I was hoping to get this up last night, but it didn't work out :) To everyone who reviewed, thanks so much! You guys are the best, and I appreciate every one of you! Let me know what you think of this one :)
Still don't own, still make no money.
Chapter 12: Evidence
Bobby walked into the living room of the house and stared at the desk drawers that were laid out on the couch. The contents of them covered the coffee table and floor in that immediate area. What was left of Evelyn's candles and knick-knacks were piled up in the chairs and the stand that held the television had been emptied as well, the games from the system tossed half-hazard on the floor along with the papers and manual that had come with it.
He walked across the floor to find the dining room in the same state; the photos had been pulled down from their places and piled on the table along with the remains of the good set of china his mother had always stored in the cabinet lining the wall. It had been partly destroyed in the shootout when Sweet's men showed up, but what was left had been stored back in its original place when they cleaned up. The hospital bed that Jack no longer used had been stripped, the mattress pulled off its foundation and left leaning against the table, the blankets strewn about the floor and the pillow lodged back in the corner on the other side of the bed frame.
Jeremiah and Angel had taken the kitchen route and he could hear Angel whistle in a quiet manner from the other side of the doorway.
"Man, what the hell did they think they were looking for?" Angel finally spoke. Frustration seemed to echo in his words. "Why the hell did they need to empty all of the cupboards?"
Bobby stepped over to the doorway and looked in at the dishes and food items that had been emptied onto the counter. The table held the food from the refrigerator and the pots and pans had been scattered on the tile in front of the bottom cupboard where they were normally stored. "Hell, at least nothing is broken, so far." He muttered the words despite the desire to yell.
"If they did this down here I'm afraid to look upstairs." Jeremiah's voice mirrored Bobby's, with agitation and surprise, one weaved around the other. "I thought Johnson was supposed to keep them from tearing shit up."
"I did." Johnson spoke from the doorway behind Angel and Jeremiah. All three men shifted their attention to him. "I'm sorry; I did the best I could. They swarmed over this place, I tried…" He looked at Bobby. "At least nothing is broken. I made sure of that." He looked almost as pissed as Bobby felt.
"They walked out of here with some boxes, what the hell did they take?" Bobby's voice sounded flat against the mess surrounding them. He'd forgotten Johnson hadn't left with the black suits carrying boxes out of their front door. The man had some backbone, sticking around when he had to know he was the only one close enough that Bobby could consider beating the shit out of. He felt his fists both tighten up, aching to for that sensation of striking into another nose, or a jaw.
Johnson looked as if he were going to get sick to his stomach. "I'm not sure about everything they boxed up. I know there were some papers, they looked important, I think they came out of one of the rooms upstairs. They carried somethings out of Jack's room, I think." He sucked in a deep breath. "And some of Craig's clothes," The last part of his statement was almost choked off.
Bobby felt the sensation like a cold, hard knife blade piercing his chest. Craig's clothes; that meant they weren't planning on turning him back over anytime soon. "What about Jack? What the hell are they doing with him?" He had to know what he was dealing with, all of it. "His shot may not have killed Macks. We all know that, and even if it did, he was defending me and Craig. Macks was holding a gun on me, he'd been beating the shit out of Craig; you know that, hell you seen the bruises and the blood."
"I do know that. The problem is I was not there to witness the whole thing Bobby. I was busy with Jordan. And that sorry son of a bitch is trying to make some kind of deal now. Harris has talked to him and I'm not sure what all he has told him, but it was enough that Harris is on some kind of witch hunt." Johnson pulled out his cell phone. "I'm calling Green. I think you need to check upstairs, see what all is missing, if you can figure that out it may help us narrow down Harris' intentions." He looked at Bobby before hitting any buttons on the phone. "Don't worry, we'll have Jack home before this evening, I already told you that. Green was going to make a few calls to a judge, and see what he could do about that."
