Chapter 11

Holly Garvin and Jim Andrews walked briskly up the darkened path between a pair of dormitories accompanied by a pair of Huntington Police Department officers. They saw the hulking figure of Bryant Hawkins looming ahead, surrounded by several uniformed officers. There was a band of students standing in the background, looking on in interest, trying to figure out what had just taken place in front of the dormitory.

There was another visible figure; this one was lying on the grass. The suspect had his knees drawn up to his chest, but that's all Holly could see. She recognized Jerry Tomey standing off the the side. She had worked with him when she first earned her gold shield. He gave her a nod as she approached.

As she neared the prostrate figure of Ricky Currence, she noticed he looked a little worse for wear. It was dusk but he was seated beneath a street lamp. She could see blood on the man's cheek and a bruise starting on his forehead. But there was anger in his gaze – and defiance.

Garvin leaned closer to inspect the injuries. She saw they were just superficial so she turned attention to the uniformed officers next to Currence.

"Looks like he resisted arrest," she said.

"He tried to get my weapon," Bryant said from her shoulder. He hadn't been able to see Garvin's face so he didn't know if she was pissed that her suspect was a little scuffed up. She turned, gave Bryant a smile and turned back to Currence.

"The ending is different when you fuck with someone who isn't scared of you, isn't it?" she asked the seated captive. "They should have done you a favor and knocked your teeth out. That would save you from having that done for you by your first cellmate."

Garvin gestured for her HPD comrades to take Currence into custody.

"Richard Allen Currence," she said when he had been dragged to his feet, "You are under arrest for first-degree sexual assault, first-degree forced sodomy, witness intimidation, kidnapping, breaking and entering, first-degree battery and terroristic threats. I think I'll add battery on a peace officer for trying to take Chief Hawkins' gun. If you're lucky, you'll be up for parole about the time you're eligible for Social Security."

Currence's mouth dropped when Garvin read the list of charges. The smirk he wore was long gone. Now he blinked owlishly as he tried to comprehend what he'd just been told. He couldn't hear out of one ear and his head still rang from the punches he'd absorbed behind his left ear.

Garvin read the rest of the Miranda warning and then motioned for him to be taken to the station for interrogation. When Currence was out of sight, she turned to face Bryant with a wide smile.

"You'll probably want to offer him medical attention," Bryant said.

Garvin shrugged.

"It didn't look too bad," she said.

"Oh, man!" one of the Marshall cops exclaimed. "That boy got lit up. Do you know football?"

Garvin shrugged again.

"I know the game," she answered.

"Picture this," the cop continued. "You got a wide receiver who broke through the secondary. He's looking back over his shoulder, waiting for the ball to land in his hands. Then out of nowhere a middle linebacker steps off the sideline and drops him. That's what happened. Currence saw us and started to book. He never even saw the big guy here. The bastard was looking back over his shoulder and ... BAM! The Chief here took two steps, lowered his shoulder and dropped him. If he doesn't have broken ribs then they're damn sure bruised. Then the boy tried to reach for the Chief's gun. That was a mistake. The Chief pie-faced the perp, punched him twice right behind the ear then slapped the snot out of him. That blood on his face? It came from his ear. There is no way that boy isn't deaf."

Garvin looked at Bryant with raised eyebrows.

"Those are approved, non-lethal methods of subduing a suspect," Bryant said evenly.

"You're not hearing any crap from me," she said. "I was just thinking it was pretty quick thinking. Nice work."

"I didn't want to break his jaw," Bryant said. "We have a lot of information we need to get from him and I plan to get it."

"We'll get it," Garvin promised. "I'll radio the duty officer to make sure a doctor gives the guy a look. I want to head upstairs to let Ms. Zimmerman know he's in custody."

"She knows," Adele Coleman said. She had waited until Currence was removed before coming down to the scene. "I was paying for supper and she watched the whole thing from her window."

Bryant gave a frown which Coleman noticed.

"I think it did her good," the sergeant stated. "She saw the monster she feared not only get taken down but she got to see him get his ears boxed, too. She didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable at what she saw."

