Page 52 of Inside Silence
Warren stays closely behind him, his hand on the butt of his weapon, ready to intervene if necessary. I hope it won’t be.
“Listen, I need you to come back to the station so I can ask you a few questions about an incident today.”
He barks out a harsh laugh, which turns into a phlegmy cough that makes me wince.
“Ask me here,” he finally manages.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeff. You’ve been drinking and I’d prefer it if you were sober.”
Mostly because anything he volunteers or admits to while intoxicated makes for bad evidence. It would be reason for any defense lawyer worth his wages to challenge the validity of the testimony and argue for it to be thrown out of court.
“Then come back tomorrow.”
“You know that’s not the way it works.”
In response, he folds his arms and stares stubbornly into the fire.
There is no doubt he’d be long gone by the time we got here, and there is no way in hell I’m going to risk losing him at this point. I have my plate full with what is going on in town right now, and it would be nice to be able to scratch one investigation off my list.
Since he is clear about not coming voluntarily, we ultimately have no choice but to put Sanchuk in handcuffs and march him back to where we left our vehicles. He doesn’t resist, but appears to dig his heels in when he catches sight of my dad’s Bronco.
“Had to call in your daddy, didn’t you?” he taunts me. “Scared to face me alone, little girl?”
It requires a tremendous amount of restraint for me not to take the bait. It’s so damn tempting to exert my power over him, but that would only make his day and turn me into another bully.
“Come on, let’s go, Jeff,” Warren urges him toward the vehicles. “You’re only digging yourself a deeper hole.”
“Put him in the back of mine,” I instruct him. “Mr. Sanchuk can hitch a ride with me.”
Warren places him in the back of my cruiser and shuts the door. Then he turns to me.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asks in a low voice.
“Yep.”
“He’ll probably be mouthing off at you the entire ride,” he warns.
“I know.”
It’s what I’m counting on, and once he realizes he’s not getting the reaction he’s hoping for from me, he’s going to get annoyed and hopefully won’t be as careful with the things he spews. I’ll be listening and will have the camera attached to my rearview mirror running the entire fifteen minutes it’ll take to get back to the station. Any information I’m able to glean may not be enough for the DA, but it may give me the leverage I need when I officially question him in the morning. After he sobers up.
“That’s what I’m going for,” I confess with a grin.
Before I get into my vehicle though, I walk over to my father’s Bronco. Credit to him, it doesn’t look like he’s moved from his spot behind the wheel. He rolls down his window when he sees me approach.
“What’s going on?”
“He’s blotto. Had his rifle on us so we had to pull our weapons, but it all ended a little anticlimactically, since he’s drunk. So, I’m taking him in, letting him sleep it off in a holding cell, and questioning him in the morning.”
He nods, his eyes on the back of my cruiser where you can just see the outline of Sanchuk’s head through the back window.
“I appreciate your concern, but as you can see, we have it well in hand. Go home, Dad.”
He nods, but when I drive away moments later I notice his Bronco falling in line behind my cruiser and Warren’s.
Stubborn old coot.
For the first couple of minutes, I assume Jeff must’ve dozed off; there is not a peep from the back seat. So when he suddenly starts talking, it startles me for a moment.
