“That will be great.”
And as the detective explained the procedure of the Pennsylvania Juvenile Justice system to them, Naomi was stricken with such a sudden onslaught of helplessness that she almost broke down in tears.
Tim had been sitting on a sturdy wooden bench in the bare room of his cell for the past hour. The longer he sat there, the more worried he was getting.
They’d only allowed him to make the one phone call to his parents. Despite his sense of urgency in talking to them, he felt guilty when he told his mom where he was and what had happened. Mom had been surprised, yes; angry at sneaking out of the house, of course (he hadn’t detected anger during that phone call, but of course she had to be pissed off — if he were in her shoes he’d be mad). She’d also told him that she and Dad would come to pick him up immediately. Before they got off the phone she told him not to worry and that she and Dad loved him.
Officer Clapton had finished processing his paperwork, then turned him over to a detective named Warren Allen. Detective Allen had escorted Tim to what he supposed was his cell. It didn’t look like a traditional jail cell, but was rather more like a locked room with a long wooden bench that lined one wall and a toilet and sink on the other side. A thin mattress and pillow sat on the bench. The door to the room had no windows.
Thirty minutes after sitting down on the bench, Detective Warren came in. “Your parents are coming to pick you up but I’ve got some bad news. Turns out we have a warrant for your arrest.”
“What?” Tim’s stomach curled in on itself at the news. And as Detective Warren read off the list of charges he felt a sense of dismay and despair come over him. That bastard lied to me, he thought. Gordon thinks he has connections, thinks he can make it all better if I cooperate. Well fuck him. The gloves come off. I’m telling the police everything I know.
But first he had to ensure the safety of his loved ones.
Detective Warren finished reading him the list of charges, told him he was now formally arrested and that he would be arraigned later in the morning and that he would explain the situation to his parents when they arrived. Tim nodded, feeling strangely calm now that he knew where things stood. He asked Detective Warren if he could see his parents when they arrived. Detective Warren told him he could see them during visiting hours at ten, but it was possible that he would be transported to the courthouse by then. If that were the case, he’d see them in court. They’d probably have an attorney for him by then. Tim had nodded, his mind on auto-drive now.
That had been two hours ago. He’d stayed awake, feeding off the adrenaline that was still running through his system.
And he’d considered his options.
Mom and Dad were probably going to retain the services of Doug Fenner, the attorney George’s dad had gotten. It would make sense if they did since Fenner was already familiar with their case. This latest incident was going to push Mom right over the edge regardless of Tim sneaking out of the house and getting picked up by the police. He was pretty sure he could count on Mom (and Dad) to be angry enough to not only go to their lawyer, but press him to sue the city.
Fenner would probably advise him to plead not guilty for his arraignment. After the arraignment, Tim was going to request a closed-door meeting with him and his parents.
And then he was going to tell them everything.
It would sound crazy, but Tim was confident he could at least get the police out to the Bradfield estate to question Scott’s parents. Mr. Bradfield probably had no idea what his son was up to, not to mention having any knowledge of the zombies in his guesthouse. If he could get the police out there as quickly as possible, they’d have the element of surprise. Mr. Bradfield would probably sic his own lawyer on the city, probably even on his folks and if that was the case let him have at it. Either way, Tim was going to expose Scott and his friends for the monsters they were. That guesthouse was going to be investigated even if Scott and his friends got rid of the zombies and cleaned the place up before a proper search could be conducted. There was still DNA, forensics…surely a proper search warrant would ensure a search of that magnitude would be undertaken. He also had Gordon’s own confession, which the bastard would deny, but Tim would insist the police follow through with the allegations that Scott and his friends murdered John Elfman. Scott couldn’t buy the silence of every kid that was at Susan Zimmerman’s party the night John had gone missing. Somebody would have seen something.
And as for Chelsea, he would make it clear that she was in danger, that Gordon had threatened her specifically. Surely they had to take threats like that seriously.
Of course the police, and possibly his attorney and parents, were less likely to believe that Gordon and his friends had killed those homeless people for the purpose of raising them from the dead, but he didn’t need to tell them that. All he had to reveal was that they’d kidnapped and imprisoned them in the guesthouse and tortured them until they died. He could say that Gordon was trying to extract himself from Scott, that he knew what was happening was wrong and wanted to avoid legal trouble and that’s why he’d sought Tim’s help. He’d dug up the grave at the Reamstown Cemetery to blackmail Tim into helping him come up with a scheme to get out of everything without going to the police. Tim had been appalled by the allegations of murder and wasn’t sure if he was going to help Gordon, was still thinking of what to do, in fact, when Officer Clapton pulled them over.
And that was pretty much the truth.
Tim sat down on the cot, fatigue suddenly coming over him. They’d taken his watch along with the rest of his possessions when he was processed, and last time he’d checked it was 2:30 A.M. It was hard to keep track of time in this room, but he guessed he’d been locked up for the past two hours. That sounded about right because now he was dead tired. He needed to lie down and get a few hours sleep, recharge his batteries for the day ahead of him.
Tim rested his head on the small pillow on the far side of the cot and turned over on his left side. He closed his eyes. He had it all planned out. He was going to remain silent until he could see his lawyer and his parents. Only then was he going to confess to what was happening, leaving out the part about the zombies. But first, he was going to reveal Gordon’s threat against Chelsea and ask that she be protected.
Then he was going to tell them that Scott, David, Steve, and Gordon had been up to no good.
With that decision firmly in place, Tim Gaines fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.
Gordon Smith waited a good thirty minutes before he called Steve Downing.
He waited with bated breath as the phone rang, sitting in his darkened bedroom. Down the hall, his parents slept, their anger at him having diminished as quickly as it had arisen. They’d been furious when Gordon was escorted home by the cop, and had made a good show of displaying that anger by yelling at him in front of the officer, threatening to ground him for the rest of the summer, but the moment the officer left Mom had muttered, “I’m tired and going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.” Gordon had experienced many of these proclamations in the past. What this meant was she was going to forget about it come morning. Dad might bring it up in passing, and it was possible the idea of grounding him would be floated between them, but it would never happen. It never happened before.
Steve picked up on the fifth ring. “Yeah?” His voice was groggy.