military, they like their schedules.
”Derek, I came all the way down here to help you.”
”I know, and that's really decent of you. But, you know, I didn't ask you to do that.”
”Yes, but Nico did ask me. Because she cares about you.”
”I know. Isn't she an amazing person?”
”All right sir.”
It's the guard. I talk quickly into the hole in the door. ”Derek, there is nothing I can do for you unless you can tell me what's going on.”
Derek's smug grin widens for a moment, the eyes misting with kindness, and then he walks slowly over to the bed and sprawls out, his hands folded behind his head.
”I totally hear what you're saying, Henry. But it's a secret.”
That's it. Time's up.
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