highway and sped up the driveway, stopping next to McBean, who said something to the driver while pointing at the guest house.
“What did you say to Jared?” Sarah asked her father.
“Nothing much.” He grinned. “Just made him promise he would keep his mouth shut until you had a chance to talk to him.”
“I hope he understood.”
“He did,” the judge said. “But you better get down there and make sure they don’t talk him out of it.”
Sarah turned to walk to her car, then stopped as if she had just remembered something. “I’m sorry, Hunter. Is it all right if I call you tomorrow?”
I quickly stepped aside to get out of the way of McBean’s car as it headed toward the highway with Jared. As it passed, McBean gave me a face-wide grin from the passenger seat. That was when it hit me. Sarah hadn’t done enough criminal work to handle a snake like McBean. She had no idea what he was capable of. But I did.
“No way,” I said. “I’m going with you.”
Chapter 6
Sarah turned her gold Lexus onto what used to be old Highway 101 as we entered downtown Ukiah. The largest town in the county is a mix of the old and the new. Fast-food joints and modern gas-station-convenience stores share frontage with sun-faded lapboard housing dating back to the turn of the century.
Along the sidewalks in the business district, old-timers in overalls linger amongst younger, long-sleeved businessmen. Here and there are a smattering of 1960s hippies who escaped Haight-Ashbury when San Francisco no longer wanted them. Their ponytailed hair and beards now graying, they are an accepted part of the community mix.
We pulled up in front of the Mendocino County sheriff’s station, a small three-story redbrick building with filigreed wooden fringe surrounding the roof line. What I saw next, I wasn’t expecting.
It had been scarcely more than an hour since Jared was arrested, and already dozens of reporters were at the station’s entrance, jockeying for the best position. The kidnapping of a young boy wouldn’t make a three-inch story in the metro section of the San Francisco Chronicle. But in a small community, where a traffic stop is a newsworthy event, Jared’s arrest would be tomorrow’s front-page headline.
Sarah had changed into a tight-fitting suit with a soft leather bag slung over her shoulder. She pushed her way to the main door, and I followed close behind. Except for its smaller size, the station wasn’t much different from the many I’d frequented throughout San Francisco County. Within its institutional brick walls was the same deep-soaked stench of piss and body odor that buckets of disinfectant couldn’t wash away.
Sarah and I both knew that McBean was likely inside trying to trick anything he could out of Jared. Once he was booked and fingerprinted, McBean would settle Jared into the interrogation room. He’d offer a cup of coffee and a cigarette and start sympathizing. Then McBean or one of the other sly coppers would tell him that they were just there to “clear up a few things.”
The sergeant at the front was fumbling through his paperwork, looking bored out of his skull. He was a red-faced mongrel with a graying mustache that had overgrown his mouth. As he drank coffee from a Styrofoam cup, the droplets that remained on his hairy upper lip fell on the paper below.
Sarah let her heels click heavily on the tiled floor to let him know she was coming. He looked up as she approached.
“I’m here to see Jared Reineer,” she said with the faintest of smiles. “I’m his lawyer.”
“He’s busy right now.”
“But McBean is expecting me.”
“You’ll have to wait.” He lowered his head back to his paperwork. “I’m sure he’ll be busy for some time.”
“I don’t care,” she started to say when a voice from behind cut her off.
“Hey, Fillmore,” McBean called out, “is there some kind of problem?”
Sarah quickly jumped on the lieutenant. “I want to see my
“What did you say to Jared?” Sarah asked her father.
“Nothing much.” He grinned. “Just made him promise he would keep his mouth shut until you had a chance to talk to him.”
“I hope he understood.”
“He did,” the judge said. “But you better get down there and make sure they don’t talk him out of it.”
Sarah turned to walk to her car, then stopped as if she had just remembered something. “I’m sorry, Hunter. Is it all right if I call you tomorrow?”
I quickly stepped aside to get out of the way of McBean’s car as it headed toward the highway with Jared. As it passed, McBean gave me a face-wide grin from the passenger seat. That was when it hit me. Sarah hadn’t done enough criminal work to handle a snake like McBean. She had no idea what he was capable of. But I did.
“No way,” I said. “I’m going with you.”
Chapter 6
Sarah turned her gold Lexus onto what used to be old Highway 101 as we entered downtown Ukiah. The largest town in the county is a mix of the old and the new. Fast-food joints and modern gas-station-convenience stores share frontage with sun-faded lapboard housing dating back to the turn of the century.
Along the sidewalks in the business district, old-timers in overalls linger amongst younger, long-sleeved businessmen. Here and there are a smattering of 1960s hippies who escaped Haight-Ashbury when San Francisco no longer wanted them. Their ponytailed hair and beards now graying, they are an accepted part of the community mix.
We pulled up in front of the Mendocino County sheriff’s station, a small three-story redbrick building with filigreed wooden fringe surrounding the roof line. What I saw next, I wasn’t expecting.
It had been scarcely more than an hour since Jared was arrested, and already dozens of reporters were at the station’s entrance, jockeying for the best position. The kidnapping of a young boy wouldn’t make a three-inch story in the metro section of the San Francisco Chronicle. But in a small community, where a traffic stop is a newsworthy event, Jared’s arrest would be tomorrow’s front-page headline.
Sarah had changed into a tight-fitting suit with a soft leather bag slung over her shoulder. She pushed her way to the main door, and I followed close behind. Except for its smaller size, the station wasn’t much different from the many I’d frequented throughout San Francisco County. Within its institutional brick walls was the same deep-soaked stench of piss and body odor that buckets of disinfectant couldn’t wash away.
Sarah and I both knew that McBean was likely inside trying to trick anything he could out of Jared. Once he was booked and fingerprinted, McBean would settle Jared into the interrogation room. He’d offer a cup of coffee and a cigarette and start sympathizing. Then McBean or one of the other sly coppers would tell him that they were just there to “clear up a few things.”
The sergeant at the front was fumbling through his paperwork, looking bored out of his skull. He was a red-faced mongrel with a graying mustache that had overgrown his mouth. As he drank coffee from a Styrofoam cup, the droplets that remained on his hairy upper lip fell on the paper below.
Sarah let her heels click heavily on the tiled floor to let him know she was coming. He looked up as she approached.
“I’m here to see Jared Reineer,” she said with the faintest of smiles. “I’m his lawyer.”
“He’s busy right now.”
“But McBean is expecting me.”
“You’ll have to wait.” He lowered his head back to his paperwork. “I’m sure he’ll be busy for some time.”
“I don’t care,” she started to say when a voice from behind cut her off.
“Hey, Fillmore,” McBean called out, “is there some kind of problem?”
Sarah quickly jumped on the lieutenant. “I want to see my
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