up next on my introduction to the penal system. The
fingerprinting, the mug shot, then off for processing, where I'd
sit until my arraignment. I doubted they'd grant me bail. They
probably didn't do that in a murder case.
At least I'd get to call Ginny.
She'd help me. I'd have to wait until they let me use a phone. Then
something happened. Williams left his office, and he was heading
straight for me. I had thought that he had looked tall in his
office. But now, as he approached, he looked like a
giant.
I wasn't going to stand when he
arrived at the cell. I wasn't going to show him one ounce of
respect. He didn't deserve it.
"Mr. Slade," he said.
"Yeah," I said, laid out on the
concrete bench, my hands behind my head.
"How do you like your
accommodations so far?" he asked.
"Wonderful," I answered. "I guess
I have you to thank."
"You can thank yourself. You were
the one who got yourself into this mess."
"I didn't do anything," I
said.
"That's what they all say," he
said.
I ignored him. I wasn't going to
argue with this man. My words meant nothing to him. All he cared
about was hanging someone for Ted's murder. Unfortunately, he was
trying to make me that someone.
"I know you murdered Ted Baxter.
And the nonsense you're feeding Detective Carrington isn't getting
you anywhere."
I was still lying on the bench,
eyes closed, hands behind my head, but now I was seething inside. I
wanted to sit up, walk over to Williams, and spit in his face. But
I couldn't do that. I also knew that saying nothing was the best
option. I fought back all of my impulses and lay there.
Williams continued, "Just sit
tight for a little while longer and we'll get you processed and
shipped out. Bus comes at five."
He turned and walked back into his office.
I was in big trouble. I closed my eyes and pictured
what tonight was going to entail as I was moved into a real jail.
Everything that floated through my head was terrible. I opened my
eyes and sat up. All I could do was wait.
I stared blankly, for the next two hours or so, out
at the five offices in front of me. Williams never again left his
office. He spent most of the time looking down at his desk, writing
something. Occasionally, he picked up the phone. Spoke for a brief
moment and then hung up.
Carrington was nowhere to be found. He had
disappeared. The cops at the scattered desks came and went. Never
in a hurry. And I just sat in my cell. Waiting.
Eventually Carrington reappeared.
He walked back into his office and picked up the phone. He was
animated. His hands waving as he spoke. After a few moments he hung
up, stood from his desk, and walked out of his office and knocked
on Williams' door.
He went in, shut the door, and the
two of them spoke. This time there wasn't a heated exchange.
Carrington was sitting across from Williams and they appeared to be
having a civil conversation. After a few minutes, Carrington got up
from the seat, opened the door, and walked out. Heading toward
me.
When he arrived at the bars, he looked at me and hit
the big green button. The doors slid open.
"Let's go," he said. He grabbed my
arm and started escorting me through the station.
"Where are we going?"
He didn't answer.
"I want to know where you are
taking me."
He kept walking, holding me by the
upper bicep. "Shut up."
Within a minute it was clear where we were heading.
He pushed open the door, the frigid air hitting me like a punch,
and walked me right out onto the front steps of the police
station.
"I don't think you killed Ted," he
said as he let go of my arm.
He had helped me. He was lobbying for me. Williams
had just about said as much. Somehow Carrington had manipulated the
system and bought me some time.
"I didn't," I said.
"But you've got a problem.
Williams, the sergeant, thinks you did it. And he's hellbent on
making sure that you have a permanent home behind bars."
"But the story doesn't add
up."
"Doesn't matter. He thinks it
does. And he's going to make sure the prosecutors
fingerprinting, the mug shot, then off for processing, where I'd
sit until my arraignment. I doubted they'd grant me bail. They
probably didn't do that in a murder case.
At least I'd get to call Ginny.
She'd help me. I'd have to wait until they let me use a phone. Then
something happened. Williams left his office, and he was heading
straight for me. I had thought that he had looked tall in his
office. But now, as he approached, he looked like a
giant.
I wasn't going to stand when he
arrived at the cell. I wasn't going to show him one ounce of
respect. He didn't deserve it.
"Mr. Slade," he said.
"Yeah," I said, laid out on the
concrete bench, my hands behind my head.
"How do you like your
accommodations so far?" he asked.
"Wonderful," I answered. "I guess
I have you to thank."
"You can thank yourself. You were
the one who got yourself into this mess."
"I didn't do anything," I
said.
"That's what they all say," he
said.
I ignored him. I wasn't going to
argue with this man. My words meant nothing to him. All he cared
about was hanging someone for Ted's murder. Unfortunately, he was
trying to make me that someone.
"I know you murdered Ted Baxter.
And the nonsense you're feeding Detective Carrington isn't getting
you anywhere."
I was still lying on the bench,
eyes closed, hands behind my head, but now I was seething inside. I
wanted to sit up, walk over to Williams, and spit in his face. But
I couldn't do that. I also knew that saying nothing was the best
option. I fought back all of my impulses and lay there.
Williams continued, "Just sit
tight for a little while longer and we'll get you processed and
shipped out. Bus comes at five."
He turned and walked back into his office.
I was in big trouble. I closed my eyes and pictured
what tonight was going to entail as I was moved into a real jail.
Everything that floated through my head was terrible. I opened my
eyes and sat up. All I could do was wait.
I stared blankly, for the next two hours or so, out
at the five offices in front of me. Williams never again left his
office. He spent most of the time looking down at his desk, writing
something. Occasionally, he picked up the phone. Spoke for a brief
moment and then hung up.
Carrington was nowhere to be found. He had
disappeared. The cops at the scattered desks came and went. Never
in a hurry. And I just sat in my cell. Waiting.
Eventually Carrington reappeared.
He walked back into his office and picked up the phone. He was
animated. His hands waving as he spoke. After a few moments he hung
up, stood from his desk, and walked out of his office and knocked
on Williams' door.
He went in, shut the door, and the
two of them spoke. This time there wasn't a heated exchange.
Carrington was sitting across from Williams and they appeared to be
having a civil conversation. After a few minutes, Carrington got up
from the seat, opened the door, and walked out. Heading toward
me.
When he arrived at the bars, he looked at me and hit
the big green button. The doors slid open.
"Let's go," he said. He grabbed my
arm and started escorting me through the station.
"Where are we going?"
He didn't answer.
"I want to know where you are
taking me."
He kept walking, holding me by the
upper bicep. "Shut up."
Within a minute it was clear where we were heading.
He pushed open the door, the frigid air hitting me like a punch,
and walked me right out onto the front steps of the police
station.
"I don't think you killed Ted," he
said as he let go of my arm.
He had helped me. He was lobbying for me. Williams
had just about said as much. Somehow Carrington had manipulated the
system and bought me some time.
"I didn't," I said.
"But you've got a problem.
Williams, the sergeant, thinks you did it. And he's hellbent on
making sure that you have a permanent home behind bars."
"But the story doesn't add
up."
"Doesn't matter. He thinks it
does. And he's going to make sure the prosecutors
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