The Prosecution of General Hastings

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Jana returned to the suite and allowed her anger to subside, she realized that there really could be no plausible explanation for Jack’s absence. Something must have happened to him and she knew she had to do something. She glanced at the clock that had told her the time he had left. It was now 10:23. She paced the floor, still wearing the black dress that she had hoped would please her husband. She knew that fretting was doing no good and picked up the phone.

  “Nine One One,” the emergency operator answered. “What is the nature of your emergency, please?”

  She had not really thought of the situation being an emergency, but she had to say something. “My husband is missing,” she said. “He is very late and I’m afraid something has happened to him.” As the words left her mouth, Jana knew that this must sound like some crackpot wife calling.

  “How long has he been missing, ma’am?” asked the woman on the other end of the phone.

  “Since about seven-fifteen,” she answered. She remembered looking at the clock when he left the suite. “Yes. He left at seven-fifteen.”

  “Well, ma’am, that’s only a couple of hours. We don’t call someone ‘missing’ until it has been at least twenty-four hours.” The emergency operator sounded at the same time sympathetic and impatient.

  “I realize how this must sound,” Jana said, “but we live in Lawton. We are staying at the Prairie Plaza for the weekend. My husband left at seven-fifteen to run an errand and was to meet me for dinner no later than nine. Something has happened.”

  “Ma’am, I understand. But according to our guidelines your situation does not constitute an emergency. Please hold. Let me see what I can do.” The operator clicked off and left Jana holding.

  A moment went by. Jana continued to pace across the carpet of the hotel suite as far as the telephone cord would allow. “Oh, Jack,” she thought, “where the hell are you?”

  “Ma’am? Are you there?” asked the operator.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “I suggest you call Oklahoma City Police,” said the operator. “Speak with the Desk Sergeant at (405) 555-1666. If there have been any accidents or occurrences involving your husband and the Police, he will know.”

  Jana quickly picked up one of the hotel pens beside the phone and the notepad with the hotel’s picture on it. She scribbled down the number she was given. “Thank you so much,” she said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am. Good luck.” With that the operator ended the call.

  The clock behind the desk of Sergeant John Mulcahey read 10:27. He answered the phone, “Mulcahey, Central Precinct.”

  “Hello, my name is Jana Hastings. May I speak with the Desk Sergeant, please?”

  “You’ve got him, ma’am. What can I do for you?” Mulcahey was a no nonsense cop with twenty three years of dealing with the good people of Oklahoma City. He was as friendly as he could be out of uniform. In uniform, he was all business.

  Jana explained that her husband had left the hotel and not returned as planned. She made every effort to sound reasonable and intelligent. She did not want Sergeant Mulcahey to think she was some doting woman who missed her man. Now, well past her anger, she felt that she had a legitimate concern.

  “Did you and your husband have an argument or anything, ma’am? Any reason he may have left and decided to stay away a while?” he asked.

  “No. Nothing at all. We had dinner reservations for nine o’clock and he was going to be there. He just ran out to pick up his laptop computer,” she explained.

  “Okay, what was your name again, ma’am?”

  “Hastings. Jana Hastings. My husband is General Jack Hastings,” she said. Jana was not one to flaunt Jack’s rank. But in this case, it might help.

  “General, huh?” Mulcahey asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s a retired major general. We live in Lawton.” She knew she didn’t have to explain that Lawton was near the large base of Fort Sill.

  “Well, Mrs. Hastings,” Mulcahey said, “we haven’t had anything happen around here that might have involved your husband. And nothing in the other precincts that I can see in the computer. Let’s say that’s good news.”

  “Yes, but…” she began.

  “I understand your concern. But I see nothing here. If he had somehow gone to a hospital, someone would be contacting you. I’m sure he had emergency contact information on his person didn’t he?”

  Jana really hadn’t considered contacting hospitals. “Yes, he’s got that kind of information on him and he has me listed in his cell phone under ‘Emergency’. So, I think I would have been called.”

  “It really hasn’t been that long, Mrs. Hastings. Not if he was in some kind of an emergency.” Mulcahey continued, “But again, I see nothing that has happened around the City in the last few hours. Let’s do this… Give me your phone number and I’ll get back to you if anything pops. And let’s hope you don’t hear from me.”

  She gave Mulcahey her cell number as well as the hotel and suite numbers. “I can’t think of anything else to do,” she said. “But something just isn’t right.” She knew there was no reason to keep the Sergeant on the phone. “I do appreciate your help, Sergeant.”

  “Quite welcome, ma’am. Good night.”

  At precisely the time that Jana Hastings ended her call with Sergeant Mulcahey, Patrolman Jimmy Brewer was approaching the black Lexus driven by her husband. The snow had increased. Though not yet heavy, a soft white blanket was beginning to cover the ground. Hastings had pulled to the curb as soon as Brewer had hit the siren and lights. Officer J. R. Tobin, Brewer’s partner had noticed the right rear taillight on the Lexus was damaged, actually hanging from the fender housing. It was obvious that it was recent damage. While Brewer approached Hastings, Tobin ran the license number through Oklahoma Department of Motor Vehicles.

  “Keep your hands on the wheel, sir,” ordered Brewer. “Keep them where I can see them, please.”

  Hastings did exactly as he was told. He was terrified.

  “Have you been in a wreck recently, sir?” Brewer asked. “Your right rear taillight is just barely hanging on.” Brewer peered into the car and determined that Hastings was no immediate threat.

  “Yeah, I was,” Hastings answered. He offered nothing more.

  “Can I see your driver’s license and registration, please, sir.” Brewer watched closely as Hastings reached into his wallet and retrieved his license. He handed the license to the policeman. Brewer kept his flashlight focused on him as Hastings reached across to open his glove compartment. Brewer noticed the deployed air bag hanging limp from the dashboard.

  Hastings started to reach up under the air bag to get to the glove compartment. “Oh, wait,” said Hastings, sitting back straight. “I’ve got a pistol in the glove compartment. Thought you should know.”

  “Okay, uh, Mr. Hastings,” said Brewer having glanced at the driver’s license. “Please exit the vehicle.”

  As Hastings was getting out of his car, Officer J. R. Tobin approached from the passenger side of the Police cruiser. He had run the vehicle license plate through the DMV computer and verified the registration. He had also learned from his dispatcher that the Lexus had left the scene of an accident.

  “Please turn around, Mr. Hastings,” ordered Tobin, reaching for his handcuffs. “I’m afraid we need to take you downtown to discuss a matter of two vehicles that you have damaged pretty extensively this evening.” He placed the cuffs on the wrists of General Jack Hastings and recited him his Miranda Rights and aided him into the back seat of the cruiser.

  “At what point can I call a lawyer,” Hastings asked.

  “If you feel like you really need one, you can call one as soon as we get to the precinct,” Tobin said somewhat surprised. “All we’ve got you for is destruction of private property and leaving the scene of an accident.”

  “You don’t know the whole story yet,” Hastings said.