‘You having fun telling stories over there?’
‘Some. You might sit here for two or three weeks before your attorney gets around to seeing you, and then there’s another long wait for a court date to defend yourself before a jury. Well, at least you’re in here out of the weather, hmmm? The food’s not great but they won’t let you starve.’
‘Is there an offer coming along behind this long sad story?’
‘Not exactly an offer. More like a suggestion.’
‘Oh, hey, a suggestion, that’s exciting. Let’s hear it.’
‘Well, if you were very helpful and forthcoming, and told me everything you know about Frank Martin and Ed Lacey, I could certainly report that to the court. I might even be able to get that court date moved up a little. And it never hurts to have some friends around when the time comes to go before the jury.’
‘What a fine speech. I got a suggestion too. Tell the police chief if he wants to get answers so bad he should send a juicier woman down here to visit me. I’d be friendlier to one who ain’t a crip and got legs she’s able to show off in a nice short skirt. Think you can remember that suggestion all the way back to the station, or are you already getting senile too, Ms Old Dyke Police Lady?’
Sarah stood up and picked up her notebook. ‘Good luck with that attitude, Joey. You get ready to help yourself out a little, give us a call. Maybe if we’re not too busy we might make time for you, but don’t count on it.’
Sometimes they folded when they saw she was really going to leave. But this must have been the first time everybody in the family had refused to help him, and Joey was getting close to choking on his rage, so he was going to have to learn this lesson the hard way. She went out and told the officer at the desk the prisoner was ready to go back to his cell. Then she completed her uneven hike across the lobby, thump-click, thump-click.
She did have to admire the quick way Joey had noticed her mismatched feet below her neat gray slacks, and saved that detail till he wanted to taunt her. Let’s make a note: he may be very foolish but he’s not stupid.
The clouds were darker than before and it was breezing up. The ‘possible rain’ forecast was looking better every minute. In fact, was that a sprinkle? A few grudging drops darkened the asphalt as she thump-clicked her way to the car.
And her mangled toe joint was responding to the abrupt drop in air pressure by hurting enough to send little twinges through the pain meds. She got into the driver’s seat, drank the rest of the water left in the bottle she’d brought along and looked at her watch. Quarter to five. She dug out her cell phone and dialed.
‘Leo,’ she said when he answered the phone, ‘I’m just leaving Pima County. I can’t make it back in time to do anything useful. Check me out, will you?’
‘Sure, kid. Why wouldn’t I be glad to risk my retirement by involving myself in corruption for a colleague as swell as you?’
‘That’s the spirit. If you get written up I’ll speak at your defense.’
‘Go away, Sarah.’
She drove home alternately wincing at the pain in her foot and crowing approval as the sprinkle grew into a steady rain. That was one thing about living in Tucson: sometimes just watching rainwater sluice down your windshield could put a fresh gloss on a hard-fought day.
TEN
Funny how fast you establish a routine, Sarah thought Friday morning, as she opened the door to Tia Louisa’s housekeeping crew.
Sarah and her mother had agreed, when they moved in together, to pool money for a cleaning service, since Sarah’s time off was always conditional and Aggie’s stroke had bought her the Home Free pass from heavy housework. They’d established Friday as their day to take care of the house, so while the crew cleaned, Will caught a nap after his all-night shift, and Sarah dealt with the blizzard of laundry that cleaning created. Aggie, meanwhile, perched in a quiet spot, usually the patio, and made the week’s lists of needed supplies. After Will got up, the crew would clean the master bedroom last and then vacuum their way down the hall and out of the house.
This week Aggie said, ‘Why don’t you let the laundry wait a few days? No use carrying sheets around on your sore foot.’ But Sarah, after a few experimental steps, found that her toe joint seemed to be settling back into its accustomed groove and she could walk a few steps pretty comfortably now on two matching sandals. She set a stool by the folding table, kept the machines whirring and got the cleaning crew to ferry linens back and forth while she washed and folded.
Brain-dead labor needing little mental effort, her mind grew restless and soon wandered off on its own. When Tia Louisa brought the second load of sheets and took away the first stacks of folded towels, Sarah asked her to fetch a tablet and ballpoint from the drawer in the kitchen. Soon she had an almost perfect split going: the lizard brain to fold sheets and towels, the sentient portions to ponder the questions that had begun to cluster around Frank Martin’s suicide.