Page 124 of Secrets Along the Shore
Sheriff Vickers gave me permission to conduct this interview for his department as part of the investigation into the new murder. District Attorney March wants me here, since I’m the one who’ll be working to bolster the case once it gets turned over. They both told me to handle this however I see fit, the goal being to get Fogerty to confess.
It’s a tall order. Though on the outside it appears I’m doing nothing as I wait, inside I’m fervently praying that Fogerty’s confession is exactly what I’ll be able to deliver.
After ten minutes, the heavy metal door opens and Fogerty shuffles in, one set of chains securing his ankles, another his wrists, with thetwo sets linked by yet another chain. The two officers accompanying Fogerty put him down in a chair across from me, on the opposite side of the table. Using a small padlock, they secure a short chain extending from his handcuffs to a steel loop bolted to the table’s surface.
The whole time they’re doing this, Fogerty is grinning at me maniacally.
I wish I could walk out of here. Walk out and never lay eyes on Fogerty again. But this is our chance to hear straight from the mouth of the devil, and I’m determined to get him to tell me what he did to the poor woman lying in that sad, shallow grave at the cliff.
I don’t know the corrections officer on Fogerty’s right, a hulking man with biceps bursting from his shirt cuffs. He introduces himself as Officer Dalton and explains what’s going to happen next, and where I should and shouldn’t move within the room.
Basically, if I keep my seat and my hands to myself, Fogerty won’t be able to get to me.
Why doesn’t that make me feel better?
“You gonna be okay in here?” Officer Dalton asks me, as the other officer exits.
“She’ll be right as rain,” Fogerty says, still grinning, then winks.
“Hey!” Officer Dalton’s bark is so loud I twitch in my seat. The grin on Fogerty’s face doesn’t even slide. “I wasn’t talking to you! Keep your mouth shut until spoken to!”
Officer Dalton turns his attention back to me. “We’ll be right outside,” he says, jabbing a finger at the hallway. “If you need anything, if this guy doesanythingto make you uncomfortable, just call out. Same for when you’re ready to go.”
“Thanks.”
“And remember”—Officer Dalton eyes me intently—“no crossing the table, okay?”
I nod again. “Got it.”
He doesn’t have to worry. The three-foot gap between me and Fogerty is the closest I’ll ever be to this maniac.
When the metal door closes behind Officer Dalton, a chilly unease settles over the room, as if his departure has raised the stakes somehow. Fogerty’s stare bores through me, but Istraighten, drop my shoulders, and return it with everything I’ve got. I refuse to let him rile me—or at least, I refuse to let him think he has.
You’ve got a job to do, Walsh. Do it.
“I’m glad you came,” he says before I can take the reins.
“I’ll bet. Why am I here?” I snap, hoping that getting to the point curbs his personal banter and shifts him to the only topic I’m interested in.
“Simple. I wanted you here, and you came. I usually get what I want.”
“Well…no. You’re sitting in jail, so I’m thinking youdidn’tget what you wanted yesterday.” I shouldn’t antagonize him, but sometimes my mouth gets the better of me.
He snorts, apparently amused rather than put off. He laces his fingers and starts to rest his elbows on the table, but the short slack of the chain prevents it. Seemingly unfazed, Fogerty drops his hands, one corner of his mouth drifting up.
“Why am I here, Fogerty?” I ask.
“I heard you found another girl.”
“How did you hear we found anotherwoman?”
“Little birdie told me.”
“Care to share the name of this birdie?”
“Nah. Couldn’t do that. That’d be doin’ yer job for ya.” He cocks his head. “Your hair sure looks pretty today. Whad’ya call that color, anyway? Brownish, with them lighter bits?—”
I press into the back of the metal chair and inhale a deep breath. “One more comment about me—one—and I walk out the door along with whatever twisted satisfaction you hope to squeeze out of today’s meeting. You got me?”
