The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(91)

“He’s your fish,” Jenkins said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Walk him up the beach.” Jenkins picked up the net.

CJ continued to reel as he backed up the beach. Jenkins saw the tail of a big fish slap and pound the water’s surface. “You’re doing great,” he said.

“I think you better take it, Dad. He’s too big.”

Jenkins bent to a knee and put his hand on his son’s back. “This is your fight. You don’t need anyone’s help.”

CJ glanced at him, and when Jenkins smiled, the boy returned it.

Other fishermen along the beach had taken their lines out of the water and cheered CJ on. “Reel him in, CJ. You got this one. Reel him in.”

Jenkins looked up at the concrete platform. Daugherty and the other three agents had stepped down onto the beach, waiting. He knew they hadn’t come to talk, not that many. The FBI wasn’t going to give Jenkins the chance to turn himself in, or to tell the newspapers he was innocent.

Jenkins turned his attention back to the water. “A little more, CJ. Walk back a little more.” He waded ankle deep into the water and shoved the net under the fish, lifting the salmon out of the water. The net was almost too small, the tail of the fish hanging over the side.

“It’s a king,” Jenkins said. He guessed it weighed more than twenty pounds, maybe twenty-five.

On shore, CJ stood over the fish, beaming with pride as the other fishermen congratulated him. Jenkins removed the hook and lure from the fish’s mouth and smiled at his son, seeing him through a cloud of tears. He took a small club and hit the fish once over the head, putting it out of any misery.

“Hold it up, CJ,” some of the fishermen said. “Let’s get a picture for the paper.”

CJ dropped his pole and grabbed his prize under one gill. He needed both hands to lift it. The fish stretched from CJ’s chin past his knees. This was more than just a fish. This was a trophy.

“Can we show Mom?” CJ asked.

Jenkins looked up to the house. Alex stood on the lawn in front of the Adirondack chairs. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She, too, had seen the four men.

“I think she’s seen it,” Jenkins said. “And she’s so proud of you, she’s crying.”

CJ turned and waved. Alex waved back.

“Why don’t you take it up to her?” Jenkins said. “You and Mom can clean it together. I think she’d like that.”

“Don’t you want to clean it?”

“You know me,” Jenkins said, struggling to hold back his tears. “I’m not too good with fish guts. Go on. Take it up to your mom.”

The smile vanished from CJ’s face when he saw the four men walking toward them. “I want you to come with me,” he said.

“Go ahead, CJ. Everything is going to be fine, just like I told you. You believed me, right?”

CJ nodded, but now tears streaked his cheeks.

“Go on,” Jenkins said. “This is my fight now. You understand? And I’m going to win it, just like you won your fight today and landed your fish. Okay?”

Slowly, reluctantly, CJ walked up the beach, occasionally looking back over his shoulder as he went. When he reached Alex, he dropped the fish on the lawn and buried his face in her stomach. Alex waved to Jenkins. He raised his hand and waved back, uncertain when, if ever, he’d have a morning like this one again.



Jenkins laid the fishing poles on the lawn next to the tackle box. The other fishermen had returned to fishing, though a few continued to look over their shoulders at the four men in suits and ties.

“I guess you’re not going to give me that chance to voluntarily turn myself in?” Jenkins said.

“I’m sorry,” Daugherty said. “This wasn’t my decision.”

“Thanks for not doing it in front of my kid.”

“I have three children of my own, Mr. Jenkins. No sense making this harder than it is. We can walk up the easement. I have a car waiting.”

“Then let’s go,” Jenkins said.

Daugherty grimaced. “I’m going to have to put you in handcuffs. I’m just following orders.”

“Can we at least wait until we get to the easement?”

“Sure,” Daugherty said.

At the easement, Jenkins turned and Daugherty handcuffed his hands behind his back. A news camera filmed Jenkins walking between two marshals, each gripping a bicep. When they reached Daugherty’s Ford, one of the marshals put a hand on Jenkins’s head, and he lowered into the back seat. Jenkins looked back over his shoulder. Several neighbors stood in their yards, watching the spectacle. Thankfully, Alex and CJ were not among them.





53



Daugherty brought Jenkins to the FBI field office to be booked and processed. He was put in a locked conference room and sat waiting. When the clock in the room neared 5:00 p.m., Jenkins figured he’d be spending the night in the federal jail, but when Daugherty and the three marshals returned, Daugherty said, “Time to be arraigned.”

Jenkins looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s after five.”

“Judge Harden is waiting,” Daugherty said, not elaborating.

“What about David Sloane?”

“He’ll meet you in court,” Daugherty said.