"What about Craig?" Angel asked with a voice stiff and quiet as he gave a sauce pan at his feet a slight tap with the toe of his shoe.
"I need to let Green know about Craig. We weren't expecting anyone to remove him from the home and to be honest the manner in which it was done goes against all policy." Johnson commented.
"No shit, really, like we don't already know that." Bobby felt the anger release in his words.
"The one guy showed me papers, but he didn't give me any of them, and they did show I.D., they were from Social Services, but it looked different than Ma's did, they weren't from the same office, or branch." Jeremiah remarked, looking at Bobby.
"Getting Craig back may be trickier than busting Jack loose from a jail cell. Don't worry though, we'll find out where he is." Johnson finally hit a button on his phone and lifted it to his ear. "Go check upstairs, see what is missing. If you had any kind of legal documents, from Craig's custody issue, or anything that would pertain to Jack, you should check those, pinpoint what they might have taken."
"They can't take any legal papers, can they? That's…" Jeremiah started his remark, but Johnson looked at him and cut off his words.
"Nothing Harris is doing is by the book Jeremiah. I don't know what he's after, but those men had papers in that box." Johnson was about to say something else, but he returned his attention to the phone held up to his ear. "Green, it's me." He spoke quickly and turned to face the kitchen sink. "Yeah, I've got an update, and you ain't gonna like it." He started spouting off details of what had taken place at the Mercer home.
Bobby watched him, and half listened while his mind clicked off the papers he was sure was upstairs in the top drawer of his mother's dresser. He'd put Jack's adoption papers in the drawer along with Craig's, Craig's custody papers, the hospital bills and insurance papers. A force seemed to pull him towards the foyer. He moved up the stairs with Jeremiah and Angel behind him.
His heart started racing as he realized Craig's papers had contained other documents that he had yet to examine too closely. Papers that documented his father's abuse and the attempt that he'd made at taking his own sons life the same night he had murdered his wife. Court transcripts that his mother had kept with the rest of Craig's papers that listed his injuries at the time he'd entered foster care, and the psychological evaluations of his state of mind that had been transcribed to be used as evidence in the state's case against Adam Macks.
Bobby had barely had time to skim over the papers that had been stored in his mother's safe deposit box. He'd planned on sitting down and going through them all thoroughly as soon as he had the opportunity, but that chance had never come. So much shit had gone down since the day him and his brothers had met Robert Bradford for the first time, to receive the contents of that box.
He found his mother's room had been left in the same condition as the downstairs. The dresser drawers had been removed from their place and were resting side by side in a straight line across the floor at the foot of the bed. Bobby recognized the drawer that had held the documents in question, and nearly growled with frustration when he realized the only papers left were Jack's.
His right foot kicked out against the drawer, sending it across the floor to crack hard into the wall just under the window. "Son of bitch!" He yelled the words and turned towards the wall, raising his fist, ready to slam it hard into the drywall.
"What the hell was that for?" Jeremiah spoke from the doorway.
Bobby's body spun and turned just short of his fist busting a hole in the wall, and he let his arm drop to his side as he faced his brother. "They took all of Craig's papers. All of them." He reached up and pushed his palms into his face, giving it a hard a scrub before allowing them to drop at his side. "Shit Jerr', what do they want? It doesn't make sense." He wanted to yell and still felt a need to hit something, but at some point in the recent weeks, some kind of control had implanted into his brain and he was holding back on his urges; he hated it, but he needed to reserve the urge for the right moment, when it was going to count for something.
"I don't know, but let's find out. I say we catch up with Harris and confront him straight up." Jeremiah sounded calm, despite the fire sparking behind his eyes.
"I vote we get some information, just like we were talking about. There has to be someone out there who knows more about what Macks was playin'. Hell, we just have to find the right person." Angel stepped up behind Jeremiah. "My room is tore to hell, so it Craig's." He informed.
