Vicious Cycle (7 page)

She was quiet for a moment, but he knew she was crying, and it made him feel helpless. “In my wildest dreams, I never thought Lance would be in jail. He’s a good kid. He meant to help her …”

“Barbara, just hold on. I’m on my way, okay? Get Lance an attorney immediately, and demand to be present during the interview.”

“I can do that?”

“It’s up to them. But at the very least, you can watch. Don’t let him talk until the attorney gets there. He’s a minor and you’re his mother, so you have the right to demand that.”

“But won’t that make him look guilty? I want him to be able to tell them what happened.”

“He can tell them with the attorney there. Barbara, there’s no hurry. The baby’s in the hospital. Tell him to take his time and wait for the lawyer.”

“It’s Saturday night. What if I can’t get one here tonight? He’ll have to stay in jail, won’t he?”

He didn’t want to say it, but he had to. “Probably. But let’s not cross that bridge until we come to it. Do you know somebody you can call?”

“Yes, there’s an attorney at church who’s a good friend.”

“Call him, then.”

He glanced at the apartment’s entrance; the investigators were bringing out bags of logged evidence. “I’ll call you when I have an arrival time. What airport can we fly into?”

She hesitated a moment. “Jefferson City Memorial, I guess. Or Garrison, a smaller private airport.”

“All right, we’ll probably use that one.”

“What do I do in the meantime? Should I stay at the police station? Should I go talk to Jordan? They haven’t told me anything about bail.”

“They have to wait for a judge to decide. The attorney can get some answers for you.” He wished he lived closer. Atlanta was way too far from Jefferson City. “Just stay at the station until you’re sure they won’t let you bond him out, then go home until I call. Don’t go to Jordan’s. Do you hear me? Wait until I can go with you.”

He hoped his coming would make things easier for her. She’d carried too many burdens alone. Maybe they didn’t have a full-fledged relationship yet — not the kind he
wanted — but they were friends. He had to be there for her, and for Lance. She was right. Lance was a good kid. Not the kind who deserved a night in jail.

He started his car and pulled out of the parking space. Andy, his partner, tapped on his window. “Where you goin’, man?”

“I have a family emergency,” he said. “I have to take some personal days.”

Andy frowned. “Your brother okay?”

“I didn’t say it was my family. I’ll call the chief on the way to the airport. You can handle this case. It’s a no-brainer.”

Andy chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. When will you be back?”

“When the emergency is over.”

He glanced in his mirror as he drove off. Andy stood with his hands on his hips, watching him drive away. Kent hit a speed-dial button on his phone.

His buddy Blake answered quickly. “Hey, Kent! What’s up?”

“Blake, I need a favor. Can you fly me to Missouri tonight?”

Blake, who was in the men’s group at the church Kent had been attending for the last year, owned a Cessna 182. He’d just gotten his instrument rating, and he loved any excuse to fly.

“Yeah, I guess I could. Can’t wait till tomorrow?”

“No. Barbara’s having a crisis.”

“Another one? Her daughter hasn’t relapsed, has she?”

“No, not that. But she needs my help.”

He heard the smile in Blake’s voice. “Did she call you and ask you to come?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s good, right? Means you’re important to her.”

“I’m the only cop she knows. Still …”

“You got it, man. I can be there in about an hour. Can you meet me then?”

“Perfect. How long will the flight take?”

“A few hours. We may have to make a stop for fuel.”

“Whatever we have to do. I’ll pay for it all. Hotel and everything.”

“No worries, we’re good. I love night flying. See you then.”

Kent hung up and headed home, quickly packed a bag. Barbara’s tone reminded him of the way she’d been a year ago, panicked and grieving over Emily’s plight. Trying to do what was best for her daughter, she’d hired an interventionist to convince Emily to go to treatment. Then she’d put Emily on a plane to Atlanta with the woman, who’d promised to get her to rehab safely.

When the interventionist was found dead in the parking lot of the Atlanta airport, with no sign of Emily, Kent had investigated the case. He’d met the grieving mother at the lowest point in her life, but her strength and the power of her faith and love had moved him more than any woman ever had. He hadn’t expected to fall for a woman who lived 650 miles away and had two teens, one with so many problems. And it wasn’t fair now that she had to endure another crisis, this time with Lance. If it was at all in Kent’s power, he would help her again.

