Baby (12)

Summary: Officer Newsom makes more arrests.

12: Dungeon

Henry was poor, taciturn company in the jail cell but Catherine kept talking as if her words might wear down the lock holding her there. There was, after all, so much to say: that Sacha would never accuse her of stealing his car; that the officer was obviously new to his post and didn't know people in the area; that she and Henry could just sneak out and find Baby, then all the rest would fall into place.

Officer Newsom eventually came back, informing them that the real Catherine Morland was sleeping comfortably and thus the chatty young imposter in the jail cell was not who she claimed to be. Neither “Catherine” nor “Henry” would be leaving tonight until they came clean and had someone vouch for them.

“Oh, but he told you he's Henry Tilney and I vouch for him,” Catherine said, hoping to clear the matter up. There was still a leopard to find.

Newsom glared at her. “You think I'm going to take the word of someone driving around in a stolen car?” he asked incredulously.

“As I already explained to you --”

“Spare me your old stories, Miss Whoever-You-Are,” the policeman cut her off. “If you haven't got anything new to say, I'm going to let you stew here for a bit.”

Catherine snapped her mouth shut and thought. The officer wanted new stories but as she had already told him the truth, that only left untruths. Still, if that's what was needed to restore freedom to her or Henry so they could rescue Baby before all of Fullerton was on alert, she would do it.

The first step was to get one of them out of their cell. As Henry seemed fairly defeated at this point, it would have to be her.

“Well, you've caught us at last,” Catherine said, slipping into a femme fatale slouch.

“What?” said Newsom.

“What?” said Henry.

She cast a conspiratorial glance at Henry. “There’s no use pretending otherwise now. He’s got us,” she said.

“Who have I got?” Newsom asked, his interest piqued.

“Oh, but we’re nothing compared to the Big Boss,” Catherine dropped the title nonchalantly.

“Who’s the Big Boss?” Newsom was hanging off her every word.

“I shouldn’t say,” she demurred. “It’s more than my life’s worth to reveal him. But maybe I can give you a couple crumbs to follow, see if the higher-ups are willing to rat him out.”

Henry stared aghast at her as if he had never seen her before but Newsom was practically salivating at the opportunity to make a name for himself. He pulled out his notebook and held his pencil at the ready.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s hear those names.”

“Not so fast!” Catherine backtracked. “What will you give me if I give you names? What will you give me if I give you places rather than people?”

“What kind of places?” Newson asked, trying to keep up.

“Well, you don’t think we were driving around looking for a leopard, now do you?” Catherine shot back. “Of course not! We steal the cars and then drop them off at a garage where someone else holds onto them until the heat dies down.”

“What garage?!?” Newsom was already imagining the commendations he would receive.

“I don’t know its address,” she said, reeling him in. “I just know where to find it. Do you have a map? I can point it out to you.”

Newson pulled out his keys without a second thought. “There’s a map of the whole area in the front room,” he said as he set her free. “Show me where it is and I’m sure I can give you preferential treatment.”

Catherine stepped forward, her foot carefully positioned in front of the door while she appeared to hesitate. “What kind of preferential treatment?”

“I, uh,” Newsom stuttered. “I can't let you go but I suppose I won’t need to put you back in your cell if you’re being so cooperative?”

“And you won’t tell anyone it was me that told you?” Catherine held out.

“Lady, I don’t even know who you are,” the officer countered.

At that Catherine smiled and stepped fully out of the cell. “That seems fair.”

She didn’t glance back at Henry but walked in front of Officer Newsom with as much of a femme fatale slink as she could manage. It was probably not convincing but she’d gone too far to stop now. It was also slower than she normally stepped but now that she was out of the jail cell, she had to think of the next step of her plan.

She approached the map which was pinned to the wall and squinted at it. She cast about for inspiration, settling on the coffee mug abandoned at the welcome desk. As naturally as she could, she cleared her throat and then coughed into her hand.

“Could I get a glass of water?” she asked innocently.

Newsom looked at her with a hitch of suspicion. “What do you need water for?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of talking,” Catherine answered honestly. “My throat’s a little dry.”

“Point out the location of the garage first,” Newsom told her. “Then I’ll get you some water.”

Catherine agreed with an “All right,” and another cough.

She stepped up to the map and spotted the location of the police station as well as her aunt’s farm house and the pond where she expected Baby to be. From there, she picked a spot on the opposite side of the map.

“Around here,” she said, again clearing her throat. “Old building, peeling paint, looks abandoned. You can’t miss it in the daylight.”

Newsom jotted everything down in his notebook and then reached for the telephone to call the sheriff at home. He was going to need reinforcements.

“What about my water?” Catherine whined.

Newsom huffed in annoyance but a deal was a deal. He put the receiver back in its cradle and walked off to the breakroom, leaving Catherine unguarded in the front room.

She wasted no time in grabbing a set of car keys left on the welcome desk and sprinting for the front door. She’d probably get into a heap of trouble if she were caught before she could resolve everything, but borrowing a police car to get to the pond and collect Baby would have to be the next step in her hastily assembled plan. If she could bring Baby to the station, it would surely show that she and Henry had not made up that part of the story.

She did feel a twinge of guilt in leaving Henry behind but she didn’t think she could get away with freeing him as well. If matters did not resolve quickly and satisfactorily, at least he could claim some innocence.

Catherine found the car parked conveniently in front of the station and unlocked the driver’s door. She took a moment to adjust the mirrors and then started the engine. She barely noticed the figure racing out of the station in her rear-view as she sped off.

.o8o.

