CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The drive to Cleary was blissfully quiet compared to the chaos of the rest of the night. On the way over, he talked to the arresting officer and laid out his plan. Agnes wouldn’t walk away from this one, and Donovan was prepared to do whatever it took to make sure that happened.
The Cleary police station was four times the size of Blue Moon’s. A new, modern facility with bulletproof glass and an actual waiting area. The desk sergeant saw him coming and buzzed him through the front door.
“Morning,” she said. She was young, academy fresh, and wide awake for four a.m. “Coffee?”
“The strongest you’ve got,” Donovan said, taking off his hat.
“Woah. Nice hair,” she said, cracking an actual smile. “Have a seat. Officer Lewis will be with you shortly.”
She returned with a large mug of steaming coffee which Donovan gratefully accepted.
“Sheriff Cardona?”
The man who approached had dark skin and linebacker shoulders. His wrist was bandaged, and there was a jagged scratch on his jaw.
“Officer Lewis?”
“Call me Jamal,” he insisted. “Come on back. We’ll talk before I bring her in.”
Jamal led the way to an actual interrogation room. In Blue Moon, they mainly just talked to suspects in the conference room or around the water cooler. “I hear you’ve been having quite the night over there in Blue Moon.”
Donovan took a seat in the metal chair and unfolded his legs. “The grapevine runs pretty far,” he said.
“My captain is tight with your mother. She gave him a head’s up in case you all needed a hand out there. But it sounds like you had it covered.”
Donovan rubbed a hand over his brow. “Barely. I’ve never seen so many people lose their damn minds at the same time.”
Jamal chuckled. “That’s some kinda town you’ve got there. Me and the wife stayed in that B&B last year for our anniversary. Got a kick out of the quirkiness.”
Donovan gave a one-sided smile. “Quirkiness. That’s a good word for it.” He took another sip of coffee. “That scratch looks pretty fresh.”
Jamal touched his jaw. “You wouldn’t expect it out of the bony-ass woman, but that Merill is stronger than she looks.” He held up his wrist. “Nails are pretty sharp, so we’ll be keeping her cuffed for your talk.”
“I appreciate you letting me have a chat with her.”
Jamal shrugged. “She’s not the kind of person we need roaming the streets. And not just because she spit on my partner and kicked the hotel desk clerk in the chest. So, let’s deliver the DA a nice, airtight case and let the legal system do its job.”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’m gonna let you run the interview, but I’ll be in the corner just in case she goes for your neck with those killer claws.”
“Appreciate it,” Donovan said wryly.
Jamal returned moments later with the spitting-mad Agnes Merill. The jumpsuit bagged on her skinny frame. Her hair was wild, hanging in clumps around her sallow face.
“Record on. Interview of Agnes Merill. Officer Jamal Lewis and Sheriff Donovan Cardona present. Ms. Merill, you’ve been advised of your rights.” Jamal recited by rote.
“Fuck. You.” Agnes spat out.
Donovan smiled at Eva’s mother. “Ms. Merill. You were found to be in possession of stolen property,” he said, flipping through the photos Jamal and his partner had taken of Agnes’ car.
“That’s my stuff. I didn’t steal nothing.”
He tossed down another picture in front of her. “So, are you saying this isn’t you breaking into your daughter’s house and leaving with the items found in your car tonight?”
Agnes picked up the print and sneered. “So I visited my daughter. Who cares? She wanted me to have that stuff. Gave it to me.” She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I want a cigarette.”
Donovan glanced at Jamal. “Sorry, ma’am. No smoking indoors.”
“Then what the fuck is this for?” she shoved the empty ashtray off the table with her bound hands.
Jamal grinned. “It’s for decoration.”
“Whatever. I’ll be walking out of here before morning.”
“Not until you explain what you were doing in Evangelina Merill’s house and how you came to be in possession of items that belonged to her that were stolen in a break-in,” Donovan said.
“She’s my daughter. What’s hers is mine.”
“Is that why you’ve blackmailed her out of twenty-six thousand dollars in the past eight years? You feel that you have a right to your daughter’s money.”
“She could have said no,” Agnes pointed out.
“She could have. But you made that a less attractive option didn’t you? Threatening her, the rest of the family.”
“Threats? That’s what she told you? You must be gullible when you got your dick out.” She gave him a sharp grin. “Oh, I know you and Eva are fucking. I read all about it in your stupid town’s newspaper.”
“I’m dating your daughter with plans to marry her,” Donovan corrected her evenly.
“Well, she owes me. And if you marry her, you’ll owe me too.”
“Exactly what does Eva owe you?” Donovan asked.
“She ruined my life. Everything was fine until she was born. Then I got the post-partum and lost everything. Couldn’t hold down a job. Frank kicked me out.”
“You turned to drugs? Criminal activity?”
“Had to. I had no choice.”
Donovan had to tamp down the urge to shove his palm into Agnes’ face and shove her backwards out of her chair.
“So, you’re saying that twenty-six years ago, you suffered from post-partum depression, and that’s why you blackmailed your daughter out of money, broke into her house, and stole personal items?” he clarified.
“I didn’t say I stole nothing. She let me take that stuff. And if she says different, she’s a liar.” Agnes tried to fold her arms over her chest, but her wrists were bound. “And a daughter giving her mother a little loan every once in a while ain’t blackmail.”
“Loans. So, you were paying her back?” Donovan asked.
Again a shrug from those bony shoulders. “If I ever get back on my feet. But the depression and all makes it hard. I got an addiction or two. And no one’s ever given me a chance to get help.”
The perpetual victim.
“Eva owes me. She’s got her fancy career with them books, and what do I have? I brought her into this world, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing. She owes me. They all owe me.”
“Why?” Donovan asked. “Your ex-husband, your daughters, they all worked for what they have. What have you done to earn anything?”
“I gave them life.” She spat the words out. “They owe me everything.”
“You say no one’s ever given you a chance to get help?” Donovan said, shifting gears.
“That’s right,” Agnes nodded. “Maybe I’d still be married to Frank if he’d given a damn about me.”
“And he never tried to get you any help?”
“Never once. Always too busy with his restaurant and the kids.” She slouched in the chair like a petulant teenager.
“It sounds like, once again, one of you is lying.” Donovan pulled out a neat stack of papers. “This is an affidavit signed by Franklin Merill, your ex-husband, detailing the number of times he tried to get you into therapy. It says here early in your relationship you had issues with recreational drugs. Which leads me to believe that all your issues didn’t start with the birth of your daughter.”
“Papers don’t mean nothing. He’s lying. It’s all lies.”
“Last week, did Eva refuse to give you ten thousand dollars and instead offer you a way into a rehab program for addicts?”
Agnes was looking everywhere but him.
“Agnes, I’ve got more papers here. An affidavit from Eva detailing every time you shook her down for money. She’s a writer. She kept notes, voice mails, texts. It doesn’t look good. Especially since she offered you help right before you broke into her house.”
“I needed money, okay? She always gave before. Now she goes and gets some kind of backbone and gets all righteous on me?”
“You needed money, she refused to give it to you, so you took what you could from her house,” Donovan spelled it out nice and neat for the record.
“She owes me,” Agnes repeated. “It was my right. I needed money. I didn’t take everything. I could have.”
Donovan turned one of the photos around. “Did you know your grandson took this photo? Got video of you lugging stolen property out of your daughter’s house. You ever met him?”
Agnes shrugged and kicked at the table leg with her tennis shoe.
“He’s a smart kid. Thanks to him and his recording, we’ve got you cold on breaking and entering, grand theft, and Officer Lewis just added possession of stolen property.”
“What are you smirking at, standing there in the corner judging me?” she asked Jamal. “A big man with a gun. Fuck you both.”
“Such anger,” Donovan said mildly.
“When I get out of here, I’ll come back, and she’ll give me what I want this time. She always does.”
“There’s a difference this time, Agnes. Two actually,” Donovan said calmly. “Eva’s gotten quite good at saying no. You’ll never see a dime out of her again. And if you come within town limits of her, I’ll make it my life’s work to put you behind bars for the rest of your life.”
“You don’t scare me. Some sheriff in some pissant town?” she snorted.
“See, here’s the thing Agnes. The DA’s gonna offer you a deal. They’re gonna say they’ll forget all about those blackmail and extortion charges if you plead guilty to breaking and entering, possession of stolen property, and theft. You’ll do somewhere around two years, maybe a little less for good behavior.”
“I’m not doing time!” She crashed her fisted hand onto the tabletop.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Donovan said, pasting a cocky grin on his face. “Did you know extortion is a Class D felony? That’s seven years. Throw in the rest of it, and you could be facing up to ten years in the cage. And if you knew how much I loved your daughter, you’d know how badly I want you to say ‘fuck the deal.’”
“I want a lawyer.”
“You heard the lady,” Donovan said lazily to Jamal.
Jamal hauled Agnes to her feet. “You’d better get real comfortable in a cell,” he said cheerfully.
“You’ll never lock me up!” she shrieked.
“News for you, lady, you’re already locked up,” Jamal reminded her.
“Guilty plea, and three years in and out. Or we push for trial. We’ve already got over a dozen witnesses happy to talk about what kind of person you are,” Donovan grinned. “I really hope you don’t take that deal.”
Jamal half-dragged, half-pushed, Agnes down the hallway. Donovan could hear her yelling the entire way.
“Any new injuries?” he asked when Jamal returned.
“Maybe a ruptured ear drum. Nothing a beer and some aspirin won’t fix,” the man promised.
There was a knock on the door. The desk sergeant poked her head in. “More coffee?” she asked, holding up two fresh cups.
“God, yes please,” Donovan sighed.
They sipped in silence for a moment.
“Think she’ll take the deal?” Donovan asked.
“If her lawyer’s got any sense, she will. But I don’t think she’s figured out the rest.”
“You mean the part about how, now that she’s behind bars, all those other bench warrants will come back to haunt her?
“I may have taken the liberty of alerting a few states to the fact that we’ve got Ms. Merill in custody,” Jamal grinned.
“That must have been satisfying,” Donovan guessed.
“Felt pretty damn good,” Jamal said, raising his coffee cup.