Bryant nodded.

"I think Jim and I are going to head back to Point Pleasant," she said. "Is that okay with you?"

"It's fine," Bryant said. "I'll rent a car later."

"I'll take you back," Garvin promised. "We have two more of those bastards to take down and it'll give us time to plan a strategy."

Ricky Currence gave his best glare when he was led into the interrogation room at the Huntington Police Department. Neither Holly Garvin nor Bryant Hawkins appeared fazed.

"I'm going to sue this city!" Currence announced.

Bryant glanced at Holly to see if she planned to respond. When she didn't, Bryant gave it a shot.

"Why in the world would you do that?" he asked in a neutral tone.

"I'm fucking deaf!" Currence yelled. "It can't be fixed! The doctor said you shattered my eardrum."

"Well, yeah," Bryant said with a shrug. "It's why I slapped you like I did. I wanted to give you something to remember me by. I was wondering why you would sue the City of Huntington."

"Police brutality," Currence responded.

"I'm not a Huntington cop," Bryant told the confused young man across from him. "I'm just a private citizen who saw a fugitive running from the police."

"You're not a cop?" Currence asked.

"Not a Huntington cop," Bryant responded. "I'm from Emerald Cove, South Carolina."

Currence's face went white.

"Yeah, I guess you just figured out why I'm here," Bryant added. "I should tell you that we have the death penalty in South Carolina and we have no trouble in using it."

"I didn't kill that girl!" Currence blurted.

"Oh, I know that," Bryant replied. "That was Mayfield."

Currence relaxed slightly.

"You're not going to get the needle," Bryant continued as he ticked off the offense on his fingers. "You'll just get life without parole for conspiracy to commit murder, flight to hinder prosecution, accessory after the fact, accessory before the fact. I figure we'll wait until you're done serving your twenty-five or thirty years here, and then come for you. I mean, after all, you did drive the car that dropped Mayfield and Mary Beth Brockleman off at her hotel and then helped him conceal evidence afterward."

Currence blinked rapidly.

"We have the video from the hotel," Bryant lied. "Your smiling mug is front and center. We have you on video from the bar, too. Yep, things do not look good for you. But, hey, you got off lucky! You could have wound up like good old Trev. He took a full clip in the chest from a 9 millimeter. Some women aren't willing to take your shit without a fight."

"He'll get his in prison," Holly said, joining the conversation for the first time.

"I want a deal," Currence said.

Bryant gave a surreptitious glance to Holly. Each time Bryant had been called in front of the Police Professional Bureau, he had requested an attorney be present if the meeting was official. If he were ever to be arrested, his very first words, his only words, would be "I want an attorney present before I answer questions." But television and a coddled life had given young people the impression that they had all the answers. He would be happy to lead Ricky Currence right down the primrose path that led to a lifetime in prison.

"Ricky, I seriously doubt you can tell me anything I don't already know," Bryant said. "So I don't think you have anything to offer me."

Ricky Currence glanced hopefully to Holly Garvin.

"I've got you dead to rights," she said. "I've got your DNA and statement from your victim."

"Come on!" Currence exclaimed.

"Well, I guess if you tell me about Joey Straight and Mark Shrekengost I can put in a good word for you," Bryant offered.

"What do you want to know?" Currence asked.

"Who is Joey's victim in Columbus?" Holly cut in.

Currence blanched. He had planned to tell them as little as possible, to string them along long enough for Jonathan Mayfield's father to spring him. He was sure John's dad would have that sort of clout. But if they knew about Joey in Columbus there was nothing he could do.

"I think I want a lawyer," Currence said.

"Why am I not surprised?" Bryant commented, with a look at Holly.

The best way to get information was to keep the perp talking. Holly's six words had halted that.

Three days later, Bryant crossed the Ohio River and drove through Gallipolis on his way to Cincinnati. The interrogation with Ricky Currence had been fruitless. An attorney had been retained, although no one knew who had paid for him. As soon as the attorney appeared, the so-called dialogue had ended.

