“The park playground.”
On the seemingly endless staircase that wound down four floors, he shouted for people to move aside and pushed those who didn’t react soon enough out of his path. He leaped over half the treads. When he reached the lobby, he called to two deputies who were standing together chatting, “The city park. Now!”
He didn’t wait to see that they followed as he barreled through the courthouse entrance and sprinted to the parking lot, fumbling with his key fob to unlock his SUV. He clambered in, started it, and pressed down on his horn to signal any other drivers in the parking lot that he was claiming the right of way.
On the city streets, his tires screeched as he wove in and out of traffic. Driving with his right hand, he reached through his open window with his left and attached the mag-mount cherry to the roof. Glancing in his rearview mirror he saw that the sheriff’s unit was running hot behind him. He accessed his police radio and blurted out the basic info to a dispatcher.
He sped through the pair of stone columns at the entrance to the park and took the curving lane in a straight line, his accelerator mashed flat to the floorboard. When the parking lot adjacent to the playground came into view, he applied his full weight to his brake pedal, causing his SUV to skid the twenty feet. He rammed it into park and was out of it before it had shuddered to a complete stop.
He heard Georgia before he saw her. Her laughter was high and light, her giddy squeals piercing the heavy air. He rounded the trunk of one of the spreading live oaks and spotted her. She was standing on the merry-go-round, holding onto one of the T-bars, laughing as Grace spun her round and round.
Crawford fell back against the tree trunk and bent double, placing his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, tears of relief mingling with the stinging sweat that dripped into his eyes.
When he straightened up, he saw Joe Gilroy. He was leaning against his car where it was parked in the lane, his cell phone in his hand. He was watching Crawford. He smiled. “Thank you. I can now have you arrested.”
Crawford’s field of vision shrank to the size of a pinhead, and his father-in-law was at the center of it. He started forward in a measured but determined tread that must have signaled Joe to the rage that had turned his blood to lava. The older man straightened up and took a defensive stance.
Crawford charged across the remaining distance between them, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, spun him away from his car, and shoved him so hard he stumbled backward, landing hard in the gravel.
“You’ve done it now,” Joe growled. “You’re going to jail.”
“What kind of sick game are you playing, Joe?”
“Game? What are you talking about?”
“That video. Your cute little caption.”
“You’re crazy. I always said so. You’ve just proved it. I don’t know anything about a video.”
Crawford reached down for him, but one of the deputies who’d huffed up behind him, spoke his name in a cautionary tone. “Don’t do it, man, or we’ll be hauling you in.”
Crawford heeded him, but he never took his eyes off his father-in-law. “Give me your phone.”
“Go to hell.” Joe stood up and dusted off the seat of his pants. “I’m collecting Georgia and Grace and getting out of here and away from you.” Looking beyond Crawford, he said to the deputies. “What are you waiting for? I have a restraining order. Arrest him.”
“Sorry, Crawford,” one of them said. “Let’s go.”
Crawford didn’t move. Still fixed on Joe, he repeated, “Give. Me. Your. Phone.”
Joe glared at him with loathing and turned away. Crawford’s hand shot out and grabbed Joe’s arm. A struggle for possession of the cell phone ensued. The deputies scrambled to join in and, together, were able to pull Crawford away.
Neal’s car came to a halt only a few yards from where he and Joe were faced off while he continued to struggle against the deputies’ hold on him. Neal and Nugent got out on opposite sides. Another car pulled up behind Neal’s. Holly alighted from it. In his peripheral vision Crawford saw flashing lights, signaling the arrival of more squad cars, which he himself had summoned during his mad drive here.
“What the hell is going on?” Neal asked.
“He attacked me,” Joe said. “Arrest him.”
Crawford, breathing hard, said, “He texted me a video of Georgia because he knew it would get me here. See for yourself, and tell me what you would make of it.”
With a nod from Neal, the deputies let him go. He pitched his phone to Neal and gave him the security code.
Joe said, “I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.”
Neal pulled up the video text on Crawford’s phone and played it. “Doesn’t say who sent it. May I see your phone, Mr. Gilroy?”