Chapter 10
The search of the house led to another worrisome discovery and now Jesse Reynolds found himself sweating it out in an interrogation room at police headquarters.
But while the warrant and search all occurred relatively quickly, they still had nothing on Jamie's whereabouts. It was time to go right to the source and get the answers they wanted.
Danny led Joe into the interrogation room, leaving Adler outside to watch through the window. The trooper was more than happy to let the New York detectives take a jab at Reynolds first. The man had clammed up just as soon as he was taken into custody. He was able to shut his trap when it suited him most, but did little to mask the nerves of a guilty man facing lockup. But what exactly was he guilty of when it came to Jameson Reagan's disappearance?
The New Yorkers were determined to find their brother and Adler had a feeling they would rattle Reynolds' cage. He expected the interrogation to be swift and yield enough information to help them find their missing law student safe and well, or so he prayed for their sakes.
"Hey, Biff. How you doing? You're looking a little nervous in here," Danny began, taking a seat directly in front of their suspect. Joe settled back against the wall. As the senior detective between the two, he decided Danny deserved first crack, so he stood back ready to observe and analyze Reynold's every move and reaction.
Reynolds scowled at the older detective, annoyed and confused by the repeated reference. "Who the hell is Biff?" he asked, sitting up from his slouched position against the table to defensively fold his arms in front of him.
The shorter detective smiled at him. His calm demeanor, along with the other detective's dark, brooding presence in the back made Reynold's stomach tighten.
"Never mind that," Danny said. "Mind telling us why we found a missing person's possessions in your house and truck?"
"What are you talking about?" Reynolds fired back automatically.
Danny sighed. He could outplay and outlast stupid any day of the week. "An iPod, for starters."
"So I have an iPod, big effing deal," Reynolds huffed. "So do millions of people."
"With our missing person's name on it?" Danny asked. Time was ticking and every second could mean Jamie's life but Danny was determined to do this right.
Reynolds eyed the silent detective, annoyed AF by the glare he was shooting his way. "Whatever, man. I found it and took it home. What am I supposed to do, go look for the sucker that dropped it?" he claimed.
"How about the laptop we found in your house? No offense, but you don't look like the kind of guy that takes notes in contracts and civil procedure courses. Although, if you brushed up on criminal law, you probably wouldn't be in this little predicament, now would you?" Danny said.
Reynolds pressed his lips together forcefully. It was probably the only way he could keep his mouth shut.
"Is it just a coincidence that we also stumbled across a duffle bag with the same person's name on the tag? A bag that was dumped in the trash bin behind your house? You only needed the things you could pawn, isn't that right? I guess it was good we hung around and kept an eye on you while we waited for the warrant. Maybe you thought the trash man would arrive before we did," Danny continued. He wished Demarcus was here to see him. He never gave him any credit for keeping his cool with perps.
"Nothing in there but a bunch of clothes that wouldn't fit and books with big words you couldn't read?" Joe snapped. He loomed behind Danny now, wanting to get in on the interrogation.
"Shut your mouth!"
Danny held a hand up, hoping Joe wouldn't egg him on. "Come on Jessie. Don't make this worse than it already is."
"And what exactly is this?" he asked. There was no way they knew where college boy was, otherwise they wouldn't all be here questioning him. And if they didn't know where he was, he thought there was nothing they could pin on him.
Danny smiled at the dummy. He'd get this guy eventually. "Did you know that we have access to a fancy forensics lab here? The State Police has been great. First thing we did when we got your truck back here was scrape some of that fresh blue paint off your bumper and that fancy lab is going to tell us the type and name of the blue paint and then it will tell us the makes and models that use that paint."
"So?" Reynolds responded.
Both Danny and Joe had a hard time deciding if this was an act or if he was just this dumb.
"So? So, you can lie all you want, but the cards are stacking up against you. You either tell us where to find Jamie Reagan and the blue Civic he was driving last night or you'll be going back upstate and it will be for a hell of a lot longer than five years."
Reynolds frowned and he sat up. "What a minute. You said Reagan?"
"Yeah," Danny advised, watching as Reynolds connected some dots. Apparently he didn't take a good close look at the ipod or bags he stole.
"That's your name."
"And he's our brother," Joe advised.
Reynold's heart sank at the revelation, but he was too stupid to come clean already even with everything the cops knew. His ego and that giant chip he carried on his shoulder got in the way every damn time. It did after his last felony arrest and he ended up with a five-year stint in the clink. History would repeat itself if reality didn't sink in soon, but he felt the need to keep the charade, despite how weak his arguments became with each try.
"So, maybe I'm in possession of stolen property, at best, and that's even if you can prove I stole it. That's all you have, and you know it," he argued lamely.
"Uh, uh, not true. We also got the parole violation to start - remember we found the gun in your car? And let's not forget that it was recently fired. We can always add from there," Danny advised. He was itching to punch the bastard in the face to get him to talk, but he remembered his father's warning, not that it was okay. It was taking all of his strength to keep the good cop thing going. This was harder than it looked.
