Killing The Blood Cleaner (12 page)

NINETEEN

It was about ten the next morning when Jack finally woke up. His head throbbed. He touched his face where it was tightly bandaged. His tongue felt fat and his mouth was very dry. He was lying on a metal bed with side rails as in a hospital. But it did not seem quite like a hospital. It took him a few seconds to focus as he blinked his crusted eyes to look around. He felt too weak to sit up, so he moved his head slightly to look around. Even this gentle movement greatly increased the undulating pain in his head. He could see that he was wearing an orange uniform of some type and that his right wrist was attached the bed rail by some sort of plastic bracelet. He tugged on it, but it was impervious to his efforts. Slowly, as he flicked his eyelids, the details of the room became more apparent. He saw that the whole room was painted stark, shiny white. The floor was a dull gray concrete. There was a black metal table on the opposite wall and the room had a small window which was glazed with translucent glass bricks which allowed light to enter, but provided no view of the outside. Focusing on the window, he saw it was buttressed by white metal bars. Jack looked up at the ceiling which contained a large fluorescent panel which gave off a white, flat, light. It was encased in a heavy white metal frame, secured by a key lock. A question dimly occurred to him about why a light on the ceiling would need to be so secure. The answer became evident when he painfully turned his head to the door of the room. Where the door should have been was a white steel gate made of bars about an inch and a quarter thick. At the handle was a locking device in a metal box which appeared to have an electric component and a brass manual lock. He could see people in white medical dress moving outside the gate, along with others in his same orange outfit.

As he watched the gate, an Asian nurse and a large black man in a police uniform stood outside. Jack heard a metallic click, and saw the officer push the metal gate open. “It’s about time you woke up,” the man stated loudly. “Although with your blood tests it could have taken a week,” he continued harshly. The nurse followed the officer into the room and began to take Jack’s pulse and temperature.

“Where am I?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“You are in the custody of the Sheriff of Ossabaw County, in the jail infirmary. I am Major Knowles. We picked you up last night from the Glynn County Hospital emergency room in Brunswick. Your friend Cindy is not so lucky,” Major Knowles responded.

“Where is she?” Jack asked, thinking back to last night with great difficulty.

“She is still in intensive care. She is in bad shape,” the Major responded.

“What happened?” Jack asked slowly.

“Real simple. You were drunk and on drugs and lost control of your vehicle. It hit some rocks and she got the worst of it. A State Trooper witnessed you blowing through town, past the Waffle N’ Grits,” Major Knowles said.

“I think there was a deer,” Jack said slowly, dimly remembering.

“Your skid marks show you going off the road at about 90. You have been charged with driving under the influence of alcohol and drugs and reckless driving. If she dies you will be charged with involuntary manslaughter,” he said curtly. “Sign here,” the Major said, thrusting a paper in front of Jack’s face.

“What am I signing?” Jack asked, peering at the paper.

“Just that we have your clothes and your personal property, like your wallet. You will get them back when you get out,” the Major responded.

Jack peered at the paper briefly and signed. “Do I get to talk to a lawyer?” he asked.

“Of course. We have most of the major Constitutional Rights down here in Ossabaw County. And if you can’t afford one, which I doubt, from looking at what’s left of your Mercedes, and the cards in your wallet, the Court will appoint you one for free,” Major Knowles said briskly, articulating the usual language of incarceration.

“The nurse will give you a portable phone. There is a phone directory in the drawer to the table,” he continued crisply.

“What about my car? And when do I get out of here?” Jack asked softly while putting his hand on his throbbing forehead.

“Your lawyer will be the one to talk about your bonding out, if that is possible. Your car, what is left of it, has been impounded as evidence for testing,” was the Major’s terse response. “You can also tell your lawyer that Cindy works for the Sheriff and is a friend of mine and many of the other staff. If he is concerned about us treating you unfairly we will be glad to have you transferred to the Atlanta or Savannah jail,” he continued with a smirk.

“Thank you for your concern, but somehow I think I might be better off here. And could you please take this off my wrist?” Jack replied, knowing full well he would be a major target for abuse in the Atlanta or Savannah jail.

“We didn’t want you waking up and falling on the floor,” the Major said, nodding to the nurse to undo the plastic cuff as he turned and left.

