For the next hour and a half I sit in the cell quietly. There is much activity going on in the little station. I can hear them talking about me; mostly, just new people getting a recollection of events. People walk back and forth past my cell.
Finally, they open the doors and cuff me again. I am taken to a small room across the cell and told that I will be talking to the FBI. They sit me down in a chair and leave me alone for a couple of minutes. I appear to be in somebody’s office. There is a “U” shaped desk with a computer and a lot of papers. The cuffs are too tight.
The door opens and two FBI agents walk in. They are young guys. One is very tall and the other is of average height. Both are Caucasians.
The tall one was named Joe. He introduced both of them (the other was named Gary). He proceeded to take my handcuffs off. He was trying to establish some kind of trust. He asked me how I was doing. I told him that I was looking forward to the day when I could look back on this and laugh.
They gave me a paper that had my rights on it, and read it to me. They asked me if I wouldn’t mind talking to them without my attorney present. I didn’t mind. I had nothing to hide.
Joe showed me the shoe. For the first time, I got a really good look at it. Once again, under a few layers of material was the blade. It appeared rusted to me. Also, one end looked like it was “stuck” or glued even deeper into the shoe. He asked me if I new anything about it. I once again denied all knowledge.
He asked me if there was any way it could have gotten into it accidentally. I told them that about a year ago I believe I had a pack of (possibly) similar razors in my home-office that my wife bought. I use the closet in my home-office to keep my suits and shoes because my wife has taken over our bedroom closet completely. Unfortunately, my shoes share a top shelf with many office supplies. I told them it is possible that maybe a blade fell in. I didn’t know. When something unexpected happens, your mind tries to find any possible explanation.
At this point, I didn’t know that my wife had taken these shoes in to get resoled. Apparently she did it a couple months prior. I am not a big shopper, and have not actually purchased clothes for myself in the almost 10 years of my marriage. I believe that I have a magic set of drawers, because every so often new shirts, shorts, underwear, etc. appear in them.
Unfortunately, my wife has a magic closet, as new things appear in there VERY often. Sigh…
They proceeded to tell me that this was a very serious situation. They kept asking me if I put the blade there, or if I knew how it got there. They asked me if I possibly had any enemies. They asked me how my marriage was, and how my relationship with the children was. They explained the statute, which states that I could go to jail even if I had no knowledge. Things weren’t looking good.
However, at this point they said that this type of thing happens a lot a airports. Most of the time, it is usually the result of some mistake. Someone having a knife in a carry-on, etc. They say usually the person caught takes a polygraph test and is cleared. They ask if I would be willing to take one. I say yes. I want to take one immediately. Apparently, these things take time to setup.
They spend another ½ hour asking me questions. I don’t think they think I’m a bad guy. I am actually really starting to relax now. I was very impressed with their professionalism. I could tell they really wanted to find out the truth. They were being nice to me, but I had no illusions that if they thought I were dangerous, the situation would be different.
Unfortunately, they told me that I was going to spend the night in the federal penitentiary. I started to get nauseous again. They were going to take me to get something to eat, and then take me over. I asked if there was nothing that I could do. They said “no”.
To be continued
Copyright by Randy Rustick.
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