Operators Are Standing By
It was around 8:00 when I pulled my battered Toyota Corolla into the driveway. There was no sign of my fifteen-year-old son. Jason hadn’t called my cell phone or left a message on the answering machine. This wasn’t like him. He never acted this way on the weekends I had custody. I phoned Melissa Sawyer’s mother but she hadn’t seen him. I poured a glass of Charles Shaw wine and sat down to worry. At 9:00 the phone rang.
“Mr. Cromwell?” asked a man with a deep voice.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Brad Cromwell, father of Jason Ridgeway?”
“Yes. Is Jason all right? Is he hurt?”
“We’re questioning your son at the Department of Homeland Security at 942 West Broadway. You can pick him up at 11:00.”
“Wait! Does he need a lawyer?” I heard a laugh on the other end of the line, and the phone went dead.
What kind of trouble had Jason gotten himself into? I didn’t wait until 10:30. Believe you me! I jumped in my Toyota, sped down the I-5, and paid ten dollars to park in a lot near the Federal Building. I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, signed in with the receptionist, and took a pamphlet to one of the half dozen upholstered metal chairs in the waiting room. It resembled a doctor’s office except for the huge flat-panel TV mounted on the off-white wall. Tom and Katie were on Entertainment Tonight again. There was only one other person in the room, a middle-aged black woman with straightened hair. A tan overcoat draped like the weight of the world over her heavy frame. I looked at the pamphlet.
Frequently Asked Questions about DHS Interrogations
Why am I here?
As a friend or relative of someone being interviewed by DHS, you are here to take custody of the interviewee after questioning by federal agents on matters vital to the security of the United States.
Why must DHS release this person into my care?
While in most cases follow-up medical care is not required, many interviewees are disoriented after questioning and require transportation home and a quiet place to rest. After a few days in bed most can return to their normal daily activities. Bruises and minor lacerations usually heal after a week.
How do I treat electrical burns?
Keep the blisters clean and dry. You may wish to apply a topical antiseptic, such as Neosporin.
You mentioned follow-up medical care. Who pays if the interviewee needs to see a doctor?
DHS is not responsible for medical bills. Contact your private health insurer to see if your policy covers these expenses.
A muffled scream penetrated the soundproof walls. It was not unlike Jason’s cries when he’d had his first cavity filled. The wall-mounted TV drew my attention like a hypnotist. Someone had changed the channel. A chubby man in a white chef’s jacket was demonstrating the Fredco Home Rotisserie. A blonde, in a turquoise dress that revealed cleavage so deep a man could get lost in there for decades, stood by and watched the chef impale two raw chickens on a skewer and insert them into the device. Through time-lapse photography the chickens were browned, moist, and cooked to perfection forty-five minutes later. Cleanup was a snap, since the skewer and drip pan popped out for easy immersion in soapy water. I watched amazed. If I moved my microwave closer to the wall, I’d have room for the rotisserie in my kitchen. I took out a pen and scribbled the 800 number on the pamphlet.
A technician in a white lab coat escorted a limping black man into the waiting room. A wad of white, surgical tape held a bloody compress the size of a tennis ball over the suspect’s left eye. The black woman hauled herself to her feet, took the suspect’s arm, and led him out. Another moan came from behind the door.
“So how much does the Fredco Home Rotisserie cost?” the blonde asked the chubby chef.
“Well, Tina, if I were to say $200, would you consider that a good deal?”
Tina opened her eyes in amazement. “I bet I spend more than that eating out in just a few months.”
“How about $150?”
“Definitely a bargain,” Tina said.
“If I told you that you could get the Fredco Home Rotisserie for only $99.95, what would you say then?”
“Incredible!”
“Wait! There’s more! If you order in the next twenty minutes, I’ll throw in the food dehydrator and the steak knives absolutely free!”
I reached for my cell phone and dialed the number I’d written on the pamphlet. There were some tense moments that night. But when I heard the friendly voice on the other end of the line, I knew everything would be okay.