He got to the airport before Blake, so he sat in his car and prayed. Praying—something he’d never done before he met Barbara—had now become a habit. He hoped God was still listening.

J
ail wasn’t part of Lance’s plan for his life. He’d been appalled when his sister got arrested for DUIs, and had vowed never to do anything that would lead to his own arrest.

And here he was. The old saying was true: No good deed goes unpunished.

Okay, sure—he deserved a ticket for driving without a license. Maybe even a fine or a suspension of his permit. But not jail. He should have known not to get tangled up with a girl who was on drugs. Addicts were like octopuses, wrapping you up, manipulating and draining you, dragging you down. He’d told Emily that so many times when she was hanging with those losers. Why hadn’t he taken his own advice?

Shame twisted his stomach as he walked through the police station, his hands still cuffed behind his back. His mother, who had followed them to the precinct, warned him
not to tell them anything until she got an attorney here. He hoped the lawyer would get here soon, because he honestly didn’t know if he could keep his mouth shut if they pressured him to talk.

The cop sat him down in a metal chair in a cold, small interview room and released his handcuffs. He looked around for a camera and found one mounted in the top corner of the room, just like on those cop shows. They’d record what he said, and people would analyze his story. It was downright creepy.

A man he hadn’t seen before came in and held out his hand. “Lance, I’m Detective Dathan. I’m going to be taking your statement.”

He shook. “Nice to meet you.” It seemed like a lame thing to say, even a little silly, but maybe if he pulled out all his manners, they’d realize he wasn’t some ordinary thug.

The man slid his chair out behind his desk. It scraped on the concrete floor. Every noise in here seemed amplified, as if it were designed to intimidate.

Detective Dathan was a perfect customer for the Big and Tall Shop. At around six-four, his meaty, imposing arms covered most of the table. “So … why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I … I’ve already explained it to the officer that arrested me.”

“I know, but let’s just go through it again.”

Lance felt his pulse throbbing in his throat. “I’m sorry, sir, but my mom wanted me to wait until she gets me a lawyer.”

The door flew open, and Lance jumped. His mother stood in the doorway with a uniformed cop behind her. “Bob, this is the mother,” the cop said. “She wants to be present for the questioning.”

Lance met his mother’s eyes, hoping they didn’t throw her out.

The detective groaned and rubbed his face. “Lady, that’s not the best idea.”

“He’s a minor,” she said. “I’m his mother.”

He sighed and got up. “All right. Joe, go get her another chair.”

Lance sat stiffly, relieved to have someone on his team. His mom could make them see the truth. She always fixed everything, even when it seemed impossible. When the chair was brought in, she sat down next to him. The detective took his seat again, looking peeved.

“So … we were saying …”

“That I need to wait for a lawyer,” Lance said, glancing at his mother for approval.

“I’ve called our attorney, Gus Thompson,” Barbara said. “He should be here soon.”

The detective slapped his knees, then got up. “Okay.”

“I mean, I don’t have anything to hide,” Lance said. “It’s not that. I had the baby, but Jordan did give her to me.”

His mother touched his hand, squeezed it to shut him up.

The man slowly sat back down. “Just handed her over, huh? Then forgot and called the police?”

His mom squeezed tighter.

“No sir.”

“Well, she says you took the baby forcefully.”

“No way! She didn’t say that.”

The man’s eyes widened. “I have the complaint right here.”

Sweat dripped down Lance’s temple. “If she said that, she lied.”

“The police report says she had bruises on her face and body.”

Barbara sucked in a breath. “Does she claim Lance did that?”

“No. It was an observation the officer made.”

Lance’s ears burned. “Her mother did that!” he cried. “She’s crazy and violent. She’s a meth addict too.”

“So you felt it was the right thing to do to remove the baby from that environment?”

“No! I didn’t remove it!”

Barbara slammed her hand on the table. “That’s enough! I know enough about the law to know that you can’t keep questioning him once he requests an attorney.”

