Here I Am. Send Me.--Chapter Forty-Six

The police interrogate the men who attacked Evelyn and Chris. Answers begin to come.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

         Sebastian Ting had spent the previous night being interrogated and said nothing. Rachel was the boss. She had been in charge for years and always kept everything under control. Sure, things were weird the last couple of weeks, but she always had a plan. All he needed to do was keep his mouth shut and wait.

         At midnight, he was taken to the Downtown Detention Center and processed. By the time that he was assigned a bed, it was two o’clock in the morning. He had been in jail before but still didn’t sleep well. After being rousted at seven, he was given a few minutes for a morning shower and ablutions before being taken to the cafeteria where he was lined up with the other inmates in the food line.

         Sunlight poured in through the clerestory windows which were high up on the wall and out of reach of even the tallest inmate. The floor was vinyl and the bright light showed the gray swirls where the trusties had mopped with dirty water. The same dinginess clung to the white walls. The stainless-steel serving line was manned by other inmates with two guards stationed behind them. He took his pink plastic tray, and plastic spork, and moved down the line.

         Even though this was a short-term detention facility, some of the city’s gangs had multiple men inside and they were huddled together in groups. Some had facial tattoos, while others simply had the look. No one was unduly interested in him, so he waited patiently in the queue without speaking. He watched the powdered eggs, non-meat bacon, and sawdust toast being placed on the tray. At the end, he was given watered down orange juice and tepid coffee.

         He turned with his tray and saw the other two that had been arrested with him last night. Hernando was sitting at a table, and Bubba was a few places behind him in line. He walked over to the table and sat.

         “How’re you doing, Nando?”

         “The cops messed up my shoulder pretty good taking me down. It’s gonna be sore for a while. How ‘bout you, Sting?”

         “I’m pretty stiff.”

         Bubba limped over and winced as he let himself down into the stool. “Y’all okay?” He had two black eyes.

         “You look worse.” Ting replied. “Did anybody say anything?”

         Hernando and Bubba froze at the repercussions of Sebastian’s question and then immediately started shaking their heads. Hernando spoke first. “No way, man! I ain’t crossing Rachel. We play it cool until she figures something out. Right?”

         Bubba nodded.

         Ting looked at them both. “That’s right. We keep our cool and she’ll take care of us. She always has.”

         A guard walked up to them. “Ting?”

         He looked up. “That’s me.”

         “Follow me.”

         “I haven’t finished eating.”

         “Yeah, you have. Let’s go.”

         Ting held out his fist which each of his compatriots bumped as he stood. Maybe this was the first step in Rachel getting them out.

         The process of getting prepped for transport took several minutes. And then was followed by the trip out to the Hermitage Precinct. They brought him in through the sally port, which was followed by more processing. Finally, he was led down a hallway. There was a brief pause next to an open door as his escort checked a list posted on the wall.

         Ting glanced through the open door and saw Rachel sitting in handcuffs at a table. She was not looking at the door and didn’t look up. He was about to call her name when a violent tug from his escort got him going again down the hallway.

         Evelyn and Chris sat in the observation room, watching the empty interrogation room on the screen as the officer deposited Ting into one of the three chairs and locked him to the table.

         “Do you think he saw Rachel?” Chris asked.

         “That’s the plan. They wouldn’t bring him into the room until it happened.”

         Simon came on screen and sat across from the prisoner. “Mr. Ting, I’m Detective Sergeant Simon. We met yesterday.”

         Ting glared at him without speaking.

         “A lot has happened since we spoke and most of it involves you. Since you were kind enough to use the city-provided toothbrush last night, we were able to get a DNA sample. It was a match for DNA that we found at Calvary Christian Academy.”

         Ting reacted for the first time. His head jerked up and then slowly settled back to looking down at the table. When he spoke after several seconds, his voice was carefully modulated. “Yeah, I’ve been there. What of it?”

         “When were you there?”

         “I don’t know.”

         “You’ll have to answer that question.”

         “I said I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”

         “They clean with bleach, Sebastian. If it was a long time ago, your DNA wouldn’t still be viable. You were there last week when you shot and killed Officer John Toland.”

         Ting returned to silence and stared at his hands locked to the table.

         Simon let the quiet drag on for nearly a minute before continuing. “We have Rachel in custody. She’s going to prison for kidnapping, endangering a minor, and several other charges. We asked her about you. She said that she never heard of you and that if you were one of the shooters at her granddaughter’s school, then you deserved what you got.”

         More silence.

         Simon continued. “There’s a big difference legally between being the person who pulled the trigger and being the person who gave the order. If you were both, then you killed a police officer while threatening schoolchildren. There will be no plea deal. You’re looking at lethal injection.”

         Ting began to shake. Simon sat motionless, letting the prisoner’s emotions play themselves out. Perspiration percolated up on Ting’s forehead and then overpowered his eyebrows, flowing into his eyes. He leaned forward to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. Another two minutes passed before he spoke.

         “I don’t believe you about the DNA. I wasn’t there.”

         “DNA travels. Either you or someone you bumped into was at that school. With the evidence, the DA has enough to make a jury think it was you.”

         Another moment passed. The muscles around Ting’s jaw tightened.

         “It wasn’t me.”

         “Who was it?”

         Another pause. Shorter this time. The decision was made.

         “Bubba.”

         “I need a last name.”

         “Lawson. Bubba Lawson. I think his real first name is Brooks.”

         “Who was the other shooter?”

         “You mean the one y’all killed? Don’t you know?”

         “I need to make sure that you know.”

         “Randy Dalton.”

         “Who gave the order? Whose idea was it for Bubba and Randy to go to the school?”

         “Like I said, I wasn’t even there. I wouldn’t do that. I got a kid. Going into a school with guns. It was, like, messed up.”

         “But you didn’t stop it. You’re still involved. However it got there, your DNA was found at the scene. Rachel is looking at maybe ten years, probably out on parole in three. You’re looking at death row. No one’s going to help you here. Who gave the order?”



         What followed was the longest pause yet. Sweat stains appeared in the armpits of Ting's shirt, gradually blossoming into the shape of saddlebags as they spread across his chest and stomach. Finally, the stains joined at his sternum. Ting’s voice was a whisper. “Rachel. She’s the boss. Always has been.”

         “What’s Rachel’s last name?”

         “Marshall.”

         In the observation room, Evelyn felt something on her cheeks. She reached up with the back of her hand and wiped away tears. Where had those come from? Chris reached out and took her other hand. They continued to watch.

         “What about Cal? How was he involved?"

         “He wasn’t. He would have had a cow. Rachel sent him on a long haul to get him out of the way. He shouldn’t have been in the business. He didn’t have it in him.”

         “But he killed the fast-food worker a few years back, right?”

         “That was, like, a fluke. It was his first gig with a gun, and he was trying to be his momma’s son. He started waving it around and then he messed up. It went off. He freaked completely out, and we drove him back to his car and waited for him to calm down enough to function. Then we all split up.”

         Now that the dam was broke, the words flowed.