Page 41 of Breaking Silence

Flirting. Coming from the mouth of a man arrested for sexual assault, the word pisses me off. A hard rush of anger shakes me, jarring my brain, like a dog shaking a stuffed animal. I envision myself pulling my baton, giving him a couple of good whacks, taking him to his knees. I grapple with my temper, yank it back hard.

“You’re a real Romeo, aren’t you?” Skid comments.

Rankin turns his head and spits. “Fuckin’ hayseed Nazis. You can’t come on my property and jack with me like this. I got rights.”

“We can do it at the station if you prefer,” I say.

Some of his belligerence slips away, but I know it’s only temporary. “Look, man, I already told you, I didn’t do nothing to that Amish chick. I swear. I just talked to her. That’s all.”

“I got a witness says you were verbally abusive.”

“I mighta stepped over the line a little. I ain’t exactly the polite type. But I didn’t put my hands on her. I swear.”

“Where were you yesterday morning?” I ask.

“I was here. Slept in late.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“My girlfriend.”

“The one you beat the crap out of a few weeks back?” Skid asks.

He swings around to face Skid. “She fell.”

“So she said.”

I hear Rankin’s teeth grind, like hard chalk against slate, and I put my hand on my baton. “Rankin,” I warn.

“I didn’t touch that bitch!” he shouts. “You can ask her.”

“What’s her name?” I snap. But I already know. I read the emergency room report before leaving the station. Two weeks ago, Rankin’s current girlfriend, Lauren Walker, made a trip to the emergency room of Pomerene Hospital with broken ribs and a broken nose. Suspicious, the attending physician asked her what happened. She claimed she fell down some stairs. It’s an old story, one that’s retold far too often. The doctor notified me, but the next day when I went to her apartment for a statement, she was nowhere to be found.

I look at Rankin, daring him to make a move. “You know we’re going to check with Lauren.”

“Go for it. I was here. All fuckin’ night. We slept late.”

“I find her marked up, and we’ll be back for you,” I say.

“You guys don’t have shit on me.” He looks from me to Skid, gives an incredulous huff. “You’re fishing. Well, I ain’t biting, so hit the fuckin’ road.”

There’s nothing I’d like more than to cuff him and haul him into town. He’s a rude, drug-using, woman-beating son of a bitch. Unfortunately, none of those things make him guilty of murdering the Slabaughs.

“Don’t leave town,” I say.

Muttering obscenities, he yanks the door open, goes inside, and slams it in our faces.

“Now there goes a model citizen,” Skid comments.

I glance at him and lower my voice. “Did you really see a meth pipe in there?”

“I saw something.” He grins. “Might’ve been a pen.”

“I can see how a trained police officer could get those two items confused.” I punctuate the statement by rolling my eyes. “Let’s go find Lauren Walker.”

CHAPTER 9

Skid and I are in my Explorer a few blocks from the station. I’m thinking about swinging by the sheriff’s office to talk to Tomasetti, when my radio crackles. “Chief, we got a ten-sixteen out at the Slabaugh place,” says Lois.