Detective Dathan didn’t like that. Rubbing the stubble under his chin, he said, “When they re-engage us, lady, we’re allowed to continue. And that’s what he did.”

Lance looked at his mother. “What does that mean?”

Barbara pointed at him. “It means, don’t say another word until the lawyer gets here, Lance!”

The detective got up and jerked Lance to his feet. “Then let’s go.”

Lance stared up into his face. “Go where?”

“To booking, and then to the holding cell.”

“No! You’re gonna lock me up? Mom!”

Barbara tried to block the door. “Please, just let him sit here until the attorney comes. It won’t be long.”

“No, lady. We don’t let our perps hang out with their mommies. Either we’re questioning him, or he goes in the cell.”

Lance could see that there was nothing his mom could do to change this, so he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “It’s okay, Mom. I can go.”

She started to cry, that same frustrated, helpless weeping he’d seen so many times when Emily was making them crazy. He would have given anything to make her feel better.

Barbara followed the detective and Lance out of the room, and she looked across the desks to the door. Where was Gus? He’d promised to hurry.

On the other side of the room, she saw Judge Hathaway walking through. Though Barbara didn’t know much about the law, she had learned some things from Emily’s arrests and from the arrests of the children of the moms in her support group. Judge Hathaway had been the one who’d heard Emily’s first case of DUI. He was probably the one who would decide whether they would set bail for Lance tonight. She crossed the room and caught him in the hallway. “Judge, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The judge turned. He had a golf tan, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes suggested he spent a lot of time smiling … or squinting. She hoped he was a reasonable man.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I’m Barbara Covington. My daughter Emily came through your court a couple of years ago.”

“I remember Emily Covington,” he said. “She’s the girl who disappeared last year.”

“Yes,” she said. “She’s doing great now. But this isn’t about her. It’s my son. He was arrested for kidnapping today. But he didn’t do it. The teenaged mother is a friend of his, and she gave him the baby to protect it from her abusive family, and he was keeping it until — ”

“Ma’am, this is inappropriate. This is what court is for.”

Desperate, she grabbed his arm. “Please—it’s Saturday. Can’t you set bail tonight, and then I guarantee I’ll have him in court Monday morning? He’s fifteen. He’s not a flight risk, and he’s never been in any legal trouble, ever. He’s a good kid. This whole thing is absurd!”

The judge didn’t seem moved. “Kidnapping is a serious charge, ma’am. I don’t know if that’s prudent here. I’ll have to take this under advisement.”

She knew what that meant. Lance was going to wind up spending at least a couple of nights in jail. “He only went there to try to talk his friend into going back to treatment. The girl is a mess, and so is her family.”

“Look, I understand your concern. But I have people to answer to.”

The judge wouldn’t want people saying he’d let a kidnapper back out on the streets the very day they caught him with a baby. Besides, he probably had distraught parents arguing for their children every day. “This is all going to be cleared up,” Barbara said. “Jordan will tell the truth if they can get her away from her mother. I know she will. The public isn’t going to go crazy over this, because it’s all just a mistake. I know this is an election year — ”

The judge jerked his arm away, clearly insulted. “I’m not thinking of politics, Ms. Covington. I’m thinking of the rule of law.”

His tone was dismissive, cutting her off. As he walked away, she wondered if she’d made it worse.

Lance was going to spend the night in jail.

I
t was the first time Kent had flown with Blake, and as they lifted off the small runway and into the night sky, turbulence bounced them. Kent clutched the door handle.

“Just hang on till we get through these clouds. Should be clear a few miles out.”

The moonlight was bright when not obscured by clouds. He hoped they wouldn’t become engulfed in them, disorienting Blake. Wasn’t that what happened to John Kennedy Jr.? “You ever flown at night, Kent?” Blake asked him, his voice sounding tinny through the headset.

“Not like this,” he said.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Don’t sweat it. Look at all the lights. It’s gorgeous. And it’s a lot easier to see the airport with it all lit up.”

Last month Kent had worked a homicide case at a small private airport in Atlanta, and the lights hadn’t been kept on at night. “What if the lights aren’t on?”