could prove that a dirtbag like Frank
Derringer had brutalized a thirteen-year-old heroin addict and prostitute in a Buick built while we were still making out under the Grant High School bleachers.
For the first time, I was seeing Chuck Forbes as a man, not as an icon of a glorious time in my life that was over. I felt tears in my eyes, blindsided by the sad realization that Chuck and I were no longer kids and by the profound honor I felt upon finding myself walking a common path with him as adults.
I hate that I get so sappy when I’m tired.
I must have made a noise, because Chuck stopped reading and looked over his shoulder. Swinging his chair around, he said, “Hey, you, what’s the matter? Did something happen when you were with Kendra?”
I swallowed and got ahold of myself. “No, everything’s fine. Just zoning out.”
“Good job with her tonight,” he said. “It was nice to see you act like yourself with someone on the job. Seemed to work, too.”
“How’s the warrant coming?”
I’d ignored his comment, and he had the good sense to pretend not to notice. “Good. I’m done and just went over it again. If it’s alright with you, I incorporated by reference all the affidavits from the warrant for Derringer’s place, then I drafted a quick affidavit containing all the new info we got tonight.”
“That should be fine. Does the warrant authorize removal of the seats and carpet if that’s what the crime lab needs to do to look for blood?”
“Yeah, it’s got the works. The car will be in pieces by the time the lab’s done with it.”
“What did you find out about the registration?”
“Plate comes back to a guy named” he grabbed a computer printout from his desktop “Carl Sommers. Last time it was registered with DMV was a couple of years ago. The tags expire next month. Anyway, Sommers filed a statement of sale with DMV about seven months ago saying he sold the car to a guy named Jimmy Huber.”
“What’s a statement of sale?”
“It’s just a piece of paper from the registered owner saying he doesn’t own the car anymore. It’s a CYA thing in case the buyer doesn’t re-register the car. Anyway, Sommers’s sheet is clean, and it looks like this Huber guy never did register the car.”
“What do we know about Huber?”
“Hold your horses, now. I’m getting there. I ran Huber in PPDS. He looks like a shit. Couple of drug pops and a bunch of shoplifting arrests and domestic beefs. He just checked into Inverness in December to do a six-month stint for kicking his girlfriend in the head in front of their baby.”
“Nice guy. What’s his car doing on Milwaukee?” The Portland Police Data System is a fountain of data derived from police reports.
“That’s the good part. Looks like he knows Derringer’s brother, Derrick. PPDS shows Derrick and Huber together as custody associates on a disc on last summer at the Rose Festival.”
Your average drunken delinquent has at least a few downtown arrests for disorderly conduct. For a certain type of man, the party hasn’t begun until you’re screaming and puking your guts out in an overnight holding cell.
As I looked over the PPDS printouts for Huber and Derrick Derringer, something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I started thinking out loud. “So, Huber knows Derringer through his brother and sold him the car. But Derringer was still in prison when Huber got hauled off to Inverness.”
“Right, but he could’ve given the car to the brother, who then gives it to Frank when he gets out. The exact mechanics don’t really matter. The point is we can tie the car to Derringer through his brother.”
He was right. In my exhaustion, I was losing sight of the big picture and, as usual, convincing myself that I was missing something. “No, you’re right. It’s good. You put that in your affidavit?”
“Yeah. I think I’m done with it. You want to read it and get out of here? You look tired.”
“I
Derringer had brutalized a thirteen-year-old heroin addict and prostitute in a Buick built while we were still making out under the Grant High School bleachers.
For the first time, I was seeing Chuck Forbes as a man, not as an icon of a glorious time in my life that was over. I felt tears in my eyes, blindsided by the sad realization that Chuck and I were no longer kids and by the profound honor I felt upon finding myself walking a common path with him as adults.
I hate that I get so sappy when I’m tired.
I must have made a noise, because Chuck stopped reading and looked over his shoulder. Swinging his chair around, he said, “Hey, you, what’s the matter? Did something happen when you were with Kendra?”
I swallowed and got ahold of myself. “No, everything’s fine. Just zoning out.”
“Good job with her tonight,” he said. “It was nice to see you act like yourself with someone on the job. Seemed to work, too.”
“How’s the warrant coming?”
I’d ignored his comment, and he had the good sense to pretend not to notice. “Good. I’m done and just went over it again. If it’s alright with you, I incorporated by reference all the affidavits from the warrant for Derringer’s place, then I drafted a quick affidavit containing all the new info we got tonight.”
“That should be fine. Does the warrant authorize removal of the seats and carpet if that’s what the crime lab needs to do to look for blood?”
“Yeah, it’s got the works. The car will be in pieces by the time the lab’s done with it.”
“What did you find out about the registration?”
“Plate comes back to a guy named” he grabbed a computer printout from his desktop “Carl Sommers. Last time it was registered with DMV was a couple of years ago. The tags expire next month. Anyway, Sommers filed a statement of sale with DMV about seven months ago saying he sold the car to a guy named Jimmy Huber.”
“What’s a statement of sale?”
“It’s just a piece of paper from the registered owner saying he doesn’t own the car anymore. It’s a CYA thing in case the buyer doesn’t re-register the car. Anyway, Sommers’s sheet is clean, and it looks like this Huber guy never did register the car.”
“What do we know about Huber?”
“Hold your horses, now. I’m getting there. I ran Huber in PPDS. He looks like a shit. Couple of drug pops and a bunch of shoplifting arrests and domestic beefs. He just checked into Inverness in December to do a six-month stint for kicking his girlfriend in the head in front of their baby.”
“Nice guy. What’s his car doing on Milwaukee?” The Portland Police Data System is a fountain of data derived from police reports.
“That’s the good part. Looks like he knows Derringer’s brother, Derrick. PPDS shows Derrick and Huber together as custody associates on a disc on last summer at the Rose Festival.”
Your average drunken delinquent has at least a few downtown arrests for disorderly conduct. For a certain type of man, the party hasn’t begun until you’re screaming and puking your guts out in an overnight holding cell.
As I looked over the PPDS printouts for Huber and Derrick Derringer, something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I started thinking out loud. “So, Huber knows Derringer through his brother and sold him the car. But Derringer was still in prison when Huber got hauled off to Inverness.”
“Right, but he could’ve given the car to the brother, who then gives it to Frank when he gets out. The exact mechanics don’t really matter. The point is we can tie the car to Derringer through his brother.”
He was right. In my exhaustion, I was losing sight of the big picture and, as usual, convincing myself that I was missing something. “No, you’re right. It’s good. You put that in your affidavit?”
“Yeah. I think I’m done with it. You want to read it and get out of here? You look tired.”
“I
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