The Extinct

CHAPTER

17





The Concord City Police Department had eighty full-time sworn members and just a few years ago celebrated its 150th year as an incorporated police department. It sat in the main government district for the city, adjacent to City Hall on the prestigious Green Street in downtown Concord.

Eric was pulled up its steps in handcuffs, a uniformed officer holding his elbow. He was taken through processing; fingerprints, photographs, questionnaire, and then stuffed into a holding cell. After an hour or so, he was taken to an interrogation room.

The room was gray from floor to ceiling; carpet and table the same color as the walls. It had a window that opened six inches and Eric sat and watched the patter of rain against the glass. There was a one-way mirror on the east wall and he kept his face away from it. They hadn’t given him anything to change in to and his wet clothes were making him shiver.

The door opened and the two detectives from earlier walked in, the older one with a stack of files and a digital voice recorder in his arms. He laid them neatly on the table and sat down.

“I’m Detective Rodriguez,” he said, “this is Detective Pregman.” The detective pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping at some spectacles he took out of his breast pocket. He put them on and began flipping through a file he’d already read half a dozen times. “Math and philosophy major with a 3.6 GPA, huh? Impressive. Let’s see . . . pre-medicine? Is that right?”

Eric glanced from one to the other and then lowered his eyes to the file. Underneath handwritten notes were colored photographs.

The detective sighed and closed his file, leaning back in the chair. “Things happen, Eric. People get mad, they do things they wouldn’t normally do.” He took off his glasses and wiped them again. “How’s your mother?”

Eric stayed silent. He wondered what his mother had told them was the cause of her injuries. “Am I under arrest?”

“Yes,” Pregman said, leaning on the table. “But we want to help you. The guy you killed, your stepfather, he wasn’t a nice guy. Drug deals, domestic violence, rape charges. F*ck him. That’s why if you help us out now and tell us exactly what happened, we’ll help you later with the DA.” He reached over to the stack of files and pulled out some glossy photos of Jeff’s corpse lying on the kitchen floor of his mother’s house. Then some photos of some cartridges with little numbers next to them. And finally photos of illuminated fingerprints over Jeff’s shorts and a towel. “You left us your prints. Shame on you,” he said gleefully.

“I understand,” Detective Rodriguez said, “my old man was a boozer. Used to come home and whoop me for no reason. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about putting a bullet in his head. Is that what happened here, Eric? Cause if that’s what happened, I totally understand and so will the DA. I think she’ll try and help you however she can.”

“I want a lawyer,” Eric said.



The detectives glanced at each other.



“We’re trying to help you,” Detective Pregman said.



“I don’t think you’re allowed to interrogate me after I’ve asked for a lawyer,” Eric said. “Or at least it won’t be admissible in court.”

Rodriguez exhaled loudly and collected the files, leaving the photos of Jeff out as long as possible. Wiping at his spectacles again, he tucked them away and frowned at Eric before leaving.

Pregman leaned down, his hands on the table, his face no more than a few inches from Eric’s. “You wanna play it hard, fine. But let me tell you somethin’; good lookin’ young kid like you—you’re not gonna have a good time inside.” He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Eric was taken back to a cell and given a gray jumpsuit to wear. It felt like cardboard against his skin but it was dry. The cell was cramped; no bigger than a large bathroom; the toilet next to the bed. It had the faint smell of old urine and dust and the gray and yellow paint was chipping off the walls.

The cell had no opening to put anything through. The door had to be opened for him to get his clothes. The officer that brought him down said he’d be transferred to the county jail after conferring with his lawyer.

He sat on his bed as the hours passed, thinking. The incoherent rabble of drunks and junkies coming from the few cells in the hallway disturbed him. They were like voices in a movie, not quite alive and not quite dead. Then he heard the noise of wheels on linoleum; cell doors creaking, something being set down on the floor. The sound of eating.

Eric lay down on his bunk and pretended to sleep, listening to the approaching food cart and the guard’s instructions to the inmates: on the bed or with your face turned to the wall, if you turn around you’ll get tased.

The cart was three cells away . . . two . . . one. He heard the metallic ring of a key twisting in a lock; his cell door opened and he held his breath.

“On the bed or with—” The guard stopped when he heard the snores coming from the bed. He grabbed a pink tray with a ham sandwich, chips, and a milk and placed them on the floor.

As soon as Eric heard the sound of the plastic tray placed on the floor he was on his feet and lunged at the guard. He tackled him from the waist and they went down to the ground, the manic shouts of delighted inmates filling the hall.

The guard was about the same age as Eric but with nowhere near the muscle. Eric had him pinned and went for the taser gun when he felt his face turn to fire and heard the slow hiss of mace. He screamed and loosened his grip. The guard hit him in the face and got to his knees.

The guard reached for his taser and Eric, his eyes straining to close from the chemical burn of the mace, saw the blur of his hand and wrapped his arms around the guard.

A headbutt to Eric’s nose loosened his grip. The guard went for the taser again but Eric grabbed it and pulled the whole belt down. It clunked on the floor a few feet away from them and they both lunged for it.

The guard got to the taser first. Eric grabbed his arm and ripped it away and aimed; the barrel pointed at the guard’s chest. Both were still; labored breathing as adrenaline coursed through them.

The guard turned and bolted for the door. Eric was after him and tackled him from behind. He pressed the taser into the guard’s back.

“Get in my cell,” Eric said, out of breath.

“Okay, man! Just relax a’ight.”

Eric picked him up by his collar and led him into his cell, slamming the door shut behind him. The other inmates were in a frenzy, yelling to let them out. His vision cleared but the skin on his face still burned and he could feel a sticky coat of chemicals on it. He walked past the shouting inmates and looked out the small window in the door leading to the offices of the precinct. It didn’t look like anybody else was around.

Eric went back to his cell and looked the guard up and down; they were about the same height.



“Take off your uniform and shoes,” Eric said.



“What?”



“Take off your uniform.”



The guard took off his uniform and threw everything on the ground at Eric’s feet. Eric shut the cell door and locked it before changing. It was a little tight, but passable.

He walked past the other inmates again who were now spitting and throwing things as they realized he wasn’t going to help them.

Eric walked out into the precinct. It had beige carpet and a few gray cubicles set up around the center with offices down narrow hallways. There were voices coming from a room nearby, a female’s laughter. He headed for the double-doors of the front entrance. An office door opened when he was ten feet away and Detective Pregman stepped out, looking over some papers.

Eric turned away quickly and saw he was facing some copy machines. He grabbed some paper and shoved it into a machine and pressed the copy button. The hum of the machine began as the green light flowed from the cracks in the top. Eric could hear Pregman’s voice as he walked across a hallway and into an office.

“Cindy I need copies of these four and then a copy of the tox report for the Millens case please.”

“Sure,” a female voice said.

Eric heard the sound of high-heels approaching from behind. His heart was beating so fast he couldn’t breathe. The secretary stepped to a machine next to him and glanced over. She did a double take and Eric could feel her stare.

“That machine’s broken,” he said.



“Oh, really?”



“Yeah, try the one next to it.”



“Thanks,” she said, uncertain.



“Um hm,” Eric said as he walked away and toward the front entrance. He glanced back once to see Pregman, with his head in some papers and turned away, look up, the detective catching a glimpse of the back of his head as he walked through the doors, and onto the rain soaked streets.