Page 45 of Cougar Point

“Next to you is a bucket filled with water. You can drink some but use the rest to clean yourself up. You really stink.”

She hears the bucket scraping across the concrete and feels it touch her leg.

“Listen to me. Your life depends on you doing as I say. I’m keeping your ankles bound so you don’t think you can escape. Not possible. Keep the blindfold on and keep quiet. Don’t make a problem.” He chuckles softly. “It’s all I can do right now to keep my girl from tearing you apart.”

The boots walk toward the door and stop. “I don’t want her to kill you, though. You’re not bad looking for your age. If your husband doesn’t pay up, I might have a go at you.” He laughs and the door shuts and latches.

She grabs the metal bucket and gorges on the water until she retches. It tastes like heaven. She bends her knees and sets the bucket between her legs so she can stretch her arms over her head and pushes her legs out to work her ankles and toes to get the circulation back. She pulls her knees up and feels the bindings on her ankles. Thick zip ties like he’d used on her wrists. The kind she’s seen on police shows. No way is she going to break these. But she has some hope in her heart. If this man wants her alive, it must be for a reason. Maybe Jack has seen the pictures and is arranging to pay a ransom.

THIRTY-THREE

Before we left the jail we had talked to half a dozen of the jail staff and a couple of trusties and left contact numbers with several, including Lieutenant Sitzman. None of it was very helpful. Most said Vinnie was a good guy when he wasn’t high or drunk, which was his usual state when he came to the jail. One jailer said the last time he was arrested, he had bruises all over his body and two black eyes. Vinnie hadn’t told the jailer what happened and the jailer didn’t ask.

I was interested in Vinnie’s bruises. The note said, “You promised.” Maybe Vinnie needed money and was running from a debt collector. The kind that talks with a baseball bat. Lieutenant Sitzman said he could have the medical officer call me when he came to work. With all the right of privacy issues though, he wasn’t sure the medical officer would be able to tell us much.

The visitors log was no help except to verify that Victoria Marsh had visited during Vinnie’s incarceration. She had left a modest amount of money for his commissary account so he could buy snacks or other items. I had the lieutenant look up the amount of money Vinnie carried on the books. It wasn’t much,maybe fifty dollars each time Victoria left money, and it was gone as soon as it was available.

I wondered if Vinnie gambled his money away in jail? I’d learned from our own jail that prisoners would gamble on almost everything by using commissary money. If the loser didn’t have the money to bet with, he’d been found by the jailers after he’d gotten a good beating.

Rebecca says, “The one trusty, Duke I think his name was, wanted money to talk to us. Can you believe it?”

I can. “I gave him my number. Maybe he’ll call.”

My phone chirps. I look at the screen and it shows the jail number, so I answer.

“Detective Carpenter?” the caller says.

“Duke?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He’s whispering and there is laughing in the background. “I can’t talk. Too many guys around. I’m going on an errand for the jail right now. If you can meet me somewhere, I got something you might want.”

I can’t believe this guy.“I’m not paying you, Duke.”

“I don’t want money, ma’am. I liked Vinnie. He was a stand-up guy. A little off, but he was a good guy.”

He gives me an address, and I turn the car around and head back downtown. The location he gave was maybe ten blocks from the jail. When I get there Duke is standing on the street corner waiting for us. We’re in a part of town where you lock your doors and carry a gun. Rebecca is uneasy, but Ronnie has been in worse places. I pull past a car with two flat tires and park. One side of the street is WWII shotgun-style houses; the other side is mostly boarded-up flat-roofed and wood-sided little shops. On the corner where Duke is waiting is a Mom & Pop store that seems to be the only place still in business. Urban renewal has forgotten this street.

Ronnie and I meet Duke at the back of the car. Rebecca stays put.

“Detective Marsh. Detective Carpenter,” he says, and his smile looks like he’s never been introduced to a toothbrush. Duke is early twenties, white, skinny, with greasy brown hair pulled under a red bandana the same color as his rampant case of acne. His arms, face, and neck are covered with tattoos. In other words, the dictionary definition of a scum bag. While we were at the jail, I’d wondered if all these guys were related. Since Duke’s a trusty he’s in street clothes and not the orange jumpsuit that has JAIL printed on back and front. In this case, faded and tattered jeans, black Hard Rock Café T-shirt, and bone-white Reeboks. Despite his looks he speaks intelligently and politely.

“It was wrong of me to ask for money. I want you to know I’m not like that. I only said that so no one would think I was snitching. And I couldn’t tell you anything on the phone. Too many ears. If they knew I talked to you, I’d get hurt. I can take care of myself, but it’s never one-on-one.”

“I understand, Duke.” I don’t care. “You have something to tell me?”

“I’m probably the only friend Vinnie has.”

I look at the car and Rebecca is giving us an expectant look. She wants to go but we’re not done here.

“I’m sure you have to get back. What have you got for us?” He seems a little put-out by my tone of voice but if he doesn’t stop wasting my time I’m going to be put out.

“I know where Vinnie is staying.”

“We have the address, Duke.”

He shakes his head. “The address he gives the police is always wrong. They never check. They just ask where you’re staying and you can tell them anything.”

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