The nurse continued her examination, removing a metal scope from the pocket of her uniform along with a portable telephone. She handed Jack the telephone and undid the plastic bracelet with a small specialized tool which popped the plastic rivet on the bracelet.

“Sit up. I check your pupils now,” she ordered. Jack did as commanded, although for a second he thought he might be sick. She peered with the scope into his pupils and then shuffled over to the metal table and scribbled something in his chart. She reached into the drawer and retrieved the small phonebook. “You okay, better than Miss Cindy. Here, make your call,” she said, tossing the book on the bed beside him. She then turned and left, closing the metal gate with a hard clang.

Jack squinted and flipped through the book to the section for Sea Island residences. It took him a minute, but he found the listing he was looking for, Hiram Keller on Sea Island Drive. Jack dialed the number slowly and waited as the phone rang. “Hello, Keller residence,” a hardy male voice answered.

“Mr. Keller, this is Jack Randolph. You may remember me, you were my father’s law partner before he died,” Jack began.

“Jack, I know about the accident and that you are in jail. It was on the news and in the local paper. Don’t say anything else on that jail phone. I want you to call a lawyer friend of mine. His name is Fitz Davis. Call him at his house. He lives on St. Simons. I know he is there. I just talked to him,” Mr. Keller interrupted.

“Yes Sir,” Jack replied politely, with relief that his father’s partner seemed to be on his side.

“Son, you be careful in there and from now on. You haven’t been too careful in the past. But I still remember when my daughter cracked her head and you hovered over her at Piedmont Hospital until she woke up, after I called your Dad.”

“Yes Sir,” Jack said, thinking back years before when he had been an intern. He remembered the pretty teenage girl who had been in a coma for three weeks after a bicycle accident.

“You talk to Fitz Davis and let’s see how this shakes out. He is the fellow to be representing you. You need someone who is local and knows the system,” Mr. Keller said before he hung up. Jack again thumbed through the phone book to find the St. Simons residence of Fitz Davis. He dialed the number and waited.

“Fitz Davis here,” the voice said.

“Sir, my name is Jack Randolph and I’m calling from the Ossabaw County jail. I understand you are a lawyer and I need your help. Hiram Keller suggested that I call you,” Jack said quickly.

“Yes, I just talked to him. I will be over shortly to see if we can’t get you turned loose. In the meantime, don’t you be talking to anyone about anything in that jail. Do you understand?” the lawyer instructed.

“I understand. But I think I was trying to avoid a deer on the road,” Jack responded.

“Let me say this again. Don’t be talking at all in that jail about the deer or anything,” he ordered firmly. “You just wait for me.”

“Yes Sir,” Jack said as the phone disconnected. Jack put down the phone and lay back on the metal bed. It was only a few seconds before he was again asleep with his mind giving up confused flashes of Cindy, the deer, and Christ Church cemetery, as he tried to recollect the events of the previous night. It did not seem like he had been asleep for long before a Deputy was shaking him back to consciousness.

“Come on. Your lawyer has gotten you bailed out,” the Deputy yelled as Jack sat up, startled. “You can pick up your clothes and your wallet on the way out,” the Deputy said as he held the gate open and Jack shuffled painfully out into the hallway. At the end of the hallway, standing next to a metal desk and talking to the female booking Deputy was a sixtyish man with close cropped, slightly gray hair wearing khaki pants and a white polo shirt. He was holding a large brown paper bag which had “Jack Randolph” written in wide, black, marker ink. Jack followed the Deputy and approached. “Here’s your man, Mr. Fitz,” the Deputy said, turning to leave. The lawyer reached out and shook Jack’s hand.

“Here are your clothes and personal items in this bag. I’ve also brought you a clean shirt which I hope will fit. I figured the one from last night might be kind of nasty. Here’s a list of your property. Step in there and change and let me know if there’s anything missing,” the lawyer said as he handed Jack the bag and clean shirt and pointed to the men’s restroom to the side of the desk.

“I appreciate your being here so fast,” Jack said slowly, still feeling the pain in his head as he opened the door to the restroom. In a few moments he returned wearing his tuxedo pants and the clean plaid shirt the lawyer had provided. “Everything seems to be here,” he said, looking at the inventory sheet.