"Yeah, Jack's room, well, hell, it looks the same as it always does, but his guitar was layin' on the floor, so…" Jeremiah sighed. "I can't tell if anything is gone."
Bobby shook his head and pushed his way past his brothers. He stepped up to Jack's bedroom door and looked in. The guitar was lying on the floor in front of the dresser. He stepped over and picked it up carefully. He turned and placed it on the bed, treating it the same as he'd seen Jack, gently; before looking around the rest of the room. He tried to remember what the room looked like the last time he'd been in it, but that was Saturday, or maybe Sunday. He never paid much attention to Jack's room before, not enough to have any idea what might be missing. Hell, the kid tossed clothes in heaps on the floor as he pealed them off of him at the end of each day, and his clean clothes rarely made it into his dresser, but were normally piled up on the top of that particular piece of furniture, half folded with wrinkles invading the fabrics. Clothes. The shirt and jeans Jack had worn on Saturday had been tossed onto the back of the chair in the corner.
Bobby turned to the chair and held his breath. The clothes were gone. Jack hadn't washed them. He hadn't wanted to touch them and they had stayed on that chair. Bobby remembered the talk he'd had with Jack late on Sunday. His little brother had been struggling with the fact that he'd shot a man and Bobby had found him in his room muttering to himself, tears clouding his eyes and his mind.
Okay, it was Macks, and Jack had admitted that part of him hoped it was his actions that had killed the man, but another part of him was struggling with the conflict. He'd always hated guns, always hated what they could do to a person, something he'd witness first hand when he was far too young. He hadn't wanted to touch any firearm, or be around them because of the traumatic experience from his earlier years. Bobby had made him learn despite that, he'd wanted him know how to handle a weapon to defend himself, just in case.
Jack was battling guilt, and memories and Bobby had let him go on for nearly an hour while he stared down the clothes. He was going to burn them, as soon as he had the time. He wanted to burn the clothes, some illogical notion that the threads of cotton and denim erupting in flames could somehow cleanse his soul of the act of ending a life; as if essence, drifting away in clouds of dark smoke would somehow lift the burden he was carrying. He'd planned it all out. "They took evidence from Saturday." He muttered.
"What evidence?" Angel asked from behind him.
"The clothes he was wearing on Saturday." Bobby muttered.
"The clothes he was wearing, hell, did he wash them at least?" Angel asked.
"No." Bobby shook his head without looking back. "No, he didn't wash them." He knew why Angel was asking. If Jack had at least washed the shit then the clothes wouldn't be much use. Any evidence the cops could twist around would have been compromised at least if he'd washed them; worse yet, the cops could plant something, and because they hadn't been washed there was no way to dispute it.
"Okay, but the cops already know what happened when Macks died. Hell, half the police force was in that cemetery that day." Jeremiah spoke quickly. "Let's not think the worst, not yet."
"The worst Jerr'?" Bobby still didn't turn to face his brothers. "You do know what the hell is going on here now, right? You ain't got so fuckin' far from your roots that you can't see it. They are gonna set Jack up and make sure he's pinned with Mack's murder, no matter how much proof we got that Macks was after us."
"Then let's get to work big brother. We got some doors to knock on." Angel spoke quickly. "Let's get out there do some knocking instead of standing around here like a bunch of dicks stuck up Harris' ass."
Bobby turned, finally. "Yeah, let's do that." He watched Angel turn and walk away from the door. He gave Jeremiah one of his agitated stares, until he turned and followed Angel. Bobby stepped to the door and looked back into Jack's room one last time. No one was coming into their home and fucking around again, he didn't care if there were warrants or guns. He was getting tired of the shit and he was putting an end to it.
