“Love does that to a person. I received an invitation to both the wedding and the engagement party. I haven’t decided whether or not to attend yet.” She pauses. “But, of course, I did not call to catch up.”
“I figured.”
“I phoned because I was wondering if you would stop by this evening,” Grace says.
“I don’t know. I’m really busy.”
“I promise to make it as quick as possible. I would greatly appreciate it.”
Hell. I hope she just wants to grill me about all we’re doing to find her rapist, not looking for someone to hold her hand when she cries. I’d rather have a root canal than be witness to an outpouring of emotion. Though how can I say no? “Okay. I’ll swing by when I can.”
“Thank you.” She hangs up. Okay, it seems as if she’s lost her manners in three years. I flip the phone shut. Now I’ll have to watch her press conference.
Just as I’m about to clip my phone back on my belt, it rings again. “How do you people expect to me get any work done if I’m constantly on the phone?” I mutter to myself before answering. “This is Det. Joanna Fallon.”
“Jo, it’s Harry,” my bed buddy says.
As I always do when I hear his voice, I smile. “Hey. Please tell me this is going to be a fun call.”
“Sorry.”
“Then I take it you saw my stirring performance. How much trouble am I in?”
“Minimal. Although I doubt Justice will be sending you a Christmas card this year.”
“It kind of all just slipped out.”
“Actually, I just got off the phone with the commish. He was impressed.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So impressed, he wants you to handle the press from now on.”
“Ugh. I thought you said I wasn’t in trouble. Why are they punishing me then?” I whine.
“The general consensus is your conviction and passion makes us look good. They want you to keep doing that. You’re someone people can get behind and believe. Plus, you look really good on TV. Hot even.”
“Why, Captain O’Hara, are you sexually harassing me?” I ask, voice sultry.
“I doubt I’ll be able to tonight,” he sighs.
“Darn. Guess one of my other boyfriends will have to service me then. Rudolpho maybe.”
“Hardy har. So, how are things going at the prison? Have you found anything of use? Please tell me you have. Even if it’s a lie.”
“Nothing concrete, but I’m convinced it was one of the guards. More than convinced.” I read off my notes, finishing just as Conover returns with my hamburger and soda. “That’s all we have so far. The other guards are on their way in, so we’ll see what happens with them. What about you guys? Having better luck than us?”
“Not in the least. Just getting the usual stonewalling from these bastards. All claim they haven’t seen or heard from Ryder since he went in.”
“Harry, I really think our focus should be here at the prison. On the guards. We need to pick their lives apart.”
“That’s why I have my best woman on it.”
“As fabulous as Conover and I are, we are not miracle workers. We need to grill them. Talk to their neighbors, wives, even their grocers. I can’t do that here.”
“Jo, I swear I’ll take that under advisement. Just keep up the good work, okay? Bye.” He hangs up.
“They getting anywhere?” Conover asks.
“No, we are the rock stars of the GFPD at the moment.” I reach across for my burger. “Let’s eat, and then call in our next suspect.” I bite into my wafer-thin, probably horsemeat burger. I spit it out and sigh. “I am officially tired of prison.”
***
After interviewing the final guard, C.O. Marinello, I take a much needed break. We’ve been here for ten hours and the pot of coffee I’ve had has made me pace around the interview room like a caged panther. I excuse myself to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face with a sigh. Some days I hate this job. Ten hours and precious little to show for it. Just an unsubstantiated theory and a sore butt. We’re done here.
As I walk down the hall I pass the guard’s break room, the TV is playing a re-cap of the day’s events. Chuck O’Connell from Channel Four, his steel gray hair, so obviously a toupee, blowing in the breeze, stands outside an apartment building I recognize. He’s surrounded by his fellow bloodsuckers, all waiting for the delivery of fresh meat.
I really don’t know why Grace called this thing. After she escaped, they were relentless. They tried to sneak into her penthouse, swarmed her like mosquitoes in Florida when she went shopping, even printed lies from ex-boyfriends. I don’t blame her for becoming a hermit. First the trauma of the kidnapping, then the media scrutiny and trial. I would have moved to Antarctica.