Chapter 110: Friday the 13th

Friday, April 13, 1984

Friday the 13th. How very appropriate for the way things were going, I thought.

We were two days away from a full moon, at least. I’m not sure anyone would have survived that combination.

As it was, the school was buzzing about Friday the 13th and what evil might be lurking. For me, the most ‘evil’ thing on the horizon was anyone finding a way to get Cammie spirited off to wherever. That would count as ‘evil’ in my book.

The seniors were buzzing about the Capitol trip. The buses would load at the start of second period.

I wasn’t going, which made me one of a handful that weren’t.

At least I hadn’t signed up for the State Computer Math contest. Mr. Hannity would’ve been losing his marbles if he’d finally gotten me to do it, only to lose me to Cammie’s family drama.

Before I could even make it to seeing the others off, I was called out of my first-period class by Assistant Principal Blaine.

“They need you at the office,” he said, once we were in the hall.

“Not my fault,” I said, though technically some of it was.

He smiled — a rarity for Mr. Blaine. “I know, or else things would be a lot worse, since it’s the police looking for you. You should hurry — the officer didn’t look happy to be waiting.”

Unfortunately, I was stopped before I could even get to the office. A Hedwig Village Police officer, who was coming from the other direction, stopped when he saw me.

“Steven Marshall?” he said. I noted that his nameplate said ‘Benton’. Worth remembering.

“Yes, Sir, that’s me,” I said.

“Come with me, please.”

“May I ask what this is about?”

He shook his head. “We’ll explain it at the station.”

“I need to inform the office that I’m leaving. I can’t just leave. Assistant Principal Blaine just sent me to the office, and I need to follow those directions,” I said.

He shook his head again. “He was summoning you for me. They know we’re taking you out of school. I’m just cutting out the delay.”

I nodded to a payphone, then said, “I’d like to call my mother, and my attorney.”

He shook his head again. “At the station.”

“So ... am I under arrest?”

“Right now you’re just a witness whose help we urgently need. If you refuse to come with me, then I’ll arrest you for obstructing our investigation. Either way, you’ll wind up at the station.”

“In that case, I really believe I need to be allowed to call my attorney and my mother.”

“We can handle this at the station. It’s your choice; cooperate, or face the consequences.”

This was sounding fishier by the moment (and pretty obviously related to Cammie), but my options were limited. Running from a police officer was a bad idea. Yelling for help was likely bad, too.

Plus, he was part of Hedwig’s Finest (the scourge of many a misbehaving teenager, but definitely not the Gestapo). I wasn’t going to disappear into a gulag, and the office knew where I was going.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, and went with him, winding up in the back of a police car (not one of my favorite places, if not one I’d been before) for the short drive to the station. This was going to be fun to explain when I got back (or, more likely, when they got back from Austin).

My next sign that things were off-script came when I got to the station and was immediately placed in an interrogation room.

As Officer Benton was closing the door, I said, “Phone? Mother? Lawyer?”

“Later,” he said, then closed the door.

Well, this was great. Technically, I could already sue them, but as a practical matter, no one wants to fight the police, not around here.

It was probably an hour later when the door opened and an officer came in. This wasn’t the one from before, and I didn’t recognize him. His name was apparently ‘Wesson’.

“Steven Marshall?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want to ask you some questions,” he said, sitting down across from me.

“I’m entitled to have my parents present, Sir,” I said. “And my lawyer.”

He snorted. “Lawyer, huh?”

“Kyle Branner,” I said, then gave Kyle’s number.

He didn’t even bother to look interested.

“Or Elizabeth Crawford,” I said, giving her number.

That got him interested. Not in a good way, but interested.

“Ms. Crawford may be in a great deal of hot water. Not someone I’d recommend calling,” he said.

I shrugged.

“Look, this won’t take long,” he said, then produced a photo of Cammie, tossing it on the table and saying, “Do you know this girl?”

“You get one,” I said, smiling just a bit. “Yes, that’s Cammie Clarke, my friend, classmate, and debate partner.”

“Do you know where Miss Clarke is?”

“Parents. Attorney.”

He frowned. “Why are you making this hard? What do you have to hide?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m a minor and legally entitled to contact my parents. I’m also legally entitled to contact my attorney.”

“Why do you need an attorney in the first place?”

“That’s not something I need to answer.”

He just stared for a second.

“I’m going to ask this again. You’re going to get yourself into some serious trouble if you don’t answer. Do you know where Miss Clarke is?”

“Parents. Attorney.”

“So, you do, and you won’t cooperate,” he said, frowning deeper.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Look, all we want to do is get Miss Clarke back home where she belongs.”

I nodded, saying nothing.

“If you know where she is, and you won’t answer, that’s a crime.”

“I’ll be happy to cooperate with your investigation as much as I’m able...”

He smiled a bit.