Newsom was furious at losing his prisoner and his car. The first thing he did was telephone the sheriff who told him to stay put while they tried to finagle another body from the next jurisdiction to help at this late hour.

Having done that much and with nothing else to do but wait, Newsom didn’t mind verbally taking it out on Henry. Having endured more elegantly pointed criticism since before reaching adulthood, Henry didn't flinch to be on the receiving end.

As he was winding down his tirade, Newsom yelled at the man for doing nothing to stop his accomplice from escaping when it was clear to an independent observer that Henry could have done nothing in his present circumstances.

“And I bet she didn’t even give me the correct location of that garage!” Newsom concluded, as if that were the height of Catherine’s perfidy.

It was while he was in this foul mood that Mr Errol Tilney parked his car in the neatly vacated spot in front of the station. He escorted Mrs. Elizabeth Allen into the station and demanded to see the so-called Catherine Morland and her alleged partner in crime.

“You know Catherine Morland?” Newsom challenged.

“Of course I do!” Mrs. Allen averred. Anyone who had lived for any length of time in Fullerton knew Catherine Morland but being the girl's aunt gave her special privileges.

“And you know her too?” Newsom turned to the older gentleman.

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Tilney declared. “I am here to see my nephew and figure out how he got caught up in this mad scheme.”

“You’re the uncle?” Newsom said, mentally connecting the dots. “You’re supposed to be in New York. How do I know that you’re legitimate?”

Before Mr. Tilney could scoff condescendingly, Newsom turned back to Mrs. Allen, “And who are you supposed to be, exactly? As far as I know, that crazy dame could have sent you here to fool me into freeing her accomplice.” Just like that, all the dots connected and he could see the outline of a vast criminal conspiracy in this deceptively sleepy-looking corner of New England. “Why, you’re a bunch of crooks. I should lock you all up!”

At this point Mr. Tilney began to defend himself with a vigorous, “Do you know who I am?!?” This line was typically all he needed to say in New York where the people who worked for the people in his circle understood the threat of hierarchy. He had failed, however, to account for the officer's mental state and his location.

Newsom pulled out his handcuffs and held them menacingly aloft. The museum director had a brief moment when he considered placating the officer but decided to brazen his way through it and only fell silent when his right wrist was slapped with a cuff.

“Now see here --” he said, noticeably less confident than a second ago.

“I'll let the sheriff sort this out,” Newsom declared. “Both of you, get in a jail cell and be quiet.” He then dragged Mr. Tilney by his wrist to the door of Henry's cell and let him in.

Errol Tilney took one look at his nephew and stated, “You're fired,” which was no more than Henry had been expecting since he failed to play golf with Mr. Sherman yesterday.

Newsom then turned to Mrs. Allen and ordered her to wait in Catherine’s former cell.

“Are you sure that is necessary?” she blanched.

“The female is more dangerous than the male, in my experience,” Newsom told her, Catherine’s escape still stinging his pride. “Get in!”

Having order temporarily restored, Newsom went back to the welcome desk to await reinforcements.

Twenty minutes passed and the sheriff walked in, mid conversation with another older gentleman, commiserating on what the world was coming to.

Officer Newsom snapped to attention upon seeing his boss and was ready to extend his hand in greeting to the sheriff's guest, Mr. Alexander Sherman, whose car had so recently been recovered. The sheriff had called Mr. Sherman as soon as he had heard the outlandish story from his officer, and had offered his friend a ride to the station to see if the stolen car had indeed been recovered.

Newsom bowed and bobbed at the introductions, then eagerly led the two back to the holding cells where Mr. Sherman immediately recognized one of the detainees.

“Bess!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in there?”

“I don't rightfully know,” she answered. “It seemed kinder than being handcuffed.”

The sheriff's face turned a mottled red and he ordered Newsom to release her at once. The officer tried to explain about the fog of war but the sheriff wouldn't listen. There was a reelection coming up and it wouldn't do to arrest wealthy, upstanding locals.

Seeing the door to Mrs. Allen’s cell swing open, Mr. Tilney began to clamour that he was also wrongfully detained. The sheriff and Mr. Sherman looked at him but didn't recognize him. They asked Mrs. Allen to vouch for him.

“I've never seen him before tonight,” she admitted, “but he says he's from the New York museum that wants my money. He showed up at the house and wanted to talk about my niece and Mr. Noh.”

“Who?” was the general chorus.

“Mr. Noh,” she repeated and pointed to Henry.

Mr. Sherman squinted at the young man. “That's Mr. Tilney.”

“That's who he claims to be,” said Mrs. Allen, pointing to the director.

“You are Henry Tilney, aren't you?” Mr. Sherman pressed, finally recognizing him. “I was supposed to play golf with you yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” Henry agreed.

“And I was supposed to have dinner with you yesterday too,” Mr. Sherman recalled.

“Yes, sir,” Henry agreed again.

“Then how did you end up in a jail cell in Connecticut?” the sheriff wanted to know.

Henry opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. How could he succinctly and sanely explain the unexpected twist of events that landed him here? There was an errant golf ball, and a slippery olive and one or two missing purses, and probably a dinner date if he had time enough to dwell on it. And there was a priceless fossil -- where had that gone? -- and a tame leopard, and a dead duck and a wayward dog, and a ruined suit and a stolen car. And how could Henry explain even a tenth of it without being dismissed as absolutely crazy?

He closed his mouth and swallowed and then tried again. “Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it's because of…”

There was something of a commotion in the front of the station and then Catherine came walking into the back area, looking pleased as punch with a leopard on a leash.

“Baby!” he grinned, feeling relief course through him.