No Team To Root For (15) Being put on hold at ill-timed moments was unacceptable, and in-comprehensible. But in this situation, where his anxiety was in con-trol, he would make an exception. The two minutes that the young voice was gone could, in Barrett's assessment, have been two days. "So anyway," she continued as though there had been no break in the conversation. "all of the regular staff are at a meeting until 11:30. But I can give her your name and phone number." "My name is Barrett Jessop." Anxiety was now at its peak. "My number is 614-6012. Please have her call me at once. It's most ur-gent!" He hung up without waiting for a response. His only thought now was to get out of the house. Maybe go for a long walk or a peaceful drive in the country. Anywhere, he thought. Just go! Jodi's meeting wouldn't be over before 11:30 and Marie hadn't scheduled any appointments today. He had plenty of time. As Barrett was putting on his jacket, he picked up the Patton newspaper that had just been fed through the mailbox in the front door. It was delivered by Edna Johnston, a sixty-two year old widow who also drove the school bus. The Patton News was started in 1898 and had passed through three generations of Mastersons to the present owner, Jeeter Masterson III, a gruff hard nosed bigot, that Barrett avoided when-ever possible. The newspaper had only ten pages, which were de-voted to church news, local politics, little league, PTO and the obituary --- which Barrett immediately turned to. There it was in print: JANET JESSOP. Age 51. Survived by Dr. Barrett Jessop, husband and parents, Jack and Ellie Stevens of San Diego California. It listed the residence, some of her activities, and requested any donations go either to the heart fund or cancer re-search. These were the only two charities that Barrett could find worthy enough to earn his support. Seeing Janet's name in the obituary section gave Barrett a sudden chill and a feeling of lightheadedness. It was as if he were not read-ing it, but someone else outside of his body was reading it to him. His glance then just happened to turn to the next column. It was a sledgehammer hitting him deep in the pit of his stomach! It was numbness over his entire body! It was an explosion in his head! JODI BARTLESS. Age 28. SUDDENLY. That was as far as Barrett could read. His legs became rubbery and he had to hold on to the doorframe to keep from falling. His heart began to pound at break neck speed --- SUDDENLY! "Jesus H Fucking Christ!" He screamed it out loud in disbelief. He read it over and over again. His fingers became numb and the newspaper fell to the floor. This can't be. It just can't be! It took four long rings before Barrett Jessop realized it was the doorbell. With one hand against the wall for balance, he opened the front door. Darrell Saltz and his deputy, Sam Ingles, were standing on the small front porch. "Howdy, Doc." said Darrell. "Can we come in for a minute or so?" Barrett, still somewhat dazed, stared at Darrell for several sec-onds before he responded. "Uh ---yes. Come in." The eye doctor spoke slowly and disconcertedly. Suddenly! The sheriff closed the door behind him and now he and Sam stood in the entryway facing Barrett. "Hey, Doc." continued Dar-rell. "You don't look too good" Barrett and Darrell had made eye contact. Sam Ingles looked away, remaining silent. "And what I'm about to say ain't gonna make you feel any better." The sheriff picked up the Patton News, glanced at the open section, then put the paper on the chair. "Well --- " Darrell began to grope. " --- I don't rightly know how to say this, but --- well, we got ourselves a situation. Yep! A real situation. Seems like --- " He cleared his throat uncomfortably. " --- uh, Sam and me --- we got to take you into town for questioning." "Questioning?" Barrett's initial state of incomprehensibilities was replaced by another state of incomprehensibilities. "Seems you are a suspect in the death of one --- " He picked up the paper and looked at the obituary section. Then he looked at a small piece of paper he was holding. Then he looked at Barrett. " --- Jodi Bartless." Barrett opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. And once again he had to grab hold of the door frame. "Now this ain't my idea." Darrell forced a smile. "I am truly sorry but we got orders from the county prosecutor." Darrell put the pa-per back in his pocket and the News back on the chair. He turned to his