Arsonist

CHAPTER 27

Stanton watched Henry Wenchowski through the two-way mirror. He was nervous and fidgeting with a ring on his finger; his wedding ring. He appeared like a kind uncle or perhaps a young grandfather.

Gunn stood over him, questioning him. Henry denied everything and insisted he had witnesses to prove where he was the night of the murder. He appeared shocked that he would be accused of being a homosexual and asked for a lawyer. Stanton stepped in.

“Stephen, why don’t you grab a drink and call the public defender’s office? Let’s see if we can find him a lawyer.”

Gunn shrugged and left the room.

Stanton sat down across from Henry. “How old are your girls?”

“Twelve and eight.”

“I’ve only got boys. I’ve heard girls are easier.”

“They definitely take care of their father better, at least I think. I don’t have any boys. It was only girls in my family.”

Stanton leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry we have to do this to you, Henry. You seem like a decent guy. I wish there was another way.”

“I’ve asked for a lawyer,” he said, glancing away.

“We’re getting you one but we gotta wake up a public defender. They might not get in till morning. So like it or not, you’re with us for the night. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you about the case. I just wanted to chat and let you know that I’m sorry. Will you chat with me without a lawyer?”

“Fine, I’ll chat but if you’re truly sorry then why don’t you let me go?” he said desperately. “I’m telling you, there are at least three people that will testify to where I was that night.”

“I have no doubt, and if it was only the Cisneros thing, I’d let you go. But you ran. That’s a felony to run from the cops.”

“I was scared. I didn’t know who you two were. If I’d have known you were cops I certainly wouldn’t have run like that.”

“I believe you. But at this point it’s out of my hands.” He leaned forward. “You’ve already asked for a lawyer so anything you tell me can’t be used against you, but I’m curious about something. Will you talk to me without your lawyer if I ask you a question about something in the case?”

“What question?”

“Does your wife know you’re gay?”

“I am not-”

“Henry, we’re civilized men. Lying to each other doesn’t become us. It’s not polite.”

Henry bit his lower lip and looked away. He said, quietly, almost as a whisper, “No, she doesn’t know.”

“What would she do if she found out?”

“She’d leave me of course. She’s a good Christian woman. She wouldn’t tolerate that.”

“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry you have to be in this situation.”

“Please,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes, “just let me go. Just let me live my life and I swear you’ll never see me again. Never.”

Stanton reached out and held his hand. “All right, Henry. I’m going to trust you. I’m going to assume that you can get those witnesses to me. I want them to call me tomorrow. Can they do that?”

“Yes, of course. First thing.”

“Okay, have them call me and if they verify your story, we won’t file charges.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” he said, weeping. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I’m being honest with you, but I want you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Were you having an affair with Michael Cisneros?”

“Yes,” he said, breaking down, his head lowered.

“Did you do what you did because he was going to tell your wife? Because he was trying to destroy you?”

“Yes, yes,” he wiped the tears away from his eyes. “He said he was coming to my house. He wanted me to leave my wife and I said no. I love my wife. But he wouldn’t stop. He just wouldn’t stop. And then he showed up at my house. At my house!”

“What did you stab him with?”

“I don’t know. Some kitchen knife. Something I had on hand.”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay, Henry. You’re going to be okay.” Stanton rose. “Wait here for me.”

“Can I go now?”

“Not yet.”

Stanton walked out. Gunn and another three detectives were standing in front of the two-way and they started clapping.

“That,” Gunn said, “is how you get a fucking confession.”

“What about his asking for a lawyer?” one of the younger detectives asked.

“No good,” Gunn said. “Jon asked him again if he could talk to him without a lawyer and he consented, twice. In California consent negates the askin’.” Gunn pretended to bow to Stanton. “The master.”

Stanton walked past them without saying anything. He had done his job; the Supreme Court of the United States had long held that police officers were allowed to lie about everything to garner a confession. But every time he did it, it took a piece of him. He didn’t enjoy it in the least and felt no triumph, no joy in the act of catching a killer. But there was no choice; no one else could do it, and he wouldn’t have stopped killing. Not after he saw how easy it was.

