I had all but given up on this story because no one seemed to be reading. But then... just as I was about to bail... someone reviewed. Thank you, HAZMOT. So now I'm back in the game. Keep them coming, people. Reviews warm the heart and make the chapters come faster.
5.
As the old wooden slab splintered and flew open, Ed had to admit—he'd never enjoyed the act of breaking down a door more. He'd actually been hoping the suspect wouldn't respond to their urgent knocking so they'd have the pleasure of a nice, loud, forceful entry. His anger had been building up since the night before—ever since he'd watched those videos with Lennie. It needed an escape. If not an inanimate object, it would end up being somebody's face. And while he doubted anyone would blame him for beating Carmichael's attacker to a pulp, his career would probably be better off without it.
Sexual assault was such a cowardly kind of aggression. Carmichael, tall and outspoken, was probably one of the least defenseless women he knew—but what chance could even she possiblyhave against a creep who sneaked up on her in the dark, from behind, a hulking bastard who had at least five inches and a hundred pounds on her? Spineless and pathetic—that's what it was.
Thankfully smashing down the door gave him the release he needed, so he wasn't as out of control when he saw the alleged perp, Jonathan Garbler, attempting to fit his lanky frame through the kitchen window.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he deadpanned. "Now where the hell do you think you're going, wiseguy? Dontcha wanna join us for a nice little chat?"
Lennie was usually the one with the one-liners, but Ed could tell he wasn't in the mood. He'd been all business, no humor since they'd got wind of Carmichael's plight. It wasn't that Ed wasn't upset, but Lennie had taken it unpredictably hard. He obviously hadn't got much sleep last night after being forced home, and all the hours they'd spent tracking down this guy hadn't done much to improve his temper.
When Crenshaw had so helpfully announced the man on the video was "no stranger", he hadn't exactly offered a name to go with it. Turned out it was just "some guy" who hung around the parking lot washing windshields and panhandling. No one really knew who he was or where he lived. It had taken hours of aimless running around before someone finally pointed them in the right direction.
Ed sat Garbler down on one of the beat up kitchen chairs, a little harder than was strictly necessary.
"I didn't do nothin'—it wasn't me!" Jonathan Garbler wailed.
He fit the general description—about 6'2", white, dark hair. He even looked a little like the half-assed sketch the forensic artist had made from McCoy's portrayal. Inspite of that, Ed was suddenly overcome with the feeling this was not their man.
"Lemme get this straight," Lennie menacingly began. "Your name's Jonathan Garbler, right?"
"Yeah."
"And you hang around the courthouse parking lot, don't you?"
"Yeah," he sniffled. "But I don't do anything wrong. They want me there. I help look after the cars, I help the ladies with their bags. They give me money."
His eyes were so wide, his voice was so helpless. Ed's heart sank. This was no act. There was no way this guy had the brains to pull off what they'd seen on camera.
Even so, he pushed on, "You like looking at the ladies who work there, Jonathan? Maybe think about getting your hands on one of them?"
Garbler's eyes almost popped out of his head. "No, sir!"
"These broads, in their short skirts, just flaunting it out for everyone," Lennie growled. "They were asking for it, weren't they. If it wasn't you, someone else was gonna do it. She had it coming."
"No, no, no." The big bad would-be rapist was cowering and whimpering like a frightened five-year-old. "I didn't do nothin' to no lady!"
"Shame on you," a sharp voice broke in behind them.
Ed turned around so fast, he strained a neck muscle. An old lady stood in the doorway, short and stocky, with a head full of tight gray curls and a nasty snarl on her face.
"What are you hounding my boy for? Can't you tell he's retarded? He ain't done a thing."
The conversation went quickly downhill from there. Even Lennie seemed to have realized Garbler wasn't the doer. His voice was half-hearted as he explained, "An ADA was attacked where he works. The perp's description matches your son."
"Nonsense," the old lady spat. "My boy would never attack anybody. He's like an overgrown puppy. Don't you dare go pinning this on him. Shame on you both."
"Mrs. Garbler—" began Ed.
"Stanton," the woman barked. "Garbler was his daddy's name—that no good sonovabitch. Went and got himself thrown in jail before my boy was two months old. Now, if you ain't gonna arrest him, get the hell outta my house."
Ed and Lennie exchanged bitter glances. Truth was, they had enough to take the kid in for questioning at least. But was it worth it? He barely seemed to understand their questions, let alone answer them. And while Ed had seen sexual violence among the mentally challenged, they were rarely the offenders.
"Just a second, ma'am," Ed interposed, doing his best to be very, very polite under the old lady's snarling glare. "Jonathan, were you in the Courthouse parking lot last night?"
The kid still hadn't lost his deer-in-the-headlights look. It took him almost a minute to nod.
"Did you see anybody come and go? Anyone who isn't usually there, I mean?"
Garbler scrunched up his face in thought. "Two."
"Two men?" demanded Lennie. "What did they look like?"
"One was mostly bald with a little red hair."
Skoda. Ed knew McCoy and Carmichael had asked the forensic psychiatrist to examine their underage witness and then testify at the King trial. He'd probably stayed over for sentencing. He certainly wasn't their man.
"And the other one?" Lennie prompted.
"The other one just sat on the curb and smoked."
"He give you a name?" It was too much to hope for, Ed knew—but he still had to try.
"No… he was mean. I tried to talk to him and he called me names."
Ed sighed. It was time accept their defeat. They weren't going to get anymore out of this man. Maybe he was a witness and maybe he'd be able to pick the guy out of a mug book or a line-up, though it seemed unlikely any identification of his would hold up in court.
"He was there before," Jonathan called out after them, almost as an afterthought, once they were practically out the door. "Last week. He came with the bald man in his car. I thought they were friends."