“ ... as soon as you give me the cooperation you’re legally required to offer before starting to question me.”

“Kid, you’re asking for trouble.”

“No, I’m asking for my parents to be informed and for my lawyer to be present.”

He got up. “This isn’t going to end well,” he said, going out and closing the door.

I had a feeling that he might be right. He was just wrong about who wasn’t going to enjoy the ending.

Officer Wesson opened the door forty-five minutes later. Fortunately, while they’d searched me, they hadn’t taken anything away — including my watch. Perhaps unfortunately, too — watching one’s watch is tempting when things are utterly boring, but it may not be better.

“Ready to talk?”

“Parents? Attorney?”

He made a face and closed the door.

The next time the door opened (almost an hour and a half later), it was to reveal a different officer (‘Carter’), with Mom a few feet behind him. In the background, I could hear Officer Wesson yelling, “Get out of there! You’re not supposed to be in there!”

“Steve!” Mom said, over the yelling. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Bored, but fine.”

The two officers wound up in a hushed conversation while Mom came in. I couldn’t make out most of it, but I heard ‘Jasper’ twice, both times spoken by Officer Wesson.

“What happened?”

“They want to talk to me about Cammie, and I refused until you were notified and until either Kyle or Elizabeth were here.”

She chuckled. “I’m still not used to either of their names. Ms. Crawford is on her way. I got the call to come here from her.”

Curious, and not what I would’ve expected. Obviously, someone had called Elizabeth, but who?

Officer Carter looked in, saying, “Sorry about that, to both of you. He’s gotten some ... bad information ... and is going to check on it. Meanwhile, someone is going to want to talk to you about Miss Clarke.”

“And that’s fine,” I said. “I’ve been informed that Miss Clarke’s attorney is on her way. She’ll be representing me.”

He smiled just a bit. Not a big smile, and not really a warm smile, either, but it wasn’t a threat, more just acknowledging that I clearly had my stuff together more than most.

“We’ll be waiting, then.”

He didn’t have to wait that long. Mom and I talked — though we really didn’t have a lot to talk about — for about ten minutes. Then the door opened, and Officer Carter looked in. I could see Officer Wesson down the hall, engaged in quiet conversation with Elizabeth Crawford. He was making some big hand gestures; she seemed ... unimpressed.

Finally, she turned and headed in, while he called, “We know you’re harboring her, and you can’t do that, even if you’re her ’attorney!’”

Elizabeth shook her head, coming in.

Officer Carter said, “Do you need a few minutes?”

“Yes, please. I’ll knock on the door when we’re ready.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, then closed the door.

Elizabeth sat down, smiling in a way that I thought was both honest and also carefully practiced to reassure nervous teenagers. That was, after all, part of her job. It worked on me, but I also knew what she was doing.

“First, are you all right, Steve?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. Mostly, this has been boring. I asked for my parents and my lawyer, they ignored me and made me wait. Obviously, someone got the word out.”

Mom said, “They can’t do that!”

Elizabeth said, “It happens more often than it should, Mrs. Marshall...”

“Helen, please!”

“Helen,” she said, smiling. “It’s Steve’s word against theirs. If he complains, they will have failed to record the session, of course. If he says anything useful, it’ll be recorded. It’s not right, but it’s how the game is played. It would work with more kids than not.”

Mom nodded. “How do we know they’re not watching us now?”

“It’d be an enormous problem for them if they were caught at it. You’re right, though, and it’s best to not say anything too confidential in a setting like this. They couldn’t use it in court, but any information we don’t want out there should stay unmentioned.”

I nodded, and then said, “The thing is, I think they’re really only after Cammie. Normally, this game would be to get me in trouble, but it didn’t feel personal,” I said.

“That’s ... interesting. I got the same impression, earlier,” she said, shaking her head. “It won’t help them. As of an hour ago, Judge Collison — after meeting with Miss Clarke — has blocked anyone from removing Cammie from her current location, pending a welfare check by a social services agency. It can’t be DPRS — they’d remove her, which we’ve agreed is good and bad. I’m starting to think that’s our best path forward on this.”

“Any progress with the Clarkes?”

She shook her head. “I was able to talk to them again. If anything, it was even less civil. They’re trying to accuse me of harboring a runaway, which is legally incorrect. I would be violating the law if I was knowingly harboring an underaged missing person, but there are exceptions, and one of those exceptions is in a case where I’m her attorney of record and I have reason to believe that her home is an unsafe environment. That’s especially true now that Judge Collison tentatively agrees that there are reasonable grounds to believe it would be unsafe.”

I nodded. “We can talk more about them later. What should I say now — and what shouldn’t I say?”

“The truth, pretty much.”

“No, I don’t know where she is. Yes, I know someone who’s in touch with her. Fifth on whether I know anyone else who might know where she is.”