Jack sat on the dirty mattress that lined the wall of the cell. He'd asked about seeing his lawyer, but no one was talking to him. He could only sit and wait. He hadn't been taken to any rooms for questioning, though that's what he'd expected. Instead he'd been booked, subjected to a humiliating search before a quick cold shower, and the handed one of the county's bright orange jumpsuits to wear. The cell was hollow, and though it gave a chill down to his bones, the inside was stale and hot. He could hear other inmates talking from a distance, but he couldn't see anyone. He was in a holding cell usually reserved for those unlucky souls being transferred out of the county lock up to a more secure facility. He wondered if they were planning moving him, or if they were keeping him separated from the rest of the jail population, as Harris had said they would. He was thankful to be to himself, it felt less threatening to him. His watch had been taken from him along with all other personal items and he had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been sitting there. His back ached to lean against the wall, but there seemed to be slimy substance coating it in spots and he was afraid of coming into contact with it. He didn't want to lie on the mattress for fear of what was on it. There were no sheets or clean blankets to place between him and the bedbugs that his mind had conjured up to infest the bedding.
He hadn't expected to be arrested, despite the events of that morning. Somehow he had avoided facing the real possibility of it by pushing it to the back of his mind, concentrating on what was happening with Craig, and somehow believing that if they did come for him that Bobby would be able to stop it from happening. Shit, he was still expecting Bobby to fix everything for him, and he had to stop.
Bobby couldn't fix this, no matter how badly he might try. Part of him was reasoning that he deserved this. He'd shot a man, may have taken a life and it made him feel like hell knowing that. He deserved to have to answer to someone for that. Macks should have gone to jail, should have stood trial for what he'd done, no matter how much the Mercers hated him. The only thing that had gotten him through the past few days was the chance that it wasn't his shot that had ended Adam Macks' life, but being torn to shreds by the car when it ran him over. The man's body had been picked up in pieces, different parts of him placed in different plastic totes and a body bag. If he didn't kill Macks, he had rendered him unable to move out of the way of the car. That part did bother him.
Bobby and Craig walked away though, so it was worth it. That's what he kept telling himself. Macks didn't have the chance to put a bullet into Bobby's head and his brothers were all alive. His brain had been battling back and forth between guilt and satisfaction for three days, and now, sitting in a jail cell seemed to tilt the mental image of scales in favor of his actions being wrong. That allowed his guilt to grow and fester in the hot quiet surrounding him.
His left thumb had found its way to his mouth a few times, his teeth habitually gnawed at the nail until it was down to the quick, and then moved to the skin at the edge, chewing it raw. He jumped when a loud clank signaled the barred door at the end of the hall had been opened. Since he could see no other cell, or door in the area he stood quickly, hoping someone was coming to give him some kind of information.
The officer that came to his cell door looked void of any emotion, in fact, he acted as if he were bored. He used a key to unlock the door and looked at Jack. "Your lawyer is here to see you. Step out of the cell and face the wall." He pulled handcuffs off of his belt and held them up.
Jack stepped out of the cell and obeyed the order, faced the wall next to his cell and held his hands in place behind him so the man could confine them there. The cold metal clamped tight around his wrists, pinching at his skin. He expected to be led to the door at the end of the hall, but instead his guard pushed him hard from behind, slamming him into the wall.
The man's body pressed against his from behind, his face just out of his sight on his left hand side, but his mouth was there, right at his ear. "You try anything with me you son of a bitch and I'll make you regret it."
Jack felt a tremble hit his stomach. "No, sir, I will not try anything." He heard the uneven tone of his voice.
"I knew Higgins, and I knew him well. I don't take kindly to one our own being gunned down in the street. I say you had something to do with that." The cop sounded threatening. "You watch yourself with me boy, I won't put up with shit from you. Remember that." He pulled back quickly when another voice called from just out of view.
"Come on Paul, let's get going." The voice sounded impatient.
"Coming," Paul, Jack's guard called back. He took a hold of Jack's left arm and pulled him up the hall without saying another word.
Jack held his breath as they made their way through the corridors, to what he prayed was Robert Bradford waiting for him. Robert might have some good news for him, it was possible, right?