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The woman’s nails rattle against the counter and I push the cash forward. She counts out the money, blue nails fa
CHAPTER 61
Present
I DON’T LIKE it.” Detective Brenda Boles sucks a sip of coffee between her teeth, the wet sound of it conjuring up an image of brown-stained dental diagrams. She sets down the cup. Damn her dentist and his posters, cheerfully tacked up on walls, like anyone really wants to stare at gingivitis when getting their incisors scraped.
“Don’t say that.” David leans back in his chair, the front foot of it lifting up.
“You agree. You know you do.” He better. Otherwise their whole camaraderie, the co
David’s phone rings and he shifts, reaching a hand into the front pocket. “Reuber,” he barks. She listens, his grunts and mutters the type that traditionally lead to answers.
When he hangs up, she pounces. “What?”
“Jeremy Pacer’s house exploded six months ago. He was supposed to still be in it. Barely escaped alive.”
“How are we just now finding out about this?”
“The house was in his grandmother’s name, over in Prestwick. He was looked at as more of a tenant; the case was determined, after speaking to Pacer, to be a home invasion gone wrong. They broke in, found nothing, and torched the place in retribution.”
“Home invasions hitting Prestwick now?” Brenda asks skeptically.
He shrugs. “Blanchard and Jones took it.” And that is all he needs to say. Two cops months from retirement. They probably didn’t even ride out to the scene. She stands.
“Wanting to talk to Tom now?” He looks at the clock.
“Might as well. Could be a second attempted murder tacked onto Madden.”
“Could be a coincidence.” He holds the door open for her and she pauses, looking into his face.
“It’s not a coincidence.”
“Then why are you scowling?”
“Because something is wrong. I just don’t know what it is.”
“You know that three hours ago you were gu
She steps into the hall and moves toward the DA’s office with purpose. “Yeah, well. Then she confessed.”
CHAPTER 62
Present
I AM PUT in a cell with four others. They are spread out over a room with six beds, two of them clearly unused, both top bunks. I guess there is a point in life when you quit fighting over the top bunk, and prison age seems to be it. I step inside the door, am asked to turn, provide my wrists, and they unlock my cuffs. Freedom. I rub my wrists and watch the door behind me slide shut. Not free. I put my hand on the metal and stare through the window. On the other side, the guard’s impassive face looks away, calls something to the other guard, and laughs. I take a step back and turn to the room.
All four faces stare at me, slack and expressionless, as if the prison walls have sucked out their souls.
I smile. No one returns the gesture.
My lack of interaction with the outside world has spoiled me to how a
The woman below me cracks her knuckles.
The woman standing paces, each step of her te
The woman in a chair, seated by the door, talks to anyone who will listen. She is here because some sumbitch at work jacked her wallet and got what he deserved. That confuses me, since in an earlier piece of the monologue, she rattled out that she works at her neighbor’s house and takes care of a bunch of asshole kids. I close my eyes and picture the scenario. Kids. Sumbitches. Getting what is deserved.
No one, other than the sumbitch-getting woman by the door, has said anything to me. Which is a good thing, since I am too brittle right now. I feel as if my life has worn through my skin, like the skin has gotten thin and deteriorated, my elbows and hips begi
I am just four hours in and I hate this place. Which feels familiar. Which feels right.
“Here’s the key. Dumpster downstairs empties on Thursdays, and is normally filled by Tuesday, so get your trash down early. Mailman comes in the afternoon, if you got anything to go out, have it in the box by noon.” He rubbed at his nose, and a line of snot got smeared. I looked away. Trash? I hadn’t even thought about that. Mail? Would I need to mail something? How would I do that?
“The utilities are already hooked up?” I was begi
“Yeah. You know…” He smiled and I saw a piece of pepper stuck in his teeth. “I’m right downstairs. If you need anything, you just swing by.”
I nodded. I will not be swinging by. I will have to learn to not need anything. He had no idea, but this is the last time I intended on speaking to him.
He reached for the door and palmed the steel for a minute, testing it. When he turned back, he and the piece of pepper smiled at me again. “It was smart, getting a new door. You know I’ve been here three years and you’re the only one who’s had the door replaced? First off, I mean. Doors get broken all the time, need replacing. But no one ever uses a door like this.” He knocked on the surface. “This thing is serious. Who you trying to keep out?”