Page 55 of Holding On to a Hero
Ranger Ramirez:You mean, when you tried to warn Cole Washburn about getting shot?
Steadham: Well, sure, I DM’d him, since he was the one who was going to get shot. But I figured he gets wackos contacting him all the time, so I needed to warn the police too. I called Austin PD that same day. They spoke to me like they thought I was an idiot.
Detective Ochoa:I’m sorry about that, Mr. Steadham. We’ll look into it.
Ranger Ramirez:Mr. Steadham, you warned Cole Washburn about getting shot the day before it actually happened. How did you know he was going to get shot?
Steadham: Well, Ranger Ramirez, as I already explained in full detail to Austin’s finest, I get visions sometimes about people, but usually only if I’ve seen them in person or, in the case of my online friends, over video calls. Cole Washburn’s the first actor I’ve had a vision about. That night I’d had a vision of him running toward the door of a house and someone was running behind him, but in a protective way, like a bodyguard, not chasing him, you know? In my vision I was standing next to the door to the house, and I could see somebody with a rifle across the road. They shot both Cole Washburn and the bodyguard, and both of them fell to the ground just as they got to the door.
Detective Ochoa:Can you describe the shooter or the bodyguard from your vision?
Steadham:No. If I haven’t met or seen someone, I can’t see their faces or bodies really. They just look kind of blank. So that means I haven’t met or seen either of them. They might not even be men – I’m just guessing that they were.
Ranger Ramirez: How often do you have these visions?
Steadham: About once every couple of months, but they’re usually something innocuous, like the one I had about my friend Stevie meeting a girl and really bombing with her.
Detective Ochoa: And have you had any other visions about Cole Washburn since the one that prompted your email?
Steadham: Yes. The night after the shooting.
Detective Ochoa: And what was that vision?
Steadham:He was standing next to an SUV in someone’s garage hugging an Asian-looking guy who was wearing a t-shirt that saidBronyand a purple silk robe.
Detective Ochoa: Um, okay, so you could see the guy he was hugging?
Steadham:I didn’t recognize him, but apparently I’ve seen him somewhere. Maybe he’s an actor too?
Ranger Ramirez:Mr. Steadham, can you please tell us your whereabouts on Thursday the seventh of October between 6am and 10am?
Steadham:[Sighs] I was at home. By myself. I work from home.
Detective Ochoa:Mr. Steadham, we have a warrant to search your house. It will go better for you if you tell us now. Do you own any guns?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Will
Ochoa waited for me until I could straighten up and walk out of the interrogation room. He led me through what must be their version of a stereotypical bullpen, ten or so desks in pairs scattered over an open space surrounded by offices. Ochoa pointed to one of the desk pairs and told me to sit while he spoke to Ramirez. The chair was a lot more comfortable than the one in the interrogation room, and it was much warmer out here.
No word from Brian yet, so I texted him that my interview was done. He responded almost immediately.
Brian Shelton: Good. I have most of your arrangements in place but it will be around 7am before my guy can come pick you up. His name is Malcolm. He’s wearing a cast on one leg.
Me: Thanks. I appreciate your help.
Brian Shelton: Of course. Also, you’ll have to give Malcolm your phone and any other electronic devices you have. You can call your sister to let her know what’s happening, but I wouldn’t call anyone else.
Well, shit.
* * *
I set my phone alarm to wake me a little before 7:00am, then dozed as best I could in Callahan’s desk chair. He and Ochoa were in and out of meetings, but I managed to tune out most of the noise. I hadn’t expected so many people to be around in the middle of the night, but of course crime doesn’t wait for cops to get a good night’s sleep.
When the alarm went off I was able to stand up with only minimal pain. Not wanting to put on a show, I waited until I was in the men’s room to stretch my back out. I took the opportunity to wash my face, since I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to shower next. My appearance had not magically improved, but at least I felt a little more ready for whatever came next.
Back out in the bullpen I discovered my rescuer had arrived. Malcolm – because he couldn’t have been anyone else – was talking to Ochoa and Callahan near their desks. He was handsome, around forty or so with a full beard and a little gray at his temples. He was probably over six feet tall and broad across the chest and shoulders. The strap of his black messenger bag crossed over a light blue dress shirt, and he wore a pair of black chinos which had the right leg cut off to accommodate the cast Brian had mentioned.