“What’s the matter?” Gunn said, walking up behind him.

“I’ve never enjoyed that part of it.”

“You kiddin’ me? That fucker cuts up some young kid and you’re broken up for lyin’ to him?” Gunn put his arm around him. “Come on, we’re goin’ to a bar to celebrate.”

“I don’t drink.”

“I know, but you’re still comin’ out with me. I know just the place.”

Coochie’s stunk of beer and old vomit. It was a surfer bar that had been converted to a cop bar after several officers made a habit of going there after their shifts. Eventually the owner accepted the new branding and offered the officers a discounted rate on beer.

Stanton, Gunn, and several uniforms sat in the corner booth, drinking and telling war stories. Stanton sipped a Diet Coke and listened. The drunker they got, the more outlandish the stories and the more heroic their behavior. One officer was telling the story of how two drug dealers, lesbians, had offered him a threesome to let them go. He said he didn’t take them up on it and the men started laughing and shoving him and he appeared to blush and didn’t say anything further about it.

“What about you, Jon?” one of the uniforms said. “You ever take some cream or a bit of pussy?”

“This guy?” Gunn laughed. “This guy feels bad ‘cause he lied to a queer murderer.”

“Oh shit,” one of the uniforms said, “you goin’ queer on us Johnny boy?”

“Goin’?” Gunn said. “Nah, I’m just playin’. He’s going skydivin’ with me tomorrow and that takes balls.” Gunn shot the remnants of a glass of whiskey. “You know what? Fuck that, let’s go now.”

“What?” Stanton said.

“Let’s go now. I ain’t kiddin’.”

“In the dark?”

“Hell yes in the dark.”

“I don’t think we can do that.”

“I’m an instructor; we can do whatever we want.”

“I’ll pass, Stephen.”

“I’ll tell you what. You come skydivin’ with me tonight, right now, and I’ll tell you why your little girlfriend won’t help us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I did some checking up. I’ll tell you why she won’t help us.”

“Why?”

“Nope. You gotta go night-divin’ with me. Right now.”

The men started tapping their fists against the table chanting, “Go, go, go, go, go.”

“Do you really know?” Stanton said. “’Cause if you don’t, and I do this, I’m going to shoot you in the knees.”

“Hand to heaven. I know exactly why she won’t help us.”

“Stephen, that’s an important case. An entire family was killed. If you know something-”

“I seen kids spattered in the gutters and old men beaten to death by eight-year-olds. You ain’t tuggin’ on any heartstrings, my man. You want the info, you gotta come with me.”

“You’ll tell me eventually.”

“Nope. I’ll get super drunk and probably forget what it was. I swear to you, I won’t tell you.”

Stanton finished his Diet Coke. “All right, let’s go.”

The other officers cheered as they climbed out of the booth and headed out to their cars. The airfield was a good twenty miles away and Gunn called ahead as Stanton drove them there. The pilot was called in as a special favor in exchange for a case of Jack Daniels-which Gunn got at a fifty percent discount through a source he never talked about-and the plane was fueled and ready to go.

The airfield was in the Otay Mesa community right near the US/Mexico border. They drove through the local neighborhoods and several crowds of young men were gathered in the streets, smoking weed and drinking. The officers honked their horns and yelled out the windows at them. A few were in cruisers and many of the men ran inside their homes as soon as they saw them, thinking a raid was about to occur.

The plane was already on the strip and the pilot was sitting outside smoking. He threw his cigarette down and boarded when he saw them drive up.

“I really don’t want to do this,” Stanton said.

“You got one life, Johnny Baby, you gotta enjoy it, man.” Gunn slapped his chest. “You’re gonna have a blast. Or you’re gonna die. Either way it’ll be a story to tell. Come on.”

They hopped out to the shouts of the other officers who were sitting on the hoods of their cars and cheering them on. Gunn went aboard the plane and got out two packs.

“It’s gonna be cold as hell and you’re gonna freeze your nuts off. Them Mormon underwear you got on, are they warm?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you may wanna put on a dive suit. We got one on the plane.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“You ever dive before?”

“You’re drunker than I thought. I told you I’ve never been.”

“Calm down now, booze affects the memory. So ‘cause you never been, you’re gonna hang on to me. Easy-peasy. You spread eagle, don’t arch, don’t get your knees too far down, don’t have your legs too far apart, don’t have your arms too far out front. You seen the position on TV right?”

“I think so.”

“Well, we got some time on the plane. Come on, we can practice.”

They boarded and the plane roared to life. It jerked forward and began its run down the strip, gaining speed and then slowing as it made a turn. Then, with open pavement before it, it began gaining speed to the point that Stanton had to hang on to something. It jerked a couple of times and lifted into the air. The wheels groaned as they were folded underneath and they began to soar, higher and higher.

They went over proper positioning, to prevent too much air pressure, the emergency chute location, and checking the harness. Then Gunn clipped Stanton’s harness to his own and they were literally joined at the hip. Gunn shouted that he would have ahold of him as they exited the plane and would correct his posture on the way down. When they hit the right altitude, he would initiate the chute so he didn’t have to worry about that either.

The door opened and Stanton got a look at the drop zone underneath him. It was the airfield, lit up with some floodlights. But it was still dark enough that he couldn’t judge the proper distance for the fall. The air was screaming so loud it drowned out Gunn’s last minute instructions, but the adrenaline was flowing so powerfully it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The only thing Stanton could hear was the wind and the pounding of his heart.

“Tell me why,” Stanton shouted.

“No way, after the jump. If both of us live.” Gunn looked to the pilot who gave him a thumbs up. “You ready?”

Stanton nodded.

They stepped to the edge of the door, the night sky before them like some vast painting, the moon lighting up the water of the Pacific, and they jumped.

The power of the wind against his goggles and the icy feeling on his exposed skin woke Stanton up like he hadn’t been awakened before. He was acutely aware of his surroundings. It didn’t feel like motion; it felt like he was floating, but the cold air making him shiver told him he was falling. Gunn kept pulling up his arms or pushing down his knees or fixing the arch in his back. But Stanton couldn’t take his eyes off the Pacific. It appeared like the vastness of space; black and unknown. He glanced up at the moon and felt like he hadn’t seen it before.

The one problem that nagged at him was that he couldn’t tell how far away the ground truly was. It was exhilarating and terrifying at once. But he kept himself calm though his heart pounded in his ears like a drum.

When they were at a certain altitude that Stanton couldn’t guess, Gunn pulled his cord and both of them shot up when their chutes opened. It was a sudden, jerking motion and it rattled him before the smooth decent began. Stanton could now see his surroundings in a way he couldn’t during the free-fall. It was a 360º view of the city of San Diego and the Pacific Ocean, with glimpses into Mexico. San Diego was bright and vibrant while the Mexican side had few lights but more open fields and groves of trees that appeared black as tar in the night. But it was the ocean that drew him and that was where he kept his eyes. It shimmered and moved; it appeared alive.

Gunn was shouting something but he couldn’t hear what it was. Then he started waving his arms. Gunn cupped his hands over his mouth and Stanton could barely make him out. He was saying, “Almost there.”

Stanton braced himself but because the ground was so dark he couldn’t anticipate when he would land. By the time he realized he was just barely off the ground, he had only enough time to bend his knees and hit the ground hard. He tumbled head over heels several times and lay flat on his back, his breathing heavy and labored, as Gunn awkwardly unbuckled and rolled next to him.

They both collapsed and Gunn was yelling for some reason.

“How was it?” Gunn said. “No, don’t tell me. Words just fuck things up.”

They sat for several minutes, watching the stars, when Stanton said, “Why?”

“Her dad. He was executed in Texas for murder. They think now that maybe he was innocent. Guess what the crime he was accused of was?”

Stanton didn’t have to guess. He knew it the moment Gunn had said it: it was arson.