Bryant had spent one night on the couch at Holly Garvin's house before she drove him back to Point Pleasant. He had coordinated with Jan and she had agreed to recall Jim Andrews and Adele Coleman back to South Carolina. The pair had wanted to stay but Bryant knew the situation in Cincinnati would be dicey.

The arrest of Ricky Currence would alert Jonathan Mayfield to what was coming. If the boy didn't flee, he would be careful. Allyson Granger had done her best to secure an arrest warrant to give Bryant some ammunition to use against Mayfield but even a friendly judge wouldn't agree. She had known that she didn't have enough for an arrest but she felt the need to try.

Bryant's main hope was to secure Mayfield's DNA in order to compare it to that on file in the death of Mary Beth Brockleman. He held out little hope that it could be done the same way as the Huntington Police Department had done with Currence. Bryant would track Mayfield but he didn't think that the boy would willingly blow his nose and drop a Kleenex onto Bryant's lap.

The biggest problem was finding the bastard.

Mayfield's driver's license listed a Xavier University postal box but no fixed address. The state DMV had his fixed address in Gallia County. Because he was a college student, he could claim residency in either place. Xavier University was a private institution. Unlike Marshall, which was part of the West Virginia Board of Regents system, it was not beholden to the state of Ohio. The police force was private, hired not by the city or the state but by the university.

They had been singularly uncooperative, a far cry from behavior of Marshall's police force. The Cincinnati Police Department also wasn't much help. There were no arrest warrants for Jonathan Mayfield but he was a murder suspect. If had been a suspect in a local or even a state crime, the Cincinnati police would have probably assigned someone to shadow Bryant. Instead they brushed him aside. He was welcome to investigate Mayfield so long as he didn't expect the Cincinnati police to provide resources or personnel.

Bryant spent two days in the Hamilton County Courthouse going over rental records. Given the size of the city and the number of colleges and universities, the records were sporadic. There were hundreds of Mayfields listed in the rental records but none traced back to Jonathan or any of the relatives Bryant knew about.

The university had confirmed that Jonathan Mayfield was a student in good standing at the university but they refused to divulge any further information – not his address, not his class schedule, not even his major course of study. Xavier was one-third the size of Marshall University, less than 5,000 students. Still, it was pure luck that Bryant spotted Jonathan Mayfield exiting a campus building. Bryant was too far away to follow and lost the boy before he could catch him.

But it gave him a place to start.

As with many universities, Xavier set its students' class schedules on 50-minute hours. Some classes met Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays on the hour. Others met Tuesdays and Thursdays for 75 minutes. Bryant stationed himself outside the building two days later and, sure enough, Jonathan Mayfield entered, chatting with a brunette coed. Bryant took a seat outside the building and waited. Fifty minutes later, Mayfield exited, talking to a different girl.

Bryant fell in behind him. The girl split off from Mayfield at a campus dormitory. Mayfield continued across the campus to another class. Once again, Bryant patiently waited. It was hard to blend in on the campus. He was two decades older than most of the people around him. He wasn't dressed well enough to be a professor. He was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and a jacket. The Law Enforcement Officers' Safety Act permitted him to carry a concealed firearm in the city and he had secured permission from a Cincinnati magistrate to carry his weapon on a "restricted" campus. He had duly checked in with the Xavier police department and informed them that he was armed. The chief hadn't been pleased but there was nothing he could do about it – short of denying Bryant access to the campus. He briefly considered doing just that but the thought of having a murderer and a rapist on his campus stopped him.

Bryant had pressed the guy to provide information on Mayfield. Jan Elliot sent an official letter requesting assistance. Holly Garvin had made a phone call. The university still held its ground. If an active arrest warrant was issued, they would comply. Until then, they were obligated to maintain the student's confidentiality.

But now that Bryant had found Mayfield, he wouldn't lose him. Bryant decided to use his free time to try to locate Mayfield's car. The Ohio DMV had an almost new Mazda sports car registered in Mayfield's name but Bryant didn't find it in any of the university parking lots. Bryant suspected that meant the guy lived nearby. He hustled back to the academic building just in time to watch Mayfield exit. This time, the guy was alone.