deputy. "Sam, read Doc here his rights." "Sure." said Sam. "As soon as I find the paper." The third pocket attempt was successful. "Here it is. Okay --- you have the right to remain silent --- " Barrett heard only the first two words of the Miranda Paper. His chest began to hurt and he couldn't catch his breath. Too much is happening all at once. Too much --- Then the room began spinning and spinning and spinning --- . * When Barrett woke up he was lying on his back on a cot in a small private cubicle in an emergency room. A large sign across the hall said ELKINS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL. He was wearing his shorts and a blue paper gown. Looking up, he saw the sheriff and his deputy on one side and a young clean shaven man with large blue eyes and thick blond hair on the other side. The man had on a long white coat with a large pin saying Dr. Abe Fein. "Well now," said Dr. Fein cheerfully, "how are we feeling?" He was looking at a medical chart. Barrett assumed it was his. I don't know about you but I feel like shit! Dr. Fein did not wait for an answer. "While you were out --- you must have fainted --- we took a couple of x-rays, an EKG, and drew some blood. And everything was normal. Your heart is fine." Dr Fein spoke to the chart. "What you had was a severe anxi-ety attack." He put the chart away and turned to his patient. "At least that's what it looks like." Barrett was awake and sitting up, looking around the tiny room. He felt weak and nauseous. "All of your vital signs are good." continued the doctor. "And you look a hell of a lot better than you did when you came in here two hours ago." "Two hours?" Barrett stared at Fein in amazement. "Yes." Dr. Fein took a stethoscope out of his pocket and put it to Barrett's chest. "Just one final listen --- " After a brief pause, Dr. Fein said, "Well, I'd say you're free to go." As he was leaving he turned and added, "It might be a good idea for you to see your family doctor. And do try and stay relaxed." He nodded politely to the two policemen and left. Stay relaxed? What a joke! The sheriff and his deputy then emerged out of the shadows and approached Barrett. Darrell said, "Yeah, you sure do look better now, Doc. I'll tell you --- " "Goddamn it, Darrell," Barrett interrupted angrily, "what the hell happened?" He took off the gown and began to get dressed. "Well, it seems like the people from the County Prosecutor's of-fice were here in Patton all weekend. Can you believe they were here on a Sunday?" "Hard to believe." echoed Sam. "Actually, Doc," continued the sheriff, "Sam here should be tell-ing you all this cause I been out of town since Wednesday night." He turned to Sam. "Ain't that right?" "Yep! That's right!" Sam adjusted his holster. "Can you skip the fucking preliminaries and get to the point?" Barrett felt so frustrated he had trouble buttoning his shirt. "Doc, you gotta understand our position." Darrell folded his arms. "I'm truly sorry, but there just ain't much we can do." Again he turned to his deputy. "Ain't that right, Sam?" "That's right." Sam looked everywhere except at Barrett. "So," continued Darrell mechanically, "we got to take you in to the county jail with no bail --- pending trial that is." Once again Barrett opened his mouth to speak and once again nothing came out. "I'll tell you Doc," The sheriff spoke softly. "I ain't so sure we're supposed to be discussing this here case like this." "It's okay." added the deputy. "You can tell him what happened. Hell, it don't matter no way." Then Ingles smiled exposing ugly yel-low teeth. It was at that moment that Barrett knew for certain he unequivocally detested Sam Ingles! "Well, Doc. It seems she was shot." Darrell said it without any emotion. "Shot?" Barrett screamed. "Yep! Shot." Darrell unfolded his arms and nodded, his lips tight. Barrett paused and again stared at the sheriff. "Who the hell would want to shoot her?" Both men looked at Barrett accusingly. "Hey, it wasn't me! I was --- " He felt faint again and had to sit on the edge of the bed. "You were what?" asked Barrett skeptically. "Nothing!" snapped Barrett. "Just tell me what happened." "Okay." Darrell was blasé. "I spoke to the prosecutor and this is how he sees it." He waved his forefinger in the air. "Now remem-ber, this is the county talking." "Go ahead." Barrett had trouble holding his head up. "I know we ain't supposed to be talking about this." Darrell glanced at his deputy. Sam nodded. "Go ahead!" yelled