Page 43 of Cougar Point

THIRTY-ONE

We drive out to the jail, arriving around five thirty. It’s a depressing hunk of concrete garlanded with barbed wire that is smaller but otherwise pretty much indistinguishable from the one I visited my mother in the other day. The guards don’t smile or acknowledge us. We’re just three more bodies to be counted in.

We go through all the usual security and then sit in the little café; killing time until visiting hours are over. Ronnie and Rebecca spend the time chatting, distractedly catching up with each other’s lives, but neither one’s mind is on anything but the revelations plaguing them.

A crowd of women come in, chatting about incarcerated family members and how they were innocent, or guilty, or the same old assholes that they don’t feel sorry for. Visiting hours are over and we approach the deputies at the metal detectors. We have to surrender our weapons this time in order to enter the jail. One deputy operates the metal detector while two others watch us. Of course the machine blats and the two deputies’ hands rest on their sidearms. Ronnie and I show our badges, and Rebecca shows her Washington State Bar card. The deputies relax, and the one running the machine smiles andsays, “Sergeant Lucas said you’d be coming. You need to put any weapons, change, bags, knives, anything metal in the locker over there and take the key. Who are you here to see?”

Sergeant Lucas can kiss my ass. He’s probably watching us and laughing at our discomfort.

Before I can answer a tall man in uniform comes off an elevator and says, “It’s okay. They’re with me.”

The deputy gives the man a semi-salute and motions us forward.

“I’m Captain Roberts, the jail commander. You need to lock everything up and then we can go to my office upstairs.”

Roberts is a head taller than us. His wrinkled face and head of white hair gives his age away but he appears to be in good physical shape evidenced by the corded muscles in his forearms. “Captain Roberts, I’m Megan Carpenter. Ronnie and Rebecca Marsh,” I say by way of introduction and to save time.

After putting a death grip on our hands, he says, “I’m aware. Charlie Longbow is a good friend of mine. I know a lady working in your sheriff office. Nan something. I never knew her last name but, boy, can she put away the margaritas.”

“Yeah, that’s our Nan,” I say. “We call her Margarita.”

He chuckles. “I know you’re telling a fib but it’s funny. When you get home tell her Roberts says hello and she should call me if she gets back up this way.”

I think I’m going to be sick. He’s talking about S-E-X and that word doesn’t mix with my image of Nan. 1970s hairdo, thick lipstick that comes off on her teeth, beady eyes. Not really, but she’s a pain in my ass and nosy to the point of needing a search warrant or being arrested if she goes through my desk again. I’m almost to the point of using crime scene tape to warn her off.

We step on the elevator with the captain and he says, “Lucas had good things to say about you. To what do we have the pleasure of this visit?”

And here I thought Lucas put out “Shoot on sight” bulletins on us to all law enforcement.

“We’re looking into a missing person case,” I say.

Roberts turns to Rebecca. “You’re Jack Marsh’s daughter. The attorney.”

“That’s me. Ronnie is my sister. Our mom is missing and we hope you can help us find her.”

“Lucas said you might want to talk to some of the jail staff.”

“And maybe some of the inmates, if possible,” I say.

“If you follow me to my office, I’ll see what we can do. I don’t have much time but I’ll have one of my lieutenants take care of you.”

We get off the elevator at the second floor. His office is accessed by a steel door operated by a deputy after verifying our identities via camera. The heavy steel door slowly slides back, and we follow him down a long hallway to an office at the end. The door rolls shut behind us and slams with a thunderous finality. I wonder how many times my mother has heard that sound. I wonder if it even bothers her.

The captain’s office is even more minimal than Sheriff Longbow’s. On the wall behind the desk are framed pictures of Roberts shaking hands with two ex-presidents, another showing him getting an award from President Bush senior. On an opposite wall facing the desk are pictures of Roberts and Longbow displaying a swordfish longer than Roberts is tall. In his fishing shorts I notice Longbow is slightly bowlegged with a thick jagged scar running the length of his shin from ankle to knee. Next to that is one of Lucas and Longbow on either side of a smaller swordfish. Longbow and Roberts are wearing orgasmic smiles. Lucas still wears the trademark frown.

I say, “Fishing buddies?”

“Longbow and I are stepbrothers. We were raised together on the Lummi Nation Reservation. His dad married my mom.”He tells us to have a seat and he gets on his phone. He relays what he needs into the phone and a harried-looking jail matron brings in several heavy logbooks. “That’ll be all for now, Trish.” She leaves and pulls the door shut.

Casting a bemused glance at the twelve pounds of paper that’s just been dropped on the desk, I venture: “You don’t have this on a database?”

“Of course we do,” Roberts says. “But I insist it’s all printed out and bound as well, and Trish does a damn fine job on it.”

As Roberts opens one of the books and begins flipping pages, I exchange a meaningful glance with Ronnie, and hope that Trish has a good health plan to cover all of that heavy lifting.

Roberts stops and turns the book facing our direction.

“Vincent Anthony Lombardi is a frequent flyer. Battery, robbery, dealing, possession, assault on a police officer, theft, drunk and disorderly, and several other small-time things. He was a trusty; that’s a prisoner who is allowed to leave the jail for short periods to run errands for the jail.”

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