Play Dirty

“He’s promised a statement will be forthcoming shortly,” the anchorwoman told her viewers. “We’ll get that to you as soon as possible. Greg, you interviewed investigators at the scene. What have you learned from them?”

Greg, the field reporter, had taken up a position outside the ivy-draped estate wall. He said the police were reluctant to discuss the details of the case at this time. “One interesting aspect to this mystery,” he said, “is that the victim’s aide, Manuelo Ruiz, who was constantly at Mr. Speakman’s side, apparently wasn’t in the home last night. His absence is unexplained.”

“That is interesting,” the anchorwoman said without interest.

The well-coiffed anchorwoman didn’t attach any importance to Manuelo’s disappearance, but it was damn important to Griff that the aide hadn’t yet been found.

He continued to flip through the cha

“Has his nose to the ground looking for me,” he muttered, switching off the set.

Griff’s involvement was still unknown by the general public, so that bought him a little time. He had a hiding place. It was unlikely the motel clerk would remember the guest in room number seven, even when Griff’s face started appearing on TV screens. So he had some breathing room.

His primary worry was finding Manuelo-Ruiz, was it?-before Rodarte did. But in order to do that, he needed a car.

He located a Dallas telephone directory under the bed, along with a dusty Gideon Bible. The directory had seen more use, but not by much. It was several years old, and bugs had left droppings on the pages, but it had business listings as well as residential. He used the motel’s phone to place the call.

“Hu

“Is Glen there?”

“Hold please, I’ll see.”

He was subjected to elevator music for several minutes.

“Glen Hu

“Comfort I

Only another ex-con, even one incarcerated in a minimum-security facility, would recognize the tone and know what it signified, would know not to blurt out a name or say too much. Following a significant pause, the car dealer said, “Hold on.”

Griff heard the receiver being set down, movement, a door closing, more movement. When he came back to the phone, Glen Hu

“I was doing great.”

“Was?”

“Now I’m screwed. I need to borrow a car, and nobody can know about it.”

Glen Hu

Being away from his wife had been torture for him. She was all he talked about. With every breath, he bemoaned his homesickness for her and their marriage bed. One evening Hu

“And it’s not just getting laid I miss. She’s special. I mean it, really. She puts up with me, and that’s saying a lot. I love her so much. That may sound sappy, but it’s the God’s truth. I don’t know if I can take being away from her. I really don’t. She-”

Griff, who’d been an unwilling audience for this lament, sent his chair over backward as he lunged toward Hu

Then he hit Hu

Hu

Above the heads of the others, Hu

It was possible for prisoners in minimum security to obtain furloughs-temporary, unescorted releases from the prison. They were granted for limited and specific purposes, such as a family crisis, a funeral, or specialized medical treatment. Including dentistry.

The next morning, Hu

In between trips to the dentist’s office, Hu

For slugging his fellow prisoner, Griff was reprimanded and his privileges were temporarily revoked.

When the car dealer returned, sparkling new caps well cemented, he’d sidled up to Griff and thanked him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Griff grumbled. “I just wanted you to put a lid on it.”

Knowing better, Hu

Griff hoped Hu

Following another long hesitation, Hu

Griff’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. He could press the issue. He could remind Hu

But what right did he have to drag this likable guy, a husband and now a father, into the tub of shit he was in? Hu

“I understand,” Griff said.

“He just turned four.”

“It’s okay. Forget I asked.”

“He was conceived at the Comfort I

Griff’s heart skipped a beat. He held his breath.

Hu

Griff gripped the phone, squeezed his eyes shut, and what came from his lips might have been a silent prayer of thanks. Then he said, “If you’re asked, I stole the car, okay? Don’t get into trouble over this. Tell them I stole it.”

Hu

“Did you hear me?”

Hu

On foot, Griff estimated it would take him a couple hours to walk to Hu

He was hungry, but his stomach would have to wait till he could use a drive-through and decrease the chances of being recognized.

Trying to ignore the hunger pangs, he lay on the bed and stared at the dirty ceiling. He thought about Laura, the hell she must be going through, the emotional pain, the guilt.

Because by now, she would know about his fingerprints on the murder weapon. Rodarte, in his insidious way, would have told her he knew about their affair. It was a classic case of jealous outrage, almost a cliché. Her lover had killed her husband.

And how would Laura have responded? How could she have responded? Would she tell Rodarte about their contract? No. Griff couldn’t see her telling all for Rodarte’s avid ears. She would omit that part. Not for Griff’s protection, or even her own. But for Foster Speakman’s. And the child’s. She might be painted a scarlet woman, but at all costs, she would preserve Foster’s reputation and secure the future of her baby.