everything from his fists to a roofer’s nail gun; two DUI’s, two possessions—one with intent to deliver; four probation violations; two noncompliance findings, and a couple of protection orders. And that’s just as an adult. He has a nine-count juvenile record that she doesn’t even bother with. By her count, he’s spent fourteen of the last nineteen years in some kind of correctional facility.
She checks to see if Pete Decker is in the can even now. He’s not. In fact, he’s just finished his longest stretch—four years on the possession with intent to deliver. She reads the details. Stupid bastard had only been out of prison for two months when the cops stopped his car and found almost a half-kilo of coke in the backseat. Claimed he “found” the drugs outside his apartment. Hard to imagine how that story didn’t fly.
Caroline writes down the address that Pete has on file with his probation officer. She finds herself hoping that Pete Decker is the victim in this case. A decent lawyer might manage a case for justifiable homicide or self-defense by doing nothing more than presenting Pete Decker’s long record in court. There could even be scenarios in which her Loon was protecting himself, or maybe protecting other people, from the impending violence of this drug dealer Pete Decker.
She jots down Decker’s last known and sends the report to the printer. At her desk she grabs another blank legal pad, and continues on to the interview room. She unlocks the door and sticks her head in. The Loon is still bent overthe legal pad, mouthing words as he writes them. He looks up, already in midapology.
“I’m sorry, Caroline. I know this is taking too long, but I’m really…”
She tosses the new legal pad before he can finish the sentence.
He catches the pad and smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m getting close. Really.”
“It’s almost six,” Caroline tells him. “I’m gonna go out for some breakfast. You want something?”
“Some more coffee would be great. Maybe a cinnamon roll.” He rubs his mouth. “I…uh…I wanted to tell you…”
Caroline steps inside and waits.
He looks embarrassed. “That name I gave you?”
“Pete Decker?”
“Right. That’s not it. That’s not the person…”
“So who is he?”
“Nobody,” the Loon says. He’s lying. “I just wanted to give you a name. I need to get through this and then I’ll tell you everything…I promise. You have to believe me.”
“You want black coffee again?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
“I’m going to have someone from patrol check in on you. And…I’m gonna need your belt and your shoes.”
“My belt and my shoes?”
“I can’t leave you in here with anything you might use…”
“Use for what?” She doesn’t answer, and it takes a few seconds to register on his face. “You think I’m going to hang myself.” He makes it sound like a decent idea.
She just holds out her hand. He removes his belt and shoes and slides them across the table. She looks at the shoes but sees no blood on them. When she looks up he is smiling and she sees it again, that nagging familiarity.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” she asks.
“I’m sure.”
“You just…seem familiar.”
“Trust me,” he says. “I would remember meeting you.”
She is embarrassed and slightly confused by how good this makes her feel.
“My name is Clark.” He says it with great meaning, perhaps as amends forgiving her a phony name for the victim earlier. She has been thinking of him as the Loon, as her Loon, for so long, she has to repeat the name to herself. Clark sticks out his hand and she shakes it. Although Clark isn’t the name that seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, she sees right away that he’s telling the truth and she decides she’s been mistaking him for someone else, that he just has one of those faces.
“Nice to meet you, Clark.”
“I wish it were under different circumstances,” he says.
She thinks, not half
She checks to see if Pete Decker is in the can even now. He’s not. In fact, he’s just finished his longest stretch—four years on the possession with intent to deliver. She reads the details. Stupid bastard had only been out of prison for two months when the cops stopped his car and found almost a half-kilo of coke in the backseat. Claimed he “found” the drugs outside his apartment. Hard to imagine how that story didn’t fly.
Caroline writes down the address that Pete has on file with his probation officer. She finds herself hoping that Pete Decker is the victim in this case. A decent lawyer might manage a case for justifiable homicide or self-defense by doing nothing more than presenting Pete Decker’s long record in court. There could even be scenarios in which her Loon was protecting himself, or maybe protecting other people, from the impending violence of this drug dealer Pete Decker.
She jots down Decker’s last known and sends the report to the printer. At her desk she grabs another blank legal pad, and continues on to the interview room. She unlocks the door and sticks her head in. The Loon is still bent overthe legal pad, mouthing words as he writes them. He looks up, already in midapology.
“I’m sorry, Caroline. I know this is taking too long, but I’m really…”
She tosses the new legal pad before he can finish the sentence.
He catches the pad and smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m getting close. Really.”
“It’s almost six,” Caroline tells him. “I’m gonna go out for some breakfast. You want something?”
“Some more coffee would be great. Maybe a cinnamon roll.” He rubs his mouth. “I…uh…I wanted to tell you…”
Caroline steps inside and waits.
He looks embarrassed. “That name I gave you?”
“Pete Decker?”
“Right. That’s not it. That’s not the person…”
“So who is he?”
“Nobody,” the Loon says. He’s lying. “I just wanted to give you a name. I need to get through this and then I’ll tell you everything…I promise. You have to believe me.”
“You want black coffee again?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
“I’m going to have someone from patrol check in on you. And…I’m gonna need your belt and your shoes.”
“My belt and my shoes?”
“I can’t leave you in here with anything you might use…”
“Use for what?” She doesn’t answer, and it takes a few seconds to register on his face. “You think I’m going to hang myself.” He makes it sound like a decent idea.
She just holds out her hand. He removes his belt and shoes and slides them across the table. She looks at the shoes but sees no blood on them. When she looks up he is smiling and she sees it again, that nagging familiarity.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” she asks.
“I’m sure.”
“You just…seem familiar.”
“Trust me,” he says. “I would remember meeting you.”
She is embarrassed and slightly confused by how good this makes her feel.
“My name is Clark.” He says it with great meaning, perhaps as amends forgiving her a phony name for the victim earlier. She has been thinking of him as the Loon, as her Loon, for so long, she has to repeat the name to herself. Clark sticks out his hand and she shakes it. Although Clark isn’t the name that seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, she sees right away that he’s telling the truth and she decides she’s been mistaking him for someone else, that he just has one of those faces.
“Nice to meet you, Clark.”
“I wish it were under different circumstances,” he says.
She thinks, not half
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