Chapter 13: The Hall Table Evidence
The deputy's radio crackled again and he turned it down. EMS was still eight minutes out. The APS caseworker was closer. He stood in the middle of the living room and looked at all of us at once, not moving toward anyone yet.
He'd already taken photos. Now he needed to collect.
"Sir, I need to secure anything that shows how long this has been going on and who had control," he said to my dad, but he was looking at me too. "Phones, paperwork, anything that was used to restrain him."
My grandpa was sitting on the blanket we'd put on the floor, his back against the couch. He was breathing better now, slower. He'd had some water. His hands were still red where the tape had been, but they were free and resting in his lap. He watched the deputy.
The deputy looked at me. "You said you have the tape?"
I nodded. My hand was shaking. I reached into the front pocket of my hoodie and pulled out the folded piece of gray tape I'd peeled off Grandpa's mouth. I'd folded it in on itself so it wouldn't stick to anything. It was still warm from my pocket.
I held it out.
He didn't take it with his bare hand. He pulled a small paper envelope from his belt pocket and opened it, then pulled on a glove.
"Drop it in," he said.
I did. He folded the top over and wrote on it with a pen — time, date, my name as he asked me to spell it. Eli Carrow. He asked where I'd found it and I told him, on Grandpa's mouth, behind the portrait. He wrote that too.
"Thank you," he said. "That's chain of custody. Means we know who touched it and when."
My dad went to the hall table. The deputy's eyes followed him.
"That's the phone?" the deputy asked.
My dad picked up Grandpa's phone, the old black one with the cracked corner. "This is it. This is my dad's. Susan said he took it with him when he moved."
The deputy took it with a gloved hand and slipped it into a clear plastic bag. He sealed it and wrote on the tag. Then he pointed to the folders stacked under it.
"Those too," he said.
My dad handed him the two manila folders and the single sheet on top that said SIGNATURE in big letters at the bottom. The deputy bagged each one separately. He logged them on a small notepad, reading the labels out loud as he wrote.
He turned to Grandpa then. He knelt down so they were eye level. He kept his voice low and steady.
"Mr. Calder, are you able to tell me how long you were behind that wall? Do you know what day you went in there?"
Grandpa blinked slowly. He swallowed. His voice was hoarse.
"They brought me down Thursday," he said. "Last Thursday. Said the care home was ready. Vincent helped me walk. Then they put me in there. Said it was temporary until the papers went through."
The deputy clicked his recorder on. A red light came on.
"Can you say that again for the recording? What date was last Thursday?"
Grandpa closed his eyes for a second to think. "It was the twelfth. I remember because my program on TV, I missed it. And they said I'd be out Monday. Monday never came."
The deputy looked at his notepad and then at my mom and Vincent, who were still standing apart near the dining table like he'd told them.
"And have you had contact with anyone outside the house since the twelfth?" the deputy asked Grandpa. "Phone calls, visitors, doctors?"
"No," Grandpa said. He shook his head a little. "No phone. No door. Bucket and water. That's all."
The deputy nodded and said into the recorder the time and that the statement matched the period with no outside contact.
He stood up then and turned to my mom and Vincent. He took a small card from his shirt pocket and read from it, word for word. He told them they had the right to remain silent, that anything they said could be used against them, that they could have a lawyer.
My mom stared at the floor. Her hands were clasped tight in front of her cream blouse.
"I want to remain silent," she said quickly. Her voice was thin. "I want a lawyer."
Vincent cleared his throat. "Same here. Not saying anything else without counsel. You got that on your recording."
"I do," the deputy said. He clicked his recorder off, then back on to note it. "Mrs. Calder and Mr. Vincent have invoked."
He motioned toward the dining area. "Ma'am, step over by the front windows. Sir, you stay by the hall table. I need you separated for individual statements, even if you're not speaking. And I need to keep this room as it is until EMS checks him and APS arrives."
He waited while they moved. My mom went to the window and turned her back half toward us. Vincent stayed by the hall table where the phone had been, his hands at his sides, his belt a little crooked.
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The deputy zipped the evidence bags into a larger pouch at his hip and wrote one more line on his notepad. The torn portrait still hung open behind us, the dark gap showing the metal doors and the blanket inside. Grandpa stayed on the floor, his eyes open now, looking at me and my dad.
Outside, I could hear the sirens getting louder, but they weren't here yet.