"We'll figure this out, I promise you that. But by then, you'll have dug yourself a pretty deep hole, Jesse," he warned.
Reynolds said nothing, prompting Danny to share one more important detail he'd left out. "Know what else?" he asked, continuing when all it got him was a glare.
"Jamie Reagan is not only our brother. His father, well, our father, is the NYPD Police Commissioner."
That got the scowl to fall from Reynold's ugly mug.
"You think the Commissioner's gonna let the scum who hurt his son get off with a slap on the wrist?" Danny pondered out loud.
"Not on your life," Joe promised.
Joe and Danny could smell something burning and there was no doubt that Reynolds was using every last brain cell he had to find a way out of this. For all that effort, he only came up with one response.
"I want a deal."
"For what? You haven't given us squat! In fact, all you've done is refuse to cooperate and lie your ass off about any interaction with Jamie and we know that ain't so," Danny shouted back. He was starting to lose his cool; they needed to wrap this up now.
"You want a deal?" Danny asked.
"Danny," Joe started, fearing his brother was so sick with worry, he'd start making promises to this guy that he didn't deserve.
Danny Reagan was usually loud and blustery with a stubborn perp he knew to be guilty. But a different persona overcame him, after all, this involved family. He stood and walked around to Reynolds, taking a seat against the table. He leaned down and positioned himself next to Reynold's ear. His voice was low and menacing, taking away all doubt that this was a ploy. "There's no talking about deals until we know where our brother is. You tell us everything that happened last night or I'll make sure you're the one that disappears next. That's a promise. This is personal and when it comes to family, I got this habit of thinking I got nothing to lose."
Joe couldn't hear every word his brother said to Reynolds, but he got the gist. And you better hope to God he's okay, or I'll kill you myself, Joe thought to himself as he took a step closer to the table, ready to jump on Reynolds and beat the information out of him if Danny's tactic didn't work. He was tired of this game he was playing and he needed to find his little brother.
There was no need for Joe to voice his thoughts. Reynolds shrunk back in his seat, weary of the other detective. Now there were two bad cops and no one else in here to reign them in.
Reynolds thought back to last night and began talking…
After he'd pushed the kid off the road, he pulled onto the shoulder. It wasn't to offer help or because he felt any sort of guilt. No, it was morbid curiosity and his wanting to see if there was anything he could pick off the kid.
So he hopped out of his truck with a flashlight and a crowbar, just in case. He made it down the embankment, guided only by the still-glowing tail lights of the sedan. He nearly ate it on his way down. It was steeper than he expected, having mistakenly chosen a spot where the earth was loose, causing the slope to collapse. The trip back up was going to a bigger bitch.
But he made it down and Reynolds approached the car slowly. The only sound was a hiss from the engine. There was no movement coming from inside and it crossed his mind that the kid might not even be in the car. He turned on the flashlight and scanned the embankment to be sure.
When he found nothing, he turned back to the car and examined the damage. The front right end of the Honda was now a crumpled heap smashed up against a big old beech tree. Reynolds guessed that the car must have rolled based on the damage to the rest of the body.
It looked bad from where he stood, yet the dark part of him pushed forward to see more.
He approached cautiously, stepping over to the driver's side. His jaw dropped when the flashlight illuminated a blood stain on the window of the driver's front door and the kid from the gas station was slumped over inside.
He'd done it this time, he thought. He'd really gone so far as to kill someone, just like his father said he would if he didn't straighten up.
Reynold's breathing sped up as he stood there mesmerized by the morbid scene. He was so consumed by it all that he wasn't prepared for the body inside to move suddenly. The guy's bloody head rolled up and his lips moved, but no sounds reached Reynold's ears.
If Reynolds avoided landing on his ass on the trip down, he didn't this time. The scare sent him scrambling back but his heel got caught on a tree root. Reynolds sat there for several moments before letting out a sick laugh…dad wasn't right yet. The bastard was still alive.
Reynolds picked up his tools and approached the vehicle again, watching and waiting to see if the kid did anything else. It looked like he was out again with his head now slumped to the side, but the movement of his chest indicated he was still breathing.
The beam from the flashlight roamed the interior, looking for anything of value. He found nothing in plain view and was tempted to pick the guy's pockets, but despite his actions that night and in his past, something held him back. He told himself that the chances of finding any real cash on him, regardless of what he presumed about the Harvard student, would probably be close to zilch. So he opted for something else. The trunk had popped open during the crash and a kid making a trip home to mommy and daddy probably had bags. He was bound to find something in there, or at least he hoped he would. Otherwise, he'd wasted most of his night.
So he got to it, raided the trunk and snagged two bags.
Reynolds never looked back after that. He made a hard, long climb up the slope with two bags in tow. Whatever happened to the kid wasn't going to be his problem anymore.
He was wrong.