plainclothes detectives—the same two who had interviewed Madison at the hospital—charged into the office behind her.
“Conrad Goldstein?” the taller one asked.
Conrad gently moved around me, standing so that he blocked my view of the room.
“Yes?”
“You’re under arrest,” the younger man said, grabbing Conrad’s arm, pulling him into the center of the room, and turning him to face me. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began, making me feel as though I had suddenly fallen into a bad rerun of Law and Order.
“What’s this about?” Conrad asked, as the detective snapped handcuffs around his wrists.
The detective ignored him, preferring to finish reading him his rights.
I jumped to my feet, beginning to wonder how much more of this day I could take.
“You have to tell him what the charges are,” I announced, not even sure I was right, but pretending I was.
The tall detective looked at me over his partner’s head. “You were there at the hospital, weren’t you?” He opened the notepad he seemed to always have in his hand, again reminding me of a television detective. “Mellissa Anderson?”
I nodded.
“You were the intended victim. Funny finding you here.”
“What is this about?” I demanded again.
The detective looked from me to Conrad, an odd smile on his lips. “Your boyfriend is being arrested under suspicion of orchestrating Miss Miller’s kidnapping.”
Again that feeling of being doused with ice water.
Could my life possibly get any worse?
Chapter Nine
“I called his lawyer.”
“Good. Do you have a car?”
The pretty secretary stared at me for a second, as though she didn’t understand simple English.
“A car,” I repeated. “We should probably go down to the police station and see if we can expedite his release.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, turning around. “I do.”
She wandered to her desk a little too slowly, as though she were in the midst of shock, or something. It reminded me vaguely of the day Uncle Mike told Memaw and me that he was going to jail. Memaw had the same distracted, unable-to-concentrate attitude for a full two days afterward. But when the FBI actually came to the house and made the arrest, she was a rock. She knew exactly what to do, who to call, and how to handle the whole thing.
I wished I could call her now and ask her to come fix this for me.
“Here,” Conrad’s secretary said, holding out a set of keys. “You should be the one to go.”
My southern upbringing told me that I should refuse, but I didn’t have time to fight with her. So I grabbed the keys and rushed toward the door, aware of Conrad’s employees standing in the hallway, wondering to each other why their fearless leader was just marched out of here in handcuffs.
I didn’t stop to ask what kind of car the secretary drove. Thank God for the little fobs with the remote lock/unlock buttons and the little red alarm button. I found it in a breeze, a Ford Fiat that looked like it had seen better days. But it got me to the police station without too much trouble, just a rough idle at stop lights. I should mention it to her when I returned it…
The lobby of the police station was crowded. I half expected to find Conrad sitting on a bench there, but he was nowhere to be seen. I stood in line for nearly fifteen minutes before I was finally able to ask the desk sergeant where Conrad was.
“He hasn’t been processed yet. Take a seat. Someone will come out and speak to you when he is.”
Great.
My cellphone rang as I turned away. Russell. It was then that I realized that I hadn’t called work to let them know I would be running late. Not that I was going to need this job after this week. I could quit today and it wouldn’t make much difference. But there was still that southern upbringing…I didn’t want to leave Einstein and Russell in a bind.
“Hey, Russell,” I said, stepping out the door to avoid the noise in the lobby. “I’m sorry, I should
“Conrad Goldstein?” the taller one asked.
Conrad gently moved around me, standing so that he blocked my view of the room.
“Yes?”
“You’re under arrest,” the younger man said, grabbing Conrad’s arm, pulling him into the center of the room, and turning him to face me. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began, making me feel as though I had suddenly fallen into a bad rerun of Law and Order.
“What’s this about?” Conrad asked, as the detective snapped handcuffs around his wrists.
The detective ignored him, preferring to finish reading him his rights.
I jumped to my feet, beginning to wonder how much more of this day I could take.
“You have to tell him what the charges are,” I announced, not even sure I was right, but pretending I was.
The tall detective looked at me over his partner’s head. “You were there at the hospital, weren’t you?” He opened the notepad he seemed to always have in his hand, again reminding me of a television detective. “Mellissa Anderson?”
I nodded.
“You were the intended victim. Funny finding you here.”
“What is this about?” I demanded again.
The detective looked from me to Conrad, an odd smile on his lips. “Your boyfriend is being arrested under suspicion of orchestrating Miss Miller’s kidnapping.”
Again that feeling of being doused with ice water.
Could my life possibly get any worse?
Chapter Nine
“I called his lawyer.”
“Good. Do you have a car?”
The pretty secretary stared at me for a second, as though she didn’t understand simple English.
“A car,” I repeated. “We should probably go down to the police station and see if we can expedite his release.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, turning around. “I do.”
She wandered to her desk a little too slowly, as though she were in the midst of shock, or something. It reminded me vaguely of the day Uncle Mike told Memaw and me that he was going to jail. Memaw had the same distracted, unable-to-concentrate attitude for a full two days afterward. But when the FBI actually came to the house and made the arrest, she was a rock. She knew exactly what to do, who to call, and how to handle the whole thing.
I wished I could call her now and ask her to come fix this for me.
“Here,” Conrad’s secretary said, holding out a set of keys. “You should be the one to go.”
My southern upbringing told me that I should refuse, but I didn’t have time to fight with her. So I grabbed the keys and rushed toward the door, aware of Conrad’s employees standing in the hallway, wondering to each other why their fearless leader was just marched out of here in handcuffs.
I didn’t stop to ask what kind of car the secretary drove. Thank God for the little fobs with the remote lock/unlock buttons and the little red alarm button. I found it in a breeze, a Ford Fiat that looked like it had seen better days. But it got me to the police station without too much trouble, just a rough idle at stop lights. I should mention it to her when I returned it…
The lobby of the police station was crowded. I half expected to find Conrad sitting on a bench there, but he was nowhere to be seen. I stood in line for nearly fifteen minutes before I was finally able to ask the desk sergeant where Conrad was.
“He hasn’t been processed yet. Take a seat. Someone will come out and speak to you when he is.”
Great.
My cellphone rang as I turned away. Russell. It was then that I realized that I hadn’t called work to let them know I would be running late. Not that I was going to need this job after this week. I could quit today and it wouldn’t make much difference. But there was still that southern upbringing…I didn’t want to leave Einstein and Russell in a bind.
“Hey, Russell,” I said, stepping out the door to avoid the noise in the lobby. “I’m sorry, I should
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