“Then sign it and we will get you out of here,” the lawyer said.

“But what about booking, fingerprints and having my picture taken and all?” Jack asked, surprised at the simplicity of his release.

“Oh, they did all that last night when you were released from the hospital. Your booking picture is a gem. I take it you don’t remember?” the lawyer asked, not waiting for the answer. “I got you out on bond with the amount to be determined tomorrow by the Judge. Sometimes we skip the formalities a little down here since we all know each other,” he continued.

Jack followed the attorney out to the parking lot. The bright sunlight hit Jack like a punch. The lawyer looked at Jack squinting with pain and said, “I thought we would go by the hospital to see Cindy. Maybe she is conscious by now. Also, I would like to drive by the scene of the accident. There could be something out there that could help us,” the lawyer said as they walked to Davis’ car.

“I would like to see Cindy. But probably all we will see at those rocks is the dead deer,” Jack said as he held his throbbing head and got into the car.

It took only a few minutes for them to arrive at the site of the accident. Fitz Davis pulled his car to the side of the road across from the rocks. On the opposite side of the road at about one half a mile away was an Ossabaw County paving crew which consisted of an asphalt truck and a small steamroller. As Jack and the lawyer crossed the highway it was apparent that the stretch of road had been repaved with new blacktop only a few hours before. The blacktop gave way slightly as they walked across it and the acrid smell of tar lingered as they neared the rocks.

“This is where it happened, I think. The deer was lying in the highway,” Jack said, pointing to a portion of the highway.

“It is interesting that the County needed to get out here on a Sunday to pave this particular patch of road. But I’m sure that the good Sheriff will have a work order dated several weeks ago in a file somewhere,” Davis said as he stopped to examine a patch of dirt full of fresh footprints from the recent paving to the side of the new pavement. “I’m sure they have all the photos of skid marks and vehicle damage printed and carefully filed also,” he continued, stopping to put his fingers in the slightly sticky dirt as they walked to the rock outcropping. “This is just about the only pile of rocks beside a road in the whole County. Mostly there is just marsh, sand and trees. But this is the third big wreck here in the last two years. When a car hits the rock it shakes loose big sharp chunks of rock. That is what makes it dangerous. They need to blow it up.”

“I don’t see the deer anywhere.” Jack said, surveying the scene.

“Don’t worry. If they took the trouble to pave out here, they picked up that dead deer. I’m sure they have pictures of him too,” the lawyer said.

“I don’t see how I could have slid this far off the road. I wasn’t going that much over sixty-five and there was plenty of room to get around the deer. Next thing I know we are headed for the rocks,” Jack said as he slowly began remembering more details of the previous evening.

“Did Cindy mention anything about meeting somebody last night?” Davis asked, looking intently at Jack.

“She said something about a red sweater, which seemed odd. It turned out that a lot of people were wearing red. She seemed to forget about it and just started getting wild. I guess we both did,” Jack responded. “I just don’t know. I remember feeling really high. I also remember wondering why I felt that way. We had some drinks, but not to that level. Also, Cindy seemed way ahead of me.”

“What do you mean?” the lawyer asked.

“Well, I was a little surprised, even with the drinks that we had, when she insisted on going to the cemetery and then proceeded to get naked,” Jack replied.

“Did you all take any drugs or smoke anything?” the lawyer asked.

“No, but you sure would have thought so. Even my quiet friend, Dr. Clayton, was putting on quite a show. That was not like him at all,” Jack said.

The lawyer thought for a moment and then asked, “Did Cindy know any of the staff at the bar?”

“Well yes, now that you mention it. I was behind her when she and Dr. Clayton walked into the restaurant together. She said something to the bartender. He didn’t seem to be too friendly,” Jack responded.

“Jack, did Cindy ever say anything to you about being involved in any drug business?” Davis asked, looking squarely at Jack.

“I teased her about that, and about working for Sheriff Odum. I told her she must be dealing drugs when I saw the kind of furnishings in her trailer, not to mention her clothes and jewelry. She denied she was doing anything like that. She said the jewelry was fake and that she got the oriental rugs at a local yard sale,” Jack replied.