One Deadly Sister

innocent bystander argument. He wondered if Loraine had been able to get to a lawyer in time. That’s what he should do. He could hear a lawyer telling him to shut up. “Should I have a lawyer?”

Those must have been the magic words. Goddard pushed back from his desk and stood. “You’re not under arrest, but we’re holding you overnight.”

“You mean in jail? You’d actually lock me in a jail cell?” He felt his heart thumping. “Look, you don’t have to do this. I’ll tell you what. Just keep those papers right there. I’ll come back in the morning, and we can settle the whole misunderstanding. Okay? What’s tomorrow Sunday? Do you work Sunday? Is Monday better for you? You see, I don’t really have much to do with all this. In fact, I was going to call you guys today.”

Goddard raised the file folder to cover his smile. “I’d be happy to listen to you. Are you waiving your right to an attorney?”

Ray shook his head. It was unfair talk-or-go-to-jail blackmail. Blurting out the long Loraine-Norma-Tammy story probably would change nothing right now. If it took spending a night in jail for these people to understand their mistake, then he’d go along. The detective said he wasn’t under arrest.

Ray had to ask one question, “What does Senator Towson have to do with this?”

Goddard gave him a puzzled look and passed him along to a police sergeant. “Test this guy’s hands for GSR, before fingerprinting, and save every bit of that bandage in an evidence bag. Bag all of his clothes and shoes, separate bags for everything, of course. I got to get back to the crime scene, if I can fight my way through the reporters.” Goddard started to walk away then turned back grinning. “Check his alcohol level while you’re at it. He’s talking weird.”

Chapter 7

It was later that Saturday night, dark outside but the lights were bright along the jail corridor. Ray sat on the edge of his concrete bunk staring at the back of the drunk zonked out opposite him. They were in one of ten small cells in a basement area attached to the police station. They shared two concrete bunks with thin pads, a toilet without a seat, and a dirty sink. Ray was now wearing a hot baggy jumpsuit. He wondered why his cellmate still had his street clothes.

Ray heard the metal clang of a door down the hallway. A short young man wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and dirty sneakers strolled down the jail corridor and straight up to Ray’s cell. The guard at the desk near the door didn’t even glance up at him.

“I’m Beau Cobb, named for my granddaddy. Chip Goddard told me you might need some stuff.”

Ray stared curiously through the bars.

“Local bail bondsman, official and licensed. I’ll be around in the morning after you go before the judge.”

“I’m not sure I’m even under arrest. You said Chip somebody?”

“The guy who arrested you: Detective Sergeant Ronald Goddard, Jr., son of the former police chief. Chip, like off the old block, get it?”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m back in the South a hundred years ago and everybody with power is related.”

“Don’t know about that but he’s not related to anybody. I heard about him in high school. Was a few years ahead of me. He was on the football team, went to college, and was a Marine. I decided not to do any of that, had some other stuff to do. He just made Detective. So, you think you’re not under arrest.”

“Just holding me overnight.”

“Heard that one before.” Beau glanced around then stepped confidentially to the bars and whispered, “Hey man, did you really off the senator?”

“What?”

“Senator Towson, you do him, whack him, close him out? They got a tip you were at his place today.”

“Towson’s dead?” Ray backed up and sat on the end of the bunk. He didn’t get it. Something’s wrong. Couldn’t be.

“Where you been? The whole country’s talking about it, all over the TV. I’m not supposed to talk about it, you know. Like it’s the big deal crime of the century for them upstairs. What’s your middle name? The National Enquirer wanted to know. They always include the middle name of assassins. Like John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald. You’re gonna be a celebrity.”

“That’s horrible, I liked the guy. They think I did it?”

“Hey, you’re the one dressed in gorgeous orange. So what is it?”

“What is what?”

“Your middle name. I’ll split what they pay me for it.”

He still couldn’t think straight and this character wasn’t helping. “What about Barner?”

“You know old Sonny, what about him?”

Now it was sinking in—not Barner, the senator. Towson was why he was there. That explains the uproar. No wonder all heads turned when the detective brought him through the squad room. He guessed they didn’t yet know about Barner.

They think one shooting is a big deal wait until they discover Barner’s body; they’ll bring in Loraine for sure. Ray had been with her today as well. Within a few short hours, he realized, he was with the perpetrator of one murder and visiting with the victim of a second.

How’d all this happen? The police better get this mess straightened out fast. “What’s going to happen to me in the morning? Detective told me I wasn’t under arrest, but they took my clothes.”

“Arrest isn’t what you need to worry about right now, thing is you’re in custody. Arrest can mean a lot of things. Custody means they got your actual fuckin’ body locked up in the slammer. Learned this shit when I got my license. There’re people walking around on the street right now who are under arrest but aren’t in custody because they’re out on bail. Know what I’m saying? Custody’s the thing, man, custody.”

“But don’t they have to arrest me, read me my rights and all that?”

“I keep telling you man, that’s coming. There’ll be a brief court hearing in the morning for the Saturday night junk. And in your case, the judge will find some reason to hold you. Your jumpsuit tells me you’re gonna be around awhile. They’re running a make on you right now and will search all night for evidence. Word is, whether they get a hit or not, you’re gonna stay in custody.”

“What about my snoring slammer buddy over there, why didn’t they take his clothes?”

“He doesn’t even know he’s in here yet, they’ll let him out when he wakes up, if he ever does.”

“I’ll miss him, he was such a good listener. Does he have any family?”

“If he does, they’ve forgotten about him. He’s a regular.”

“Beau, has anyone been arrested besides me?”

“Hey, it’s Saturday—hooker and drunk night. Oh, you mean for the senator’s murder. Don’t think so.”

“For any other murder?”

“Man, I don’t get that.” Beau gave him a blank stare. “What we talking about?”

Ray couldn’t sort out Loraine and Barner just now. He tried to play it through in his mind—arrest, court, judge. New situations with new rules that didn’t belong in his world. Rules he didn’t want to learn.

“Be back around in the morning, man. Forget about release, get comfortable.” Beau left.

Ray was past mere fatigue. The exasperating mix of Loraine, Towson, Tammy, and the detective added up to the worst day of his life; each was a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit into place. No use trying to relax. His head buzzed with confusion plus a headache. His stomach felt sick, maybe nerves, maybe hunger.

He heard some shouting outside, must be the TV people. From the hallway, he heard noises and the rising clutter of voices. He got up and stood at the bars, but people noticed him and stared as they passed, looking in at the caged man on display. He moved to the back, far back, not wanting anyone to see him.

He sat huddled in the corner on his bunk with his knees up under his chin, as far away from the bars as