Part 36 (1/2)
”Did he have a gun?”
Tilt your head. Look down. Open your mouth like you're going to say something. Shake your head.
”No. I didn't see one.”
”He didn't see anyone else either. Come on, Jennifer, he's a lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Walter spat as he marched across the room.
”Then you're done with me, right?” Jack stood up.
”Sit your a.s.s down, Stratton.”
”Make me,” Jack smirked as he held his hands out.
Prescott shook his head. ”I can make you. You ever want to wear a badge again?” Now he smiled a snide grin. ”Sit down and keep talking.”
”Charge me or call a lawyer. I'm done.”
Jennifer's mouth fell open.
Prescott stared at him. ”Seriously? You lawyer up, and your career's over.”
”As you said, it already is. Right now Marisa is out there, and I'm the only one looking for her.”
”You're an idiot, Stratton.” Prescott rolled his eyes. ”You'd rather throw your career away along with any hope of finding Marisa?”
”I'm going to find her but not by sitting here and talking to you about it. Are you going to charge me?”
Prescott looked at the two-way mirror, and then back at Jack.
”I didn't think so.”
Jack walked out the door.
Like a baby?
Jack sat outside the processing office for fifteen minutes. Finally, the door opened and he marched over to the desk and looked down at a thin middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair. He glanced at her name tag: Shelia Hardy.
He knew Shelia but not her last name. She always gave him a friendly wave in the hallway.
”Officer Stratton.” She didn't look up as she pushed a small package of papers toward him. ”Please sign.”
As Jack looked down, he had to force himself to keep from hanging his head. He signed the papers, set down the pen, and looked up.
Shelia's shoulders slumped and she mumbled, ”Thank you.”
Jack spun on his heel. He left the door open and marched out of the office. He could feel everyone's eyes on him as he stormed down the corridor.
He headed straight to Evidence to get his belongings. His nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a thin line. Stopping in front of a counter with a gla.s.s slider, he rang the bell.
Bill walked over with a manila envelope. ”I went and checked on your gun, but they took it to ballistics.”
Jack stood and stared at Bill Robertson. Jack knew Bill. Jack had given him tips at the shooting range. He had helped fix Bill's car. Jack had even helped him move. But right now, Jack glared at his friend.
”It's my gun, Bill.”
Bill's hands went up and out. ”Jack, it's not here. They took it to ballistics.”
Don't. It's not Bill's fault.
Jack took the manila envelope and looked inside. ”Where's my phone?”
”Information Services. They have to review it.”
Jack grabbed his wallet and put the empty envelope down on the counter.
Bill gulped. ”Sorry.”
”Not your fault, Bill.”
Jack headed back to the first floor and the entrance. The big double doors swooshed open and the cold air slapped him in the face.
He inhaled deeply.
”Jack. Jack.”
He heard Jennifer calling his name as he stormed out of the police station, but he didn't turn around.
”Jacka.s.s,” she growled as she ran up next to him.
Jack glared down at her.
”I'm not your enemy. Can I remind you I tried to help out?”
”What do you want?”
”How about we start with, do you need a ride home?” She smiled.
Jack took a deep breath. ”I'd have called for a ride if you hadn't taken my phone.”
Jennifer shook her head. ”You should be glad Collins let you go, Jack. Your phone's at IT and your gun's at Ballistics.”
Jack cracked his neck.
Glad I left the burner in the Impala.
”I don't need a ride, and I don't need the good cop/bad cop routine.”
”Jack, I'm not playing you or doing that. Listen, I think Walter can help. Really.”
Jack stopped and raised an eyebrow. ”You do?”