Homicide My Own - Anne Argula [35]
When we left the room and descended the stairs, the chief said in his solid even way, “Take that man back to Spokane.” He was leading us down the stairs, first him, then Odd, then me, so we could not see his face. At the bottom of the stairs we formed a small circle and his face was the same.
We spoke in whispers. “It’s your call, Quinn,” said Odd.
I wanted nothing more than to get off that island, da frick. I looked outside to the porch and saw that the rain had come back, huge drops falling through the sunlight, and it looked so nice. It would be so nice to be driving through it, back to Spokane.
Odd needed to stay, I knew. If he went back to Spokane, took some vacation time, and returned, he might lose whatever was compelling him. We already had the cottage, we needed the rest. I decided there would be no harm in waiting until morning.
“He still has a fever,” I said, “and he doesn’t look all that great. I think a night’s rest all around is the ticket. We’ll take him back in the morning.”
“You’ll take him now,” said the chief. “The Tribal Constitution allows me to hold non-tribal suspects for twenty-four hours. We’ve already passed that.”
Any time a man cites the constitution, I wonder what he’s got to hide, but that’s me, I’m a cop. The chief never mentioned the twenty-four-hour rule before, and he didn’t seem all that intimidated by defying the county when we first met him. Granted, he was never enthusiastic about the case that had fallen into his jurisdiction, but he clearly wasn’t a guy focused on covering his ass. Or he would never have put the ailing felon in his own guest room. It’s possible that the vision of Houser and that little girl licking each other from noses to toeses torched off a decent man’s outrage and he simply wanted shed of him. It’s also possible that our questioning the Coyotes and then Karl Gutshall infringed on some real or imagined territory sensitive to the chief.
I looked at my watch. It was a little after four. “What’s another night?” I asked.
“That man is your prisoner,” said the chief. “If you want him, take him. Otherwise, I’m turning him over to county, within the hour. Take him or lose him.”
We took him.
Back up the stairs, this time just Odd and me. We had to wake up Houser. We helped him out of bed. He was in his boxer shorts, blue. We helped him into his clothes. He didn’t object or question us. He had a bag, he said, that was in his car. We found it in the closet.
“Any weapons in that bag?” I asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then you won’t mind if I look through it?”
“No.”
Just the usual stuff, clothes and toiletries. There was a CD player with two tiny attachable speakers and half a dozen CDs I didn’t bother to look at. My music is no music. I zipped up the bag and handed it to Odd. We marched him down the stairs between us. The chief and his wife were standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Houser, “for your hospitality.”
She said nothing.
“You can catch the 4:45 ferry, if you hurry,” said the chief.
“Was it the smoke signals crack?” I asked, but the chief didn’t answer. All he wanted was rid of us.
We threw Houser’s bag in the trunk, and I took out a pair of cuffs. “Put your hands behind your back.” I cuffed him and we made him comfy in the back seat. “I suppose we should stop somewhere and put on our uniforms,” I said to Odd. He didn’t answer. He didn’t open up his door, even though the sky had darkened and it was starting to rain in earnest. “Ain’t?”
“I can’t go, Quinn,” he said.
“Get in the car, before you’re soaked.”
We got inside, but I didn’t start the engine.
“You can take him back alone,” said Odd. “This guy’s no risk. You drove all the way here, you can drive all the way back.”
“Yeah, I could