They’d corralled Walt and asked him to meet them at the station. Samantha wasn’t thrilled to have to include the older cop as a witness but since she’d known him all her life, she figured he’d be a better choice than Glenn or Chief Kelso, not to mention Sheriff Allgood, who had a well-earned reputation as a curmudgeon’s curmudgeon.
They passed through the first locked door and into a dingy hallway lined with several small cells. The antiseptic-smelling place was nothing like the impressive pictures she’d seen of federal prisons, other than sharing a somber atmosphere that was so depressing it made her shudder.
The forlorn-looking youth sitting cross-legged on a gray blanket atop his cot might have brought a surge of sympathy under other circumstances. Not this time. She figured Bobby Joe’s partners in crime were behind Brutus’s disappearance and that assumption seriously dampened her usual compassion.
He looked up as Sam paused outside the cell. John and Walt flanked her. The prisoner’s eyes were red rimmed and his whole body trembled as if a web of tangled puppet strings were jerking at it.
Recognition was slow in coming. He swung his legs off the cot and perched on its edge while he squinted at her. “Sa-Samantha?”
“Hello, Bobby Joe.”
“Did my sisters send you?” There was a hopeful tone to the question.
“No. Nobody sent me. I came to ask if you knew who took my dog.”
“Your what?”
She clamped her teeth on her lower lip to stop it from quivering before she continued. “You heard me. My dog. Somebody broke into my house. My old dog is missing.”
His shoulders slumped and he leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “I thought you came to spring me.”
“You haven’t had any other visitors?” she asked.
“Nope. I guess Mamaw is good and mad at me for lettin’ little Jess get into my stuff.” He cupped his face in his hands. “You’ve gotta believe me. I never intended for the kid to get sick.”
“I don’t want to talk about your problems,” Samantha said after John prodded her with his elbow and shook his head in warning. “All I want to know is who might try to get back at you through me.”
“Why should they do that?” Bobby Joe whined.
“Because one of your buddies apparently thinks you passed something to me and he wants it back.” She held up her hand like a crossing guard stopping traffic when he opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t care what he thinks you gave me or where it really is. All I need is a name. A clue. Something that will help me find Brutus.”
“Who?”
“Her dog,” John interjected.
“Oh.”
“Well?” Samantha was running out of patience. “Look, Bobby Joe, you said you brought the little boy to me because you knew I’d help. I did. We saved his life. Don’t you think you owe me something after that?”
His thin shoulders shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. Just don’t tell nobody where you heard this or my life won’t be worth a plug nickel.”
“I’m already in trouble for keeping my mouth shut because of you, but you have my word.”
“What about them?” the young man asked, pointing to John and Walter.
“We’ll wait outside,” John offered, taking the older deputy by the arm and urging him back down the hallway so they were out of sight without being out of hearing.
As soon as Samantha was ostensibly alone with the prisoner he arose and edged closer to the bars. “I’m about to jump out of my skin here. You got any pills on you? I figure a nurse…”
“No!” She took a step back, careful to stay beyond his reach. “Just level with me so I can go find my dog.”
“Okay, okay. It was worth a try. I don’t know nothin’ about no dog. If I was lookin’ for trouble I’d check that bar out in Moko. You know the one.”
“There’s no bar in Moko,” Samantha argued. “Fulton County’s dry. Nobody sells liquor here.”
“Not in the town,” the young man said, speaking as if he considered her dumber than dirt. “A little past it. Across the Missouri line.”
“You think they’d take my dog all the way out there?”
“How should I know? You wanted to know where I’d go if I wanted to ask questions and I told you.”
“All right. Thanks,” she said, wondering if she’d gotten any information that was even close to the truth. At this rate she was grasping at straws but anything had to be better than just giving up.