Tim nodded, his brief fear over the sudden arrival of the police car giving way to momentary relief.
The police car whooped again behind them and Gordon pulled to the curb. “Keep your mouth shut,” he said to Tim. “Don’t say anything about what we were doing tonight. If they ask you, just tell them you and I were driving around talking.”
“We were trying to air out our differences,” Tim said, the ruse coming quickly.
“Right! We were just trying to air out our differences. They’ll believe that.” Gordon glanced in the rearview mirror, straightened up in the driver’s seat. He reached for his wallet and rolled his window down. “Remember what I said would happen to Chelsea if you tell them anything.”
“Yeah,” Tim said, his heart racing, not knowing what to do now that the cop was approaching the vehicle from the driver’s side, only knowing that he had to do something to stop this madness and do whatever he could to protect Chelsea and his family.
Chapter Eighteen
When the police officer approached the vehicle, Gordon put on his best smile. “Hey officer.”
A flashlight shined in the interior of the car. When its beam hit Tim’s eyes, he squinted at the sudden intrusion of light. He didn’t recognize the officer at first. It wasn’t until he spoke that Tim placed him. It was Officer Frank Clapton. “Mr. Gaines! What are you doing with Mr. Smith at 2:30 in the morning?”
“I can explain,” Gordon said.
“I think I’d rather hear this from Mr. Gaines, if you don’t mind.” Officer Clapton stepped toward the front of the vehicle and motioned for the boys to step out of the car by wiggling his fingers. “Exit the vehicle, boys. Let’s talk.”
Gordon cast one last look at Tim that said, don’t try anything you and Chelsea are going to regret. Then they stepped out of the car and joined Officer Clapton on the sidewalk.
“Care to tell me what you’re doing driving around town past curfew?” Officer Clapton asked.
“We were just talking,” Gordon said.
“Talking?” Officer Clapton looked at Tim. “What were you talking about, Mr. Gaines?”
Tim shrugged, trying not to let his nervousness show. “Nothing much. We were just…trying to air out our differences.”
“At two-thirty in the morning?”
“It was the only time we could talk without getting hassled by Tim’s parents,” Gordon said. “They haven’t been entirely courteous to me.”
“I can’t say that I blame them,” Officer Clapton said. He looked from Gordon to Tim and when a voice cracked forth on his shoulder-mounted radio, he picked it up and spoke into it. “That’s affirmative. I’ve got both suspects out of the car and on the sidewalk.”
Suspects? Tim felt his stomach twist at the word. Was he suspected in some other wrong-doing now? Something Gordon hadn’t told him about yet?
“This is serious business, boys,” Officer Clapton said. “Not only is it four hours past curfew, but Mr. Gaines is the suspect in the Reamstown Cemetery desecration. I find it hard to believe he would be out with you, Mr. Smith, just to air out your differences.”
“It’s true,” Tim murmured softly.
Another police car pulled up behind Officer Clapton’s car, its dome lights swirling blue and red. The officer exited his vehicle and took his time joining them on the sidewalk. Tim looked down at the sidewalk, the thought of being in some kind of trouble the least of his problems. If this were any other time he would have been nervous. He would have been frightened at the thought of being in trouble. Despite the seeming severity of the situation, he was more nervous about what Gordon was going to do and how much of an influence he might wield with the police.
“So what’s it going to be?” Officer Clapton said. “You guys going to tell me the truth or do I have to call your parents, maybe take you to Brendan Hall?”
Tim looked up quickly, his stomach doing another cartwheel. Gordon only shrugged. Tim’s voice quavered as he spoke. “I’m sorry we violated curfew, but really, we were just talking. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
The second officer approached and Tim noticed Officer Clapton nod at him. “Take Mr. Smith home. I’ll escort Mr. Gaines to Brendan Hall.”
Now Tim did begin to get scared at the implications. “Brendan Hall? Officer Clapton, please, I didn’t do anything, just take me home to my parents — ”
Officer Clapton took Tim by the elbow and gently guided him to his squad car. “Can’t do that, Tim. You’re the main suspect in the Reamstown Cemetery desecration and you’re out past curfew with the kid you tried to blame for it. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. I have to transport you to Brendan Hall Juvenile facility.”
Tim cast a glance back at Gordon, who was being led to the second squad car by the other officer. Gordon looked back at Tim and said, “Sorry, Tim. Everything will turn out okay.” The message in his eyes was completely different, though: don’t tell that cop what you saw at Scott’s house or Chelsea will be zombie meat.
Tim heard the other officer tell Gordon, “Your folks aren’t going to appreciate being woken up so late at night, Mr. Smith.”
“I guess not,” was Gordon’s reply and that was all he heard as Officer Clapton opened the rear door of the squad car and ushered him inside.
Tim’s thoughts were such a jumbled chaotic mess that he couldn’t get things straight as he sat in the rear of the squad car. Officer Clapton was talking to the other cop outside. Gordon was sitting in the back of the second squad car, his own vehicle still parked at the curb in front of them. He wondered what the officers were talking about. Were they comparing notes? Had new evidence been found that would perhaps exonerate Tim? If that was the case, why was he being taken to Brendan Hall?
The thought of spending the rest of the evening in Brendan Hall brought a heavy feeling of dread to Tim. He knew Brendan Hall was the Lancaster County Juvenile facility, and the idea of spending even an hour within its walls was unthinkable. Images of prison rape fluttered through his mind, of being beaten and tortured by seasoned juvenile criminals while his parents frantically tried to secure his release. Juvenile Hall was just another name for jail for kids, right?
Would his parents get a phone call to come immediately to Brendan Hall or would they have to wait until after eight A.M. to get him? Would he be able to call Chelsea and warn her? What happened if criminal charges were filed while he was waiting for his parents to pick him up and they weren’t allowed to get him? Suppose he had to remain incarcerated until his trial? That could take weeks, even months!
The fear and frustration welled to the surface and tears sprang to his eyes. Tim tried to quell them, but his frustration and fear only succeeded in making them flow faster. His breathing was growing rapid as his sobs took over and he fought to control those, too. If he wasn’t such a fuck up, wasn’t such an outcast, none of this would be happening!
Officer Clapton and the other cop stopped talking and Clapton crossed over to his squad car and got in. Tim forced himself to stop crying and wiped his eyes as Officer Clapton started the vehicle. “Do your parents know you’re out, Tim?”
“No.” Tim’s voice was on the verge of breaking down.
“We’ll call them when we get to Brendan Hall.”
“Okay.”
Officer Clapton pulled away from the curb and made a right down Main Street. The streets were deserted this late at night. Tim sat in the back seat behind the wire-mesh divider, trying to figure out what he could tell Officer Clapton. He’d seen enough cop shows and read enough crime fiction to know they always separated you during questioning to see who tripped up. Gordon was going to stick to his story, that they were just driving around, trying to talk through their differences. If he was smart, that’s all he would say. If Tim acted accordingly, they might get out of this. However, if Tim told the truth he wouldn’t be believed, plain and simple. They’d also check with Gordon, who would not only deny the allegations, but find a way for Scott and the other guys to get Chelsea, get his parents maybe, and then —