Daddy's Gone a Hunting

91

Attempting to exude an air of confidence, Jack Worth strode into the same room in the Manhattan DA’s office on Friday morning where he had been questioned the day before. He had received the call to come back in from Detective Stevens less than an hour before. He took a seat at the table opposite Stevens, cheerfully noting to him that their meetings were getting to be a routine. Then Jack added emphatically that he had absolutely nothing to hide.

The questioning began. And it was the same as yesterday. Why didn’t he call 911 when he looked down into the sinkhole and saw the medallion that he had tried to give to Tracey Sloane?

“I told you yesterday and I’ll tell you again now and I’ll tell you tomorrow, if we’re still here, that I panicked. Sure, I should have called nine-one-one. It was the right thing to do. But your guys put me through a meat grinder twenty-eight years ago. Obviously, I should have known there was no way I could avoid going through it again. So here we are.”

For two hours Matt Stevens repeated much of the same questioning, then played his trump card. “Jack, we know what happened to Tracey that night,” he said. “We have found a reliable eyewitness who saw her get into a vehicle willingly.”

Stevens and the other detectives watched closely to see the reaction of the man who they believed had picked up Tracey that night. But Worth seemed unruffled. “So why didn’t your so-called reliable eyewitness come forward when she disappeared?” he asked. Now there was a sneer in his expression. “I guess you thought you’d bowl me over with that crazy story.”

“She got into a midsize furniture van. It was black with gold lettering on the side that said FINE ANTIQUE REPRODUCTIONS,” Matt Stevens snapped, his voice rising.

“I don’t believe you!” Jack Worth shouted. “You’re making this up. Look, I told you I’d take a lie detector test. I want it done now. And then I’m going home and you can try out that fairy tale on the next poor slob you pull off the streets.”

It was on the tip of Jack’s tongue to tell these cops that he wanted to talk to a lawyer, but then his instinct told him it would make him look guilty and stopped him. I’ll pass that lie detector test and prove to them once and for all that I don’t know what the hell happened to Tracey Sloane, he decided. And I don’t care if I ever find out. What a bunch of garbage! How stupid do they think I am?