Steve Hamilton - The Lock Artist

They fingerprinted me. They gave me a breathalyzer test, even though I was pretty sure I was stone cold sober at that point. Then they had me hold up a little sign with my name and case number as they took two pictures of me, one facing front, one sideways. Then they put me in a holding cell by myself while they called Uncle Lito.

I sat there in the cell for another hour or so, until I heard some footsteps at the end of the hallway. There was a door there with a little observation window in it. I saw Uncle Lito’s face appear behind the glass, his eyes wide and his hair sticking up like something out of a cartoon. Another half hour passed. Then a cop came to my cell and took me to another interview room. There was a woman waiting for me. It had to be two o’clock in the morning by now, but this woman was wide-awake and very well dressed.

“I’ve been hired by your uncle to represent you,” she said to me as I sat down across from her. “We need to discuss a few things before you’re released. First of all, do you understand everything that’s happened to you so far?”

She had a legal pad ready for me. I picked up the pen and wrote Yes.

“I understand you have not given the police any written statements yet? Is that true?”

Yes.

She took a deep breath. “They want to know who else was involved in this,” she finally said. “Are you willing to tell them?”

I hesitated, then I started writing. What happens if I don’t say anything?

“Michael, you have to understand something here. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything that happened. I need to know who was with you.”

I looked away from her.

“Are you going to tell me?”

I want to go home and sleep, I thought. Figure this all out tomorrow.

“I understand that there was a party going on across the street from the residence you broke into. I’m sure the police are talking to everyone who was there. Somebody will have seen your… friends running away.”

One friend, I thought. One friend and two other people I couldn’t care less about. But I couldn’t see how to give up just the two of them without Griffin getting pulled into it. Even if he was already in Wisconsin by now. They’d find him and bring him back.

“Your car,” she said. “It’s parked down the street from the Marshes’ house?”

I nodded.

“Do you even know the Marshes? I’m sure there’s a reason you drove all the way over there, all by yourself , if you expect anyone to believe that, and broke into their house.”

I closed my eyes.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’m going to go get you released now so you can go home and get some rest.”

Another half hour of waiting, and then I was out of the holding cell. The lawyer drove us home. Uncle Lito sat in the front seat, not saying a word. I was in the backseat. When we got to the house, he thanked the lawyer and got out. I slid out and followed him. I kept waiting for the big blow-up. What the hell got into you, what the hell were you thinking. Something like that. Maybe even some physical confrontation. For the first time ever. But he just opened up the front door and let me in.

“Go to bed,” he said. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

I went to my room in the back of the house and got undressed. As I lay down and turned off the light, I saw his silhouette in the doorway.

“Do you have any idea how much this lawyer is going to cost?”

I stared at the dark ceiling.

“I didn’t realize it was this bad, Michael. I mean, I know what you had to go through…”

No. You don’t know.

“I thought you were getting over that now. I thought you were doing okay.”

He closed the door and left. As I went to sleep, I saw the aquarium shatter again. The water running onto the floor. The fish lying on the floor, mouths gaping in surprise.

The next day I woke up late, expecting the worst. I figured by the end of the day, I’d be hauled off to prison, or to some special place where they send juvenile delinquents. What I didn’t know was that the county prosecutor was already working on his second headache of the morning.

“Okay, here’s where we are,” the lawyer told us, as soon as we were both sitting in her office. “The police believe that the Marsh residence was entered around ten thirty last night,” she said, reading from her yellow pad. “By Michael and some unknown number of accomplices.”

“I want the names,” Uncle Lito said to me. “Do you hear me? You’re going to write them down and you’re going to do it now.”

“Hold that thought for a moment,” she said. Then she went back to her pad. “According to the police, various witnesses at the party across the street reported as few as two and as many as five young men fleeing the scene when the squad cars arrived. It’s not uncommon to get differing accounts from different people. In any case, several witnesses state that one of the young men was very large.”

She looked at me, measuring my reaction.

“That leads them to believe that a Milford student named Brian Hauser may have been on the scene. Apparently, he and Adam Marsh have some history. Is any of this ringing a bell yet, Michael?”

I didn’t move.

“As far as the charges themselves go,” she said, “there were no apparent signs of forced entry. Which leads the police to believe that the back door was unlocked. A lucky break for whoever wanted to get in.”

Nothing about the safety pin, I thought. Or the screwdriver. The police had taken them from me when I was arrested, but I guess it didn’t even occur to them that I could use those things to open the lock.

“A large aquarium in the living room was shattered, apparently by a fireplace poker. That resulted in a fair amount of water damage to the carpeting and furniture. Although the fish themselves were found unharmed in the kitchen sink. I suppose, what, you broke the aquarium and then felt bad about the fish? Or was the whole thing just an accident?”

I could really feel Uncle Lito staring a hole through me now.

“A large banner was left in Adam Marsh’s bedroom. Something to the effect that Milford High School kicks ass. Aside from that, there were no further damages, and nothing was reported as stolen from the house.”

“So it’s not burglary,” Uncle Lito said. “I mean, if nothing was stolen…”

“If you unlawfully enter someone’s house to commit a crime, it’s still technically a burglary charge.”

“But it’s not as serious?”

“It’s still a felony. If they choose to play it that way.”

I felt Uncle Lito’s hand on my arm. “Michael, who else was with you? We need those names now. We’ll tell the judge they made you do it. That’s what happened, right? That big guy the police are talking about, was it that kid? Brian… what was it?”

“Brian Hauser,” she said.

“Brian Hauser. Was it him? Did he put you up to this?”

“Actually,” she said, “I’m not so sure we need a definite answer to that question right now.”

“What do you mean?” Uncle Lito said. “How could we not need an answer?”

“Because whether he was part of this or not… well, let’s just say that if it’s an open question, it might work in our favor.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Here’s what’s happening.” She put her pad down. “I’ve already talked to the prosecutor this morning. First of all, we talked about my concerns with the way the police handled Michael’s arrest, and how long it took for you to be contacted. Even with their little ‘misunderstanding,’ it doesn’t look good. Not with a juvenile involved.”

“So what does that mean?” Uncle Lito said. “Is that enough to get him off?”