Barrett. Then he softened his tone. "Please." "Well --- " Darrell cleared his throat. " --- you were over at this --- Jodi Bartless' apartment on Wednesday night." Darrell looked at Sam helplessly. This time the deputy shrugged. "Darrell --- please!" Barrett gripped the sides of the cot. Darrell cleared his throat again then spoke coldly, as if to a stranger. "You were there at or near the time of her death. And that makes you a suspect --- in fact, the only suspect!" Sam was looking at the floor. Darrell and Barrett were staring at each other. Both men seemed equally confused. Then Barrett began shaking his head back and forth. "This is un-fucking believable!" He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then he looked at Darrell again. "And I suppose you have a motive?" Shot --- sud-denly! "Well, the prosecutor thinks that maybe you and Jodi had a --- thing --- and --- " "A thing? A THING? What the fuck is a thing?" Barrett could feel the veins in his neck bulge. He knew his face was red. "Now just calm down, Doc" The sheriff adjusted his cap. "I'm try-ing to get this story out the best I can." "Yeah." said Sam Ingles, again displaying yellow teeth. "Calm down!" "You shut up!" roared Barrett. "Listen, you --- " The deputy took a step toward Barrett. "Hey! Both you guys cool it! This here ain't no damn football stag." Darrell walked between the two men with his hands in front of him. "Now let me finish this here story!" "Un-fucking believable!" Barrett spoke softly and to no one in particular. "Un-fucking believable!" "Doc, we aren't your enemy. We aren't prosecuting you. All we're doing is what we're told to." Shot --- suddenly! "And," continued Darrell condescendingly, "that is to bring you in as a suspect. And only as a suspect." "Holy shit, Darrell! How could you possibly think I would have anything to do --- ?" "Whoa now! We're not saying you're guilty." Saltz put his hand up and forced a smile. "We're only taking you in --- " "As a suspect!" Barrett finished Darrell's sentence defensively. "I know." "Now the cleaning lady says she saw you going into her apart-ment just before she was shot. And she says --- the cleaning lady that is --- that you was there once before." Darrell adjusted his cap again. "And that's why the prosecutor thinks you two had a --- thing." "I see." Barrett again gripped the sides of the cot. "Go on." "Now, Doc, I wasn't gonna discuss any of this with you. But see-ing as how we went this far ---" Darrell took a deep breath. " --- well, the county thinks you could have killed her to keep her from telling your wife about this --- thing." "Un-fucking believable!" Again Barrett felt the veins in his neck bulge. "And," continued Darrell, "the police found your fingerprints eve-rywhere in the apartment. They were probably left there that night." Darrell and Sam exchanged a brief glance. "Look, Doc, I know this is kinda tough on you, the fact is this girl died between nine and midnight. And unless you got an alibi to prove you were not there at the time of death, --- with them fingerprints and --- cleaning lady and all --- well, there's nothing to substantiate otherwise." "My fingerprints?" Barrett was starting to sweat. "My fingerprints are on file?" "I reckon so." answered Darrell. "And they can trace prints that close?" "Sometimes. They --- " Darrell suddenly snapped his fingers "Damn! I forgot the clincher!" Barrett knew what was coming. "The clincher is," continued the sheriff, "you left your daggone watch there. The face was busted --- like maybe you dropped it and then accidentally stepped on it." Accidentally! "Did you know your watch was missing?" Darrell asked noncha-lantly. Barrett paused a second then said, "Maybe it's not mine." Darrell and Sam exchanged glances again. Darrell looked at Bar-rett and said quietly. "Hell, Doc, it had your name on it." Barrett didn't respond this time. Fear replaced anxiety. "Well, anyway," Darrell went on. "the watch read 10:19." Barrett slid off the cot and stood face to face with Darrell. Then he saw it all: Mrs. Purdy, his fingerprints, his watch. His prear-ranged alibi was now working in reverse! Why did I ever involve Jodi as a witness? Barrett could not believe what a bizarre set of circumstances he had created and was now faced with! It felt like a sharp knife was running up and down his spine and a huge weight lay on top of his head. He looked down as he spoke and all he could say was, "Un-fucking believable!" "Now take it easy." Darrell spoke soothingly. "We should never have discussed any of this." Barrett looked up. He felt hollow inside. "But we did." "And besides," Darrell got blasé again. "As far as I'm concerned, this is all circumstantial and purely conjectural." "Darrell, how on earth can you say exactly when my fingerprints were at her apartment?" He cleared his throat nervously as someone would do if they had just revealed a giant secret. "Assuming they are my prints!" "Oh, they're your prints alright, Doc." Darrell said evenly. "It sure as hell was your watch though!" said Sam grinning. "Doc." Darrell put his hands on Barrett's shoulders. "I would suggest --- now mind you this is only a suggestion. But I would suggest that you get yourself a good lawyer." Just then a short, heavyset elderly nurse opened the door to the cubicle. "Oh --- I'm sorry. I was told it was vacant." "It will be in about five minutes." said Darrell smiling as he dropped his hands to his side. "Okay. Sorry to disturb you." And she left. There was a long silence. Then Barrett sat down slowly, folding his hands in front of him. He looked at his hands as he spoke. "Dar-rell, I did not have a --- thing with Jodi Bartless." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And I swear to God I didn't shoot her." There was another long silence. Barrett's head suddenly jerked up. "But I know who might have! In fact, I'd bet on it!" Darrell and Sam turned slowly toward him. He continued breathlessly. "Aaron --- shit! What's his last name?" He slammed his hand down on the narrow bed. Then his eyes widened, almost popping out of their sockets. "Claypool! Aaron Claypool!" Darrell squinted at the agitated optometrist. "Who the hell is Aaron Claypool?" "Some creep that Jodi was seeing." Barrett could feel his stomach turn at the words. "Hmmm --- " Darrell took out a pen and a notebook. "What all do you know about this guy?" Barrett thought a moment. "Well --- not a whole lot." He tried to keep his voice steady as he told the sheriff all he knew about Aaron Claypool and his relationship with Jodi Bartless. Barrett empha-sized every abject and damning detail he could think of, exaggerat-ing whenever possible. Darrell wrote quietly, nodding occasionally, as he spoke. When Barrett was finished, Darrell studied what he had written then turned the page. "Very interesting." He said, and looked up. "Listen, Doc, can you give me some idea of what this guy looks like? Something I can go on? It don't have to be perfect." Barrett could sense that Darrell was getting tired and beginning to lose patience. "I only saw him once, Darrell, and it was dark. So I can't give you much of a description. But he was driving a dirty green Ford Galaxy." "And you think maybe this --- " Darrell glanced at his notes again. " --- Claypool zapped the Bartless woman?" "No maybe about it!" "Aaron --- Claypool --- " Darrell spoke to the small notebook. " --- Ford --- Galaxy --- " He closed it. "Okay, Doc. This'll have to do. I'll try and check it out for you." He put his pen and notebook back in his shirt pocket. "Hell, you never know." Then he turned to his deputy. "Ain't that right, Sam?" "That's right, boss." Sam spoke to the wall. "You never know." Barrett took a deep breath. "Darrell, the main point here is that I didn't do it. I wish to hell I could make you believe me." He stood up but his knees had other ideas and he had to sit back down. "Does it do me any good to tell you any of this?' "No!" Sam spoke up. Barrett ignored the deputy. "Tell me what to do, Darrell." "Well, Doc, like I say, you need legal counsel." He took off his cap and scratched his head. "I don't think I'd use Joe Calvin, even though he does live in town." Darrell put his cap back on. "Joe does mostly wills, divorces --- domestic shit like that." "Yeah. Domestic shit," echoed the deputy, grinning. Barrett wanted to take something and bash his head in. "Now don't get me wrong, Doc. I got nothing against Joe." Dar-rell scratched the back of his neck. "But frankly, I doubt if he would even take the case." "I doubt it." Sam again echoed Darrell's thoughts. "But I would call Joe and ask him to refer you to someone else." The sheriff spoke enthusiasti cally. "He could do that." Barrett Jessop said nothing. He just kept shaking his head back and forth, hoping he would soon awake from this awful nightmare, but wondering if he ever would. * BOOK THREE MILES
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