“Which some white judge will sign,” Jefferson said with disgust.
“All I’ll care about is that he signs it, not what color he is,” Browning told him. “And yes, I believe he will sign it.”
Jefferson gave a long sucking sound with his teeth, considering. Then he said, “Look, I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m just sick of the way cops in this town hassle black people. You ought to understand that your own damn self.”
Browning nodded his understanding. “I do. But right now, a little girl is missing and I need to move quickly. If you’ve got nothing to do with it-“
“I’ve got nothing to do with it,” Jefferson said.
“Then I need to find that out and move on.”
“Fine. What do you need?”
“The officers said you were driving around the elementary school.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Jefferson sighed. “I’m looking for my son. He didn’t come home last night and he’s running with some punks. Sometimes they hang out at the school playground.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifteen.”
“Tough age,” Browning said.
“Tell me about it, brother.”
“Where have you been today?”
“All day?”
“Since this morning.”
“I was home until about eight. After I had my coffee, I started driving around looking for DeShawn.”
“Anybody see you?”
“The whole neighborhood. And I stopped in at the 7-11 for more coffee.” He lifted a Styrofoam cup that bore the store’s logo. “The clerk there knows me. I buy the Slim Jims a lot.”
“Okay. Is the address on your license current?”
Jefferson nodded. “Been there seventeen years.”
“Wait here, please,” Browning said.
“Wait some more?” Jefferson said, but his tone was less aggravated than before.
“Just for a minute or two.”
Jefferson shrugged.
Browning returned to the patrol car and looked at Norris expectantly.
“Well,” the officer began, “his license is expired.”
“How long?”
“Last week.”
Browning shrugged that off. “What else? Arrests?”
“Not really,” Norris said. “A speeding ticket from ’89. And some type of assault beef from ’83. No convictions.”
Browning frowned. This guy wasn’t looking good for the kidnapping, but he had to follow through anyway.
He turned to the patrol officers. “Can one of you go over to the 7-11 at Fifth and Thor? Take his driver’s license and ask the clerk there if he saw him this morning. If he did, find out what time.”
“I’ll go,” Norris said.
“Thanks.”
Norris shrugged.
Browning turned to Gilliam. “I just need you to stand by while I search his van.”
“He’s going to let you?”
“Pretty sure he will.”
Gilliam raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing.
Both men stepped back from the patrol car and Norris pulled away from the curb and made a u-turn.
Browning walked back to the van.
“Where’s he going?” Jefferson asked.
“To the 7-11.”
“Why?”
“To verify your statement.”
“You think I’m lying?”
Browning shook his head. “No. But I deal in facts, Mr. Jefferson. If it was your daughter who was missing, you’d want us to verify everything.”
Jefferson considered that, then agreed. “I suppose I would. How long is this going to take?”
“Just a little while. Do you mind if I take a look in your van?”
Jefferson opened the driver’s door and stepped out. He gestured with his arm. “Have at it.”
“Would you wait with the officer over there?”
“Why?”
“Over here, sir,” Gilliam said.
Jefferson stared at Gilliam and sniffed. After a moment, he gave a resigned sigh and ambled back to stand with the officer where the patrol car used to be.
Browning began his search. Although he doubted this was the right guy, he made his search a methodical one. He moved slowly over the vehicle’s interior, examining anything of interest. He found a small baggie in the glove box. A bit of marijuana, no larger than his thumbnail, was packed into a corner of the baggie. He put it back and continued his search.
The back of the van was empty except for a tire iron and a gym bag containing basketball clothes. Browning checked the doorframe and the carpet for any stray hairs that may have come loose if Amy Dugger had struggled with her captor. He found nothing.
When he was finished, he discovered that Norris had returned. The three men were standing rigidly at the nose of the patrol car, silent. When Browning approached, he met Norris’s eyes. The officer nodded his head and gave him the okay sign with his thumb and forefinger.
Browning turned his attention to Jefferson.
“Find what you were looking for?”
Browning shook his head. “I found what I expected.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. At least, nothing to indicate you’re involved in the abduction.” He gave Jefferson a meaningful look, hoping he read it.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I go then? I’ve got to find my son.”
Browning looked at the officers, then at Jefferson. “There’s just one more thing, Mr. Jefferson.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to take a quick look at the inside of your house.”
“What?”
Browning didn’t answer. He let the request hang in the air.
Jefferson looked at him, then at the uniform cops and back at Browning again. “You guys are unbelievable,” he said.
No one answered him.
Finally, Jefferson said, “Fine. All right that you follow me in the van?”
“That’d be fine,” Browning said.
“Goddamn,” Jefferson said as he turned away and walked toward his van. “My wife is going to love this.”
1135 hours
Officer Jack Willow glanced over at Kopriva frequently as they drove toward the address in West Central. Several times, he seemed on the verge of saying something, but nothing came out. For his part, Kopriva was glad. He didn’t want to deal with any questions about his shooting and he didn’t want Willow’s hero worship. But he knew some of that was inevitable. Willow had still been in the training car when the shootout at the Circle K occurred last September.
Kopriva pointed up ahead. “You’ll want to turn on Lindeke.”
“I know.”
Willow turned north on Lindeke, then west on Swanson. He rolled to a stop about two houses away from the address.
“Are you okay to go in there?” Willow asked.
Kopriva released his seat belt and looked over at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Willow looked at the dashboard. “I just thought…you know, light duty and all.”
“Lieutenant Crawford sent me to check out this lead,” Kopriva said.
Willow shrugged. “Okay.”
“Keep your eyes open while we’re in there.”
“I will.”
The two men walked up to the Henderson house. The chain link fence was dilapidated and rusty. The iron gate squealed when Kopriva swung it open. The boards on the steps to the large porch creaked as they walked up them. Kopriva rapped on the door and waited. He looked out at the yard. The grass was tall and thick, but the flowerbeds were well-tended.
After several minutes, Kopriva knocked again, this time harder and longer. It wasn’t quite a graveyard knock, but it was definitely at least a late swing shift knock, he figured. There would be no mistaking that someone was at the front door.
No one answered.
Kopriva looked at Willow, who shrugged and motioned at the door again. He offered his large mag flashlight. Kopriva considered, then knocked a third time with the heel of his palm. After several thuds, he heard some stirring inside the house.
The door swung open and a tall man stood in the doorway.