CHAPTER 29
Inside his car, Luke tried to figure out what had just happened. He started the car with a hard turn on the ignition. Blasting the air conditioner, Luke set his sweaty face in front of one of the vents. The air pouring out was hotter than the August air outside, somehow superheated by the engine and summer sun. When the burning air finally succumbed to the cooling process, he closed his eyes, letting the crisp mechanically chilled air clear his crowded mind.
The ambulance had just left for the hospital, and Terry had hung up with Jessie’s dad, Neal Townsend. He was going to meet Luke at the hospital. May wanted to go, but Luke knew she was too young to manage all the stress of the ER. Plus, at this point, it wasn’t clear if Jessie would even survive the trip. When the paramedics looked at Jessie’s medical bracelet, one of them asked if she was on dialysis, if she was taking any medications, what site was used for her treatments. All Luke could do was shake his head and say, “I have no idea.”
When Terry finally got Neal on the phone, she passed him over to the medic and then herded hysterical May and confused Clayton into the kitchen so they couldn’t see as the paramedics put a tube down Jessie’s throat and pumped air directly into her lungs.
The thought of losing Jessie was nearly enough to keep the fact that she was Neal’s daughter out of his mind. He pushed the gas pedal harder, not wanting Jessie to be alone in the hospital before her father got there. He’d spent enough hours in Botsford Hospital that he used to say it felt like a second home.
Passing the school where Natalie used to work, Garden Grove Elementary, Luke checked the window to her old classroom. She’d always drive past with the kids and tell them about the projects in the window, talking endearingly about the students who did each one. Luke frowned; with the school year not quite begun, the window was empty now, covered by some brown butcher paper so no one could look inside. Distracted by the pang of sorrow the empty window shot through him, Luke didn’t notice a set of red and blue lights were flashing behind him.
Damn it. A ticket was not what he needed today. He needed to get to the hospital. Luke twisted the wheel to the right, pulled over to the curb, and watched the driver’s side mirror as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. A uniformed police officer exited his squad car and walked briskly toward his door. Luke slid the stiff license out, tapping it against the steering wheel as he waited.
The window. He pulled at the switch and made sure the window was rolled all the way down before letting go, hoping to shave a couple of seconds off the police stop. The officer stopped a little ways back from his window, hand resting on the hilt of his gun. Luke had only had two tickets before, both for speeding. In both cases he’d openly admitted to being over the speed limit. Those stops took fifteen minutes altogether and even though at the end he was down a hundred dollars, gained points on his license, and had a hike in his insurance bill, cooperation seemed to be the way to go.
“I’m sorry if I was speeding, officer. My friend is in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. I . . . I was trying to get there. I didn’t mean to . . .” He’d been distracted, so going too fast in a school zone was definitely a possibility.
“You have a taillight out back here; looks smashed.” The officer talked over Luke’s explanation. “You been in an accident lately?”
“Not that I was aware of. Maybe someone backed into me at work and didn’t report it.” Luke used the side rearview mirror to try and get a look at the damage but couldn’t see anything. “I’m serious about that friend in the ambulance. I really need to get there. You can give me any ticket you want.”
“We will get you to your friend as soon as possible. License and proof of insurance, please,” the officer said, not a hint of compassion in his voice. Luke passed his license up to the officer, whose name tag read J. RABOLD. Officer Rabold stared down at him over the top of his sunglasses.
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice the light. I’ll get it fixed immediately.” The officer’s face remained still. “Uh, the insurance card is in the glove compartment. I’ll grab it.” He made sure to keep his hands visible and explain his movements to Officer Rabold. Luke looped his finger under the latch for the glove compartment and pulled. It wasn’t always the most compliant latch, so he yanked extra hard. The latch hitched but didn’t open.
Luke smiled over his shoulder at the officer and then tried again, this time harder. The latch made a loud pop, and the door fell open, papers rushing out behind it in an avalanche. Luke shifted back, stunned. The usually neatly organized glove compartment now stood empty, its contents scattered all over the passenger seat and floor. On the seat was the blue, white, and gray service manual, a pair of headphones, and a small folder with his insurance card peeking out. What he didn’t recognize were four or five prescription bottles.
“What the hell?” Luke swore, forgetting about the officer for a moment. He leaned over to pick up one of the bottles; he looked at the colored pills inside. It reminded him of something . . . it reminded him of . . .
“Sir, I’m going to need to ask you to drop that and exit the vehicle immediately.” The officer’s voice cut through Luke’s rambling memories; he took a step back from the car and slipped Luke’s ID in his vest pocket.
“Sure; no problem.” Luke dropped the container and sat up, stunned at the sudden change in the officer’s demeanor. Luke pushed open the door slowly to avoid startling the officer, hand on his gun, badge bouncing slightly as he stepped back toward his squad car. Once Luke had closed the car door behind him, the officer gestured for him to stop his progress.
“Put your hands on the hood of the car, please.” He pointed to the car, his face still, lips set in a hard line.
“What? Why?” Luke asked, running through all the possible infractions he could possibly be guilty of. Surely a broken taillight was not grounds for this. Luke followed orders, flinching as he pressed his palms against the superheated hood. The officer came up behind him and pushed his legs apart, shoes making a scratching sound as they dragged through the dirt. Then he ran his hands up and down Luke’s arms, legs, chest, and torso. Apparently satisfied with his search, the officer reached over Luke’s left shoulder and clapped a cold metal cuff around his wrist.
“What the? I need to go to the hospital. Jessie is sick. I need . . .” Luke tried to look back at the officer. “Wait—am I under arrest?”
“Look forward.” He yanked the other arm around Luke’s back and tightened the other half of the handcuffs around his wrist, so tight they dug into his skin. Guiding him by his elbow, the officer turned the shackled Luke around and leaned him against the car again. “Sir, you want to tell me more about those bottles in your glove box? You have a valid prescription for those pills? If I get a dog out here to look through your car, what am I going to find?”
Luke’s heart was pounding, and his mouth was so dry he didn’t know how to form words. “I swear I’ve never seen those bottles before. I . . . I have no idea what they are doing in there.” Luke spewed out the answer.
“Uh-huh. Then you don’t mind if we take a look through your car, right?” He didn’t sound like he was seeking permission, but Luke gave it anyway. He wasn’t hiding anything and definitely not drugs.
“Yeah, of course.” What would he get for saying no—an even more aggressive body search? A cavity search? Luke cringed at the thought. Whatever was in those bottles, they were a mistake. Something left over from Natalie’s days filled with endless prescriptions, no doubt. They’d search the car, find out it was a big misunderstanding, and have a laugh.
“Sit down.” The officer led Luke to the curb, speaking into the radio on his shoulder. “Cross your legs,” he ordered, and Luke complied, glad he was partially sheltered from onlookers by the tail end of his car.
Three more squad cars later, Luke’s SUV was being towed to the station for a more intensive search, and Luke was under arrest. Through the back window of the squad car, he watched as they passed the green-and-white street sign that usually signaled home. Terry was there; the kids were there; they all expected him to call from the ER, to have an update on Jessie, and to eventually come home. But he wasn’t going to the hospital, and he definitely wasn’t